The sun beat down on Ashrock City like a hammer against stone. Heat shimmered over cracked pavement and sandy streets, blurring the edges of buildings until they looked like mirages. The desert had always been unforgiving, but today felt especially harsh.
Inside his father's small retail store, Ashburn leaned against the counter, watching dust swirl in the sunlight. The shop sold everything from rice sacks to cooking oil to laundry soap, shelves stacked high, but business was slow. Ashrock was not a rich city—people bought only what they needed, never more.
"Careful, Sami!" Ashburn called out as his younger brother wobbled on the edge of a crate, pretending to be a pirate. A squeal of laughter came from little Amina, who clapped her hands at her brother's antics.
Sami grinned. "Don't worry, I'm the captain here!"
Ashburn shook his head with a tired smile, brushing his hand through his messy black hair. "One day you'll break your neck, and then I'll have to explain it to Mother."
As if summoned, their mother's voice came from the back. "What's this about necks breaking? Ashburn, don't let him climb on things again."
Her tone was scolding, but gentle. She stepped into view with a dish towel over one shoulder, her dark hair streaked with gray but her posture firm. Despite the hardships of years running the household with little, she carried herself with quiet strength.
"Relax, Ammi," Ashburn said with a grin. "He'll be fine. Besides, pirates don't retire that easily."
Sami saluted dramatically, and Amina laughed so hard she nearly toppled over. Their mother sighed, though her lips twitched with amusement before she disappeared into the back again.
The sound of his mother's footsteps faded, leaving Ashburn staring out at the wide, empty streets of Ashrock. The city was always dry, always quiet, a place where dreams felt as fragile as the sandstorms that sometimes swept through.
He thought of the framed degree on his bedroom wall—Business Management, a year of endless applications, unanswered emails, and awkward interviews that led nowhere. He had imagined a future in bustling offices, building something of his own. Instead, here he was, back at the shop, his life caught in a loop.
He wanted more. For himself. For his family. His father was aging, his mother exhausted, and the responsibility weighed heavy on his shoulders.
The bell above the shop door jingled softly, pulling him from his thoughts.
"Beta, could you help me with this?"
It was Mrs. Parveen, the widow from the next street. She struggled with a heavy sack of flour, her thin arms trembling as she tried to balance it.
Ashburn was at her side in an instant. "Of course, Aunty, give it here."
He lifted the sack as though it weighed nothing and carried it to her cart outside. Sweat trickled down his forehead, but he ignored it. When he set it down, Mrs. Parveen gave him a smile full of relief.
"You're a good boy," she said softly. "May God bless you."
Ashburn returned her smile, though inside, something twisted. A good boy. Helpful. Kind. He heard it often enough, but good deeds didn't pay bills. They didn't build futures.
Still, when Mrs. Parveen walked away lighter than she had come, Ashburn felt something loosen in his chest. Maybe kindness was its own kind of wealth.
Back inside, Sami tugged at his shirt. "Bhai, can we get ice cream later? It's so hot!"
Ashburn ruffled his brother's hair. "If we sell enough soap today, maybe."
The boy groaned dramatically, and Amina giggled, clutching his arm. Ashburn chuckled, the sound blending with the hum of the shop. These small moments kept him going, even when frustration clawed at him.
The rest of the afternoon slipped by in a sluggish haze. Customers trickled in and out, buying salt, sugar, or kerosene. Ashburn rang up sales, stacked goods, and pretended not to notice the heavy silence in his father's chair at the back. His father sat reading an old newspaper, glasses low on his nose, the creases of worry etched deep on his face.
As the sun began to set, painting the desert sky in streaks of orange and gold, Ashburn leaned on the counter once more. His gaze drifted to the road outside, where shadows stretched long and the call to prayer echoed faintly in the distance.
For a moment, everything stilled.
Then, without warning, a sharp voice rang in his head.
"Fortune Ledger: Activated."
Ashburn froze, his eyes darting around the shop. Nothing had changed. His siblings were still bickering over a comic book in the corner. The ceiling fan still whirred overhead. Yet the words had been unmistakable—crisp, mechanical, echoing inside his skull.
His pulse raced. He clutched the counter to steady himself.
"Welcome, Ashburn Khan. You have been chosen."
The voice was calm, deliberate, carrying a weight that pressed against his very thoughts.
Ashburn swallowed hard. "Chosen? By whom?" he muttered under his breath.
No answer came. Only silence, thick and unnerving.
Then a screen blinked before his eyes—faint, translucent, like light etched into air itself.
[Fortune Ledger Initialized]
Wealth Balance: 0 Credits
Reward Pending: Processing…
Ashburn staggered back. This couldn't be real. He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again. The screen was still there, hovering, impossible yet undeniable.
His heart pounded. And then, slowly, a thought crept in—a strange, eerie familiarity.
This… this is just like the novels.
Ashburn had spent countless nights reading light novels on his old phone, escaping into worlds of cultivation, systems, and chosen protagonists. He knew the tropes, the mechanics, the endless "ding" of system prompts. He had dreamed of it once, laughed about it with friends, never imagining it could touch his reality.
Yet here it was.
"Your actions have been observed," the voice continued. "The Ledger responds to investment and virtue. Opportunities will be given. Use them wisely."
Ashburn's mouth went dry. He wanted to laugh, to deny it, but deep inside, a fire stirred.
For the first time in a long while, he felt the air around him hum with possibility.