The walk back to the eastern quarter felt twice as long in the dark.
My boots scraped over cobblestones turned slick with frost. I counted each step as if the numbers might steady my thoughts.
Thirty paces past the quay. Fifty to the north gate. A hundred more to the crooked alley I'd begun to think of as my own.
By the time I reached my stall, the last traders were shuttering their canopies. The air smelled of old ash and damp wool.
I set my ledger down and pressed my palms against the edge of the counter. My fingers trembled faintly.
I had confronted Moln. I had not flinched.
And yet the victory felt thin. Brittle. As if one harsh word could shatter it.
What did you expect? I asked myself. That he would pay you out of fear? That a boy in rags could command respect by sheer will?
I closed my eyes. The memory of Moln's scorn burned behind my eyelids. So did the sound of his laughter when he called me a child.
I drew a long breath and forced the shame aside.
You did what you could, I thought. And tomorrow, you will do more.
---
I unpacked my few remaining trinkets and arranged them on the cloth. Two cracked charms, a tarnished brooch, a tiny vial of faded dye. Not much to tempt even the poorest customer.
I watched the street in silence, hoping for a late buyer.
None came.
By the time the moon rose over the rooftops, the avenue was deserted.
I slumped onto the crate I used for a stool and rested my head in my hands.
The ledger sat beside me, its crowned wheel gleaming dully in the lamplight.
I had begun to understand why so many merchants failed before they ever found success.
It wasn't the cost of goods. Or the competition.
It was the slow erosion of hope.
---
I was still sitting there when a soft footfall stirred the shadows.
"I wondered if you would come back here."
Ashel's voice. Calm as ever.
I lifted my head. He stood at the edge of the stall, the lanternlight glinting from the silver sigil at his collar.
"You were watching."
"I prefer to call it observing."
I almost smiled. Almost.
"Moln refused," I said flatly.
"I expected as much."
I frowned. "Then why send me?"
"Because you needed to see that refusal does not end the ledger," he said. "It is merely the first page."
He stepped closer and rested one gloved hand lightly on the counter.
"Tell me—when he threw your claim aside, what did you feel?"
I hesitated. The memory was too raw.
"Fury," I admitted at last. "And something…smaller. Like shame."
"Good."
"Good?"
"Yes." His gaze never wavered. "A man who feels nothing in the face of scorn has nothing to drive him. But a man who feels too much will drown in it."
He nodded at my ledger. "Keep your records. Count every slight. Every unpaid debt. One day, you will know what to do with them."
I didn't answer. But a cold clarity settled behind my ribs.
"So what now?" I asked.
Ashel drew a folded scrap of parchment from his coat. He set it carefully atop the brooch I hadn't sold.
"Now," he said, "you decide whether this is where you stop—or where you begin."
I glanced at the parchment.
An inventory, I realized. A list of goods, prices, names.
"What is this?"
"An introduction," he said. "To a supplier who owes my associates a favor."
"Why help me?"
"Because in you, I see potential," he said simply. "And because our interests may align."
"Your associates," I echoed. "You never say who they are."
"I will—when you've earned the answer."
I thought of Moln's contempt. The counting house clerk's sneer. The woman in the appraisal hall whose gaze slid past me like I didn't exist.
"What do you want in return?"
"Loyalty," he said. "But not blind loyalty. Only the loyalty born of understanding."
"Understanding of what?"
"That the guilds will never grant you more than scraps," he said, voice low. "That no title or license will make them see you as anything but a boy in rags."
His eyes gleamed.
"But wealth," he murmured. "Wealth they cannot deny."
---
I didn't answer. Not right away.
Instead, I turned the parchment over in my hands. The paper was thick, expensive—marked with an ink I didn't recognize.
The names were written in a precise, elegant script. Suppliers. Buyers. Margins noted in tidy columns.
This is real, I thought. Not another half-promise.
I looked up.
"What happens if I take this?"
"Then you step onto a path from which there is no return," Ashel said calmly. "You will not be able to pretend you are nothing."
I closed my fist around the parchment.
"And if I refuse?"
"Then I will wish you luck." He inclined his head. "And you will be alone."
For a long moment, neither of us spoke.
Outside, the wind shifted, rattling the canvas of my stall.
Alone.
I had been alone since the day I opened my eyes in this body.
I was tired of it.
"When do I meet this supplier?" I asked.
Ashel's smile was small. Satisfied.
"Tomorrow," he said. "At dawn."
He straightened his coat and stepped back.
"Rest while you can," he advised. "The trade roads are less forgiving than Orison."
"You won't tell me where we're going?"
"In the morning."
He inclined his head again, and then he was gone—his footsteps already fading into the dark.
---
I stood in the cold a long while after he left.
The parchment weighed heavy in my hand.
I knew, even then, that taking it meant more than a simple trade.
It was an admission:
That I would no longer be content to scrape by in the margins.
That I would wager everything for the chance to claim something better.
If the Empyrean Realm wanted me to fail, I thought, it should have chosen an easier opponent.
I tucked the parchment into my ledger and began to pack away what was left of my goods.
Somewhere in the dark, a bell tolled midnight.
I looked up, watching my breath drift pale against the stars.
Tomorrow would come.
And with it, the first true step onto a road I could no longer leave.