Chapter 8
Written by Bayzo Albion
I begged for coins, voice cracked and desperate, clutching at hope like driftwood. Most people passed with pity or silence—until, after ten long minutes, one woman stopped, her presence slicing through the crowd like light.
She was an elf—fair-haired, radiant, her skin glowing with an inner luminescence that made her seem otherworldly, a being woven from moonlight and stardust. Every step she took seemed to brighten the street, as though the air itself waited for her, parting respectfully. Her eyes held depths of ancient forests, and her smile was like sunlight breaking through clouds, warm and inviting yet laced with mystery.
"You've run into trouble?" she asked in a voice so gentle, so compassionate, it almost disarmed me, wrapping around my frayed nerves like a soothing balm.
"Yes," I sighed, lowering my gaze in feigned humility, my voice heavy with fabricated sorrow. "I was robbed. Wild bandits ambushed me in the woods. They took everything—money, belongings… even my papers, the very proof of my identity."
"What misfortune," she murmured, tilting her head with graceful empathy. There was pity in her eyes, soft and genuine, but also something sharper—like she was weighing me on invisible scales, assessing my worth beyond the surface plea. "I can lend you a little money. Perhaps it will help tide you over in this trying time?"
Warmth stirred in my chest, a genuine flicker amid the performance, and for the first time since waking here, I felt a flicker of real hope, a spark that this world might hold kindness amid its enigmas.
"I would be grateful for your kindness," I said softly, sincerely, my words carrying the weight of unexpected truth.
Her lips curved into a smile—gentle, but edged with a subtle sharpness that hinted at hidden depths.
"But if you don't return it within a week," she said lightly, her tone playful yet underscored with unwavering resolve, "you will become my servant, bound to my whims until the debt is settled."
The words were playful… almost, dancing on the edge of jest and command. Beneath them, steel glinted, unyielding and absolute. She meant it, every syllable a binding thread in the tapestry of fate.
And strangely, that seriousness thrilled me, sending a rush of heat surging through my veins before I could stop it, a intoxicating blend of challenge and allure. I forced composure back onto my face, standing tall, refusing to flinch under her gaze, my posture a silent declaration of defiance.
Her smile deepened, predatory-sweet, like a cat toying with its prey. She looked straight into me, as though paging through my thoughts for amusement, her eyes piercing with an intelligence that saw beyond the facade.
"So how much will you give me?" I asked, voice flat, businesslike. Not grateful—measured, as if negotiating a trade rather than begging for alms.
"Three gold," she replied, tilting her head as if searching my face for secrets, her fair hair cascading like a waterfall of sunlight.
"And with that, I can buy proper clothes? Or will I be forced to parade naked again, drawing stares and whispers like a sideshow attraction?"
"You're not local, are you?" she asked, brows lifting in mild curiosity, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly.
I snorted, a dry chuckle escaping my lips. "If I were local, I'd know which alleys not to wander into. And I wouldn't have let myself be cleaned out like a fool, stripped bare by opportunistic scum."
"That makes sense," she said with a faint smile, though her eyes still lingered, sharp and probing, as if peeling back layers to uncover hidden truths. "And from which country do you hail? Your accent carries echoes of distant lands."
"Timbuktu. Far to the north," I said with a stone face, committing to the fabrication without a flicker of hesitation.
"Timbuktu?" She tasted the word, rolling it on her tongue like an exotic spice. "I've never heard of such a land. Is it beyond the mountains, where the peaks pierce the clouds? Or across the seas, on shores kissed by unfamiliar waves?"
"Beyond common sense," I muttered under my breath, the sarcasm slipping out before I could rein it in.
Whether she didn't understand or pretended not to, I couldn't tell, her expression remaining serene. She frowned slightly, a delicate crease forming on her brow, then asked, "And these bandits—what did they look like? Any distinguishing marks that might aid in their pursuit?"
"A stew so messy the devil himself would break a leg trying to sort it," I shrugged, waving a hand dismissively. "Beards, no beards, rags patched with filth, silk stolen from finer folk. Who knows what tribe they belonged to—outcasts, perhaps, or wanderers from shadowed realms."
She hummed thoughtfully, a melodic sound that resonated like a harp string, then brushed her belt with elegant fingers. A small pouch appeared in her hand, materializing as if from thin air, its leather supple and adorned with intricate elven runes. She weighed it once, the coins shifting with a soft jingle, then extended it toward me. "Here. Three gold. Spend it wisely. This isn't Timbuktu—our ways may differ, but opportunity awaits the bold."
The coins clinked softly as I wrapped my fingers around the pouch, their weight heavy, solid, promising survival and a foothold in this enigmatic world. But more than the weight of gold was the brush of her skin against mine—a fleeting contact that sent sparks dancing along my nerves. A flicker—fingers grazing, warm, electric, lingering just a fraction too long to be accidental.
For a moment, it wasn't touch. It was pull, magnetic and undeniable. Something in her reached past skin and bone, into the place I kept locked away, stirring echoes of vulnerability and desire. A warning bell chimed in my mind. A temptation that whispered of entanglements yet to come.
So that's how it is, I thought, my pulse quickening. Chains hidden behind smiles, forged in the guise of kindness.
And then my darker self chuckled, cruel and hungry, rising from the depths like a predator scenting weakness: Soon enough, sweetheart, you'll find out who holds the leash, and it won't be you pulling the strings.
"No contract to sign?" I asked lightly, even as my mind raced with strategies and suspicions.
"I'm a sorceress," she replied with a sly smile, her eyes twinkling with arcane mischief. She winked, as if everything had already been written in fine print I couldn't see, sealed by magic beyond mortal comprehension. "We don't need paperwork. Good luck, Gandalf of Rivia."
I blinked, the name jarring like a discordant note in a symphony. Inside, I flinched. Gandalf? Of Rivia? What kind of knockoff abomination is that supposed to be, a bastardized fusion of legends that mocked my hasty alias?
Correcting her would be pointless, exposing the cracks in my facade. Instead, I turned inward, summoning the system's interface with a silent command:
System, can my lies become truth?
> System: On Medium difficulty, lies remain lies. Be careful what you wish for—deceptions have a way of unraveling when least convenient.
Perfect. Just perfect. Which meant I'd have to get by the old-fashioned way—charm, audacity, and a hefty dose of luck, navigating this world with wits sharpened by necessity.
"Farewell, fair elf…" I murmured, already stepping away, my voice trailing like a whisper on the wind. My stride was firm, my back unbent, each footfall a declaration of independence. I didn't look back. Best not to give her another opening, another thread to weave into her web.
The coins jingled in my palm, a rhythmic reminder of my newfound resources, but it wasn't gold that weighed on me heaviest. It was the faint echo of her smile, lingering in my mind like a half-remembered dream, and the sense that, whether I liked it or not, we weren't finished—our paths destined to intertwine in ways that could either elevate or ensnare me in this subatomic tapestry of fate.
Thanks to the financial support of my esteemed elf benefactor, whose golden hair and enigmatic smile still lingered in my mind like a half-forgotten melody, I finally had the chance to buy clothes. And yet… walking naked through the streets had grown on me in a strangely intoxicating way. There was something liberating about it, like spitting in the face of etiquette itself, defying the invisible chains of societal norms that had bound me in my previous life. The cool breeze caressing my skin, the unfiltered warmth of the sun, the curious glances that ranged from shock to amusement—it all felt like a rebellious declaration of freedom, a shedding of not just garments but the burdens of expectation and judgment.
Once upon a time, the mere idea of borrowing money would've sent me into a panic, my heart racing like a cornered animal, visions of collectors and endless obligations flashing before my eyes. Debt had always felt like chains clamped around my ankles, the kind you drag along every waking hour, whispering about the payment that will come due, eroding your peace with every clink and rattle. It was a specter that haunted dreams, turning potential into prisons, freedom into farce.
But now? Now I was thrilled, like a child who'd just been handed a glittering piece of candy, eyes wide with unbridled excitement at the sweetness to come. How's that for irony? In this subatomic paradise, where consequences twisted into benevolence, debt no longer loomed as a monster but danced as an opportunity, a playful gamble in a game where the house always favored the bold. The coins in my hand weren't shackles; they were keys, unlocking doors I hadn't even known existed.