The smell hit first—dust, wax, and old iron. Shelves lined the walls, piled with objects from a hundred lifetimes: bent daggers, faded books, tangled chains, broken instruments. Behind the counter, a hunched man sat under the glow of a single swinging lantern, peering through a cracked glass case as though inspecting treasure.
He looked up as she approached, and his eyes sharpened, suddenly alert—too alert. His face was long, his nose bent sideways, and his teeth sharp from years of chewing things that weren't food. He smiled like a man who smelled money.
"Well then," he rasped, voice thin and oiled. "How may I be of service, miss?"
Mae managed a dry smile. "I want to pawn something. Can you help?"
He leaned forward. "Oh, but of course. Let's see what you've got."
She held out the earring.
The man took it delicately, as though handling silk, and his eyes widened the second his fingers touched the gold. He turned it, studied the gemstone, brought it up to the lanternlight, then gave a slow, appreciative whistle.
"Where'd a girl like you come across a piece like this?" he asked, voice suddenly smoother.
"I'm not from around here," Mae said quickly. "That's all you need to know."
He chuckled and nodded. "Fair enough. But this is no common trinket. This is palace-cut. Hand-set stone. High-tier work. He could sense a hint of magic on it as well that he didn't mention to her. " You'll get a fair deal, I promise." He took a breath, calculating. "I can offer you… one Aurelian and five Glints."
Mae blinked. That sounded like a lot. But she had no frame of reference.
"…How much is that worth?"
The pawnbroker's grin curled tighter. "Ah. So the lady's unfamiliar with our coin, is she?"
Mae said nothing.
The man shrugged, "I will help the lady out becasue i think we will be meeting more often." He reached into the drawer beneath the counter. One by one, he began placing coins onto the worn wooden surface.
"Here," he began, tapping the first one. "This is a Starling. Lowest tier. Brown coin, square hole in the center. One of these'll get you a crust of bread, maybe a cup of swill at the bar if you're lucky."
He pulled out a second coin—hexagonal, with a faint silver shimmer. "Ten Starlings make a Lumen. Good for a modest meal or a night in a shared room—if you're not picky about lice."
He dimmed the lantern with his hand, and sure enough, a silver thread glowed faintly along the edge of the Lumen in the dark.
Then he laid down the next piece—a thicker, perfectly round coin, ridged like a gear. "Ten Lumens make a Glint. Now this is respectable money. Private rooms, warm meals, clean clothes."
Mae was quiet, eyes fixed on the coins.
"And then," he said with a little reverence, reaching into a locked drawer and pulling out a coin that practically glittered—oval, heavier, hand-carved filigree twisting around the edges like vines. "Ten Glints make an Aurelian. We call 'em Aurels. Nobility deals in these."
She stared at it, momentarily transfixed.
But he wasn't done. With a dramatic huff, he slid off his stool—revealing how short he truly was—and shuffled around the counter. Mae leaned slightly to watch as he unlocked a small iron chest. Inside it, he pulled out a velvet satchel with delicate embroidery, unlocked it, and opened it just enough for her to glimpse the shimmer within.
A golden mass—smooth, cold, radiant.
"Crescents," he whispered, like saying the name of a god. "Reserved for Councilors and Magisters. Rare. Dangerous to carry."
Then, just as quickly, he shut the satchel and locked it away again.
Mae's chest tightened. She hadn't even seen it properly. Just a glimmer—but enough to know it was real. And valuable.
"…That's it?" she asked.
He returned to his stool, already stacking coins. "There's one more. But it's not for the likes of us. The Sol Crown. Only held by kings and the highest bloodlines. Worth cities."
She pursed her lips, uncertain. The world was spinning again. A currency system. A city like this. Titles, castes, coinage carved with magic and gold.
The pawnbroker set the coins in front of her: a gleaming Aurelian, five stacked Glints. "So," he said, grinning wide, "do we have a deal, miss?"
Mae looked at the coins, then at the man. He looked like the kind of man who'd sell her out if someone offered him two Glints and a bottle of wine. But right now, she had no other choice.
Her fingers hovered over the coins. "…Deal."
"Perfect," Mae murmured, sliding the earring across the counter.
The pawnbroker pocketed it with a greedy glint in his eyes. But just as he started gathering the promised coins, she raised a hand.
"Wait," she added. "Could you break it down? I'll probably need smaller coins for daily things… give me a few in Starlings and Lumens."
The man nodded, clearly expecting the request. He turned to his drawer and began sorting through it with a clinking melody of metal. Soon, he returned with a little satchel and placed it in front of her. The soft weight of it made her fingers tingle. Coins jostled inside—a few Glints for bigger expenses, a handful of Lumens, and at least a dozen Starling coins that clicked against each other like old bones.
But then something else caught her eye.
Hanging beside the counter was a rough leather bag—torn at the seams in places, stitched up poorly with twine, faded by time and grime. It looked like nothing special. And yet, in its shapeless form and drab color, it seemed like the perfect hiding place for the jewels still tied at her waist.
"That bag," she said, pointing. "How much?"
The pawnbroker turned, following her gaze. "Ah… this?" He lifted it with two fingers, as if it offended him. "One Glint."
Her brows drew together. "Isn't that… a bit much? For something that looks like it came from the trash heap?"
The man clicked his tongue with exaggerated offense. "Madam, I just gave you a very generous deal, and already you doubt me? That bag's been with me for years—durable leather, handcrafted. Perfect for carrying your… valuables." His smile didn't reach his eyes.
Mae narrowed hers. It wasn't worth the price. But she didn't have time to argue, and she didn't want to keep those jewels tied to her waist all night. Reluctantly, she drew a Glint from her pouch and placed it on the counter.
The man swept it away and handed her the bag. It smelled faintly of mold, but it would do. She dropped the pouch of hidden jewelry into it and tied it shut.