The jingle of coins in the grubby pouch was enough to sour Vila's mood the moment the hoodie-clad pauper shuffled through her shop door. Again. She glared, her lips twisting into a scowl as she snatched the pouch and dumped its contents---a cascade of tarnished Krum coins---onto the transaction tray with a noisy clatter.
"Listen here, you little gutter rat!" Her voice was thick and nasal, like molasses clogging the ears. "How many times do I gotta tell you? Stop bringing this filthy pocket change! The shopkeeper said it himself---next time you show up with a mountain of scrap metal, he'd rather lose your business than count it!"
"It's the exact amount," the boy replied, his voice unnervingly calm against her tirade. He slid his hands into the pockets of his worn hoodie, fingers rubbing against something hidden within. "Please, the special potion."
"Special potion?!" Vila scoffed, turning her back to rummage through the tiered shelves behind her. "Doctor Dower made it plain---your mother's sickness can't even be diagnosed properly! What good's a special mix gonna do? Honestly, you'd be better off keeping the coin, letting her enjoy her last days in peace. Spare the rest of us the trouble---call it charity!" Despite her harsh words, she pulled out a distinctively vibrant vial of thick, blue liquid and slammed it onto the counter beside the coins. Trade laws were a nuisance, and tangling with the Guard Corps over refusing a paying customer? Those persistent, vine-like enforcers were trouble she didn't need.
The boy's lips tightened. Without a word, he scooped up the vial and turned for the door. Head slightly bowed, hands jammed back into his pockets, his steps were surprisingly light as he walked away, already leaving the shop and Vila's grating presence behind.
His mind wasn't on Vila, nor the insults. It was fixed solely on the object his fingers traced over and over in the depths of his pocket---clenching, releasing, a sigh escaping him as the shape pressed hard against his palm.
Key. Lucien preferred to think of it as an artifact. The intricate patterns carved into its surface were craftsmanship far beyond anything he owned, and the flawless emerald set into its head seemed impossibly pure. If he dared pull it out in the sunlight, its deep green would glow, luminous and smooth, a stark, jarring contrast to his faded hoodie and unkempt appearance.
"After the potion, I've got ten Krom left," he murmured to himself, the key a hard, cool presence against his skin. "No matter how hard I scavenge the monster Graveyard during the day, scraping together next week's potion money is a long shot. Forget the potion -- I barely have enough for food this week." Desperation tightened his throat.
It was his father's legacy. But what use was legacy when you were staring into the abyss? Maybe its true value lay in the coin it could fetch. He was trying hard to convince himself.
One night, when he was eight, his father had pressed this key into his hand, muttered something to his mother, and vanished into the darkness. Gone. Poof. Lucien had clung to the childish hope that it unlocked some ornate chest, filled with riches to sustain them. He'd tried it on every lock in their meager home---cupboards, drawers, even the small, battered wooden box his father had left behind, whether intentionally or not. Nothing fit. Eventually, he'd accepted that the key itself was the inheritance. It certainly looked valuable enough.
"Not today," Lucien shook his head, finally dismissing the thought of pawning it. Not because he didn't want to, but because today was his seventeenth birthday. His mother, Elinora, seemed to have a touch more color in her cheeks today. She treasured this relic fiercely. He wouldn't ruin her fragile happiness. Not today.
Lost in thought, head down, he barely registered the alleyway he was passing until a slurred, mocking voice sliced through the air.
"Well, lookee here. The runt from the East End. What's trash like you doing in the city proper? Bringing bad luck with ya?"
"Heard his ma's got some fancy incurable sickness. Prob'ly fetching that special potion."
"Special potion?" The taller of the two drunks leaning against the grimy brick wall perked up, a predatory gleam entering his bleary eyes as he turned fully towards Lucien.
Lucien's head snapped up, sharp green eyes locking onto the pair barely ten paces away. One tall and lanky, the other short and squat. Both radiated a lazy, drunken arrogance, their gazes dripping with malice that felt like a physical threat.
"The hell you staring at, freak?" The shorter man stiffened as those unsettling, upturned green eyes met his. He spat viciously onto the cobblestones. Something about those eyes... cold, unnatural. Like a corpse fished from the algae-choked lake. They sent a shiver down his spine.
"Hey, runt," the taller man drawled, his voice deceptively light, as if addressing a cornered rabbit. "Hand over that medicine vial."
"Yeah, we ain't thieves," the shorter one leered, a nasty grin spreading across his face. "We'll take real good care of your ma ."
Silence. Then, a switch flipped. At the insinuation against his mother, the boy's fist clenched so tight his knuckles cracked. Rage, white-hot and blinding, surged through him. Before either drunk could react, Lucien was a blur of motion, launching himself forward, fist aimed squarely at the shorter man's sneering face.
The tall drunk laughed, a harsh, grating sound. He didn't even seem to try. A casual sidestep, a boot lashing out with surprising speed. It connected squarely with Lucien's chest.
The impact was brutal. Lucien flew backwards, skidding across the rough cobblestones for what felt like an eternity before slamming to a stop. Agony exploded through him---a constellation of pain that made him tremble uncontrollably. The coppery tang of blood filled his mouth. His ribs screamed; his organs felt pulverized. The terrifying proximity of death seized him. No. Not yet. Elinora... she's not better. I can't... not now...
The tall man's booming laughter echoed in the alley as he blurred forward, appearing beside the crumpled boy almost instantly. "Tryin' to match my speed? Hah! Maybe next life, if you're born lucky!" He raised a wicked, serrated dagger, poised to plunge it down.
Lucien's vision swam, consciousness fading. Despair washed over him. Mother... forgive me. Maybe next life... we'll have peace... He braced for the end.
CLANG!
The sharp, discordant ring of steel on steel shattered the moment. A longsword materialized out of nowhere, intercepting the falling dagger with brutal force.
"Daring to rob and assault citizens in the city?!" The voice that roared was deep, resonant, and crackled with authority. The wielder of the longsword twisted his blade violently. The dagger flew from the drunk's suddenly nerveless fingers, clattering away on the stones.
The word "Guard Corps" acted like a bucket of ice water. Both drunks' faces drained of color. Without a second's hesitation, before the swordsman could even get a clear look at them, they melted into the shadows of the alleyway, vanishing as swiftly and silently as they'd appeared. Only Lucien's crumpled form remained as proof of the violent encounter.
"Lucien! Stay with me!" The swordsman---Baron---wasted no time. Kneeling swiftly, he gently cradled Lucien's head and tipped the contents of a small vial with a golden stopper into the boy's mouth. His movements were practiced, efficient, hinting at grim familiarity with such scenes.
The potent healing elixir took effect immediately. A soft, white luminescence enveloped Lucien. The excruciating pain of shattered ribs and ruptured organs began to recede, replaced by the intense itch of knitting bone and mending tissue. His ragged breathing steadied, his senses swam back into focus. He forced his eyes open, blinking against the light.
Baron, seeing the life return to Lucien's eyes, let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Then, his brow furrowed in frustration. "Damn cowards! Ran like whipped dogs. Should've taken their heads clean off!" The Guard Corps operated with brutal efficiency. Since the Great Monster Uprising five years ago, fear had gripped Cocoon City. Monster attacks surged; robbery and theft became endemic. To combat the chaos, the Corps had been granted broad discretion. Threats like "taking heads" weren't idle---they were policy. No wonder the thugs had fled so fast.
"Lucky Baron the Knight got here quick," Lucien managed a weak, blood-stained grin, trying to ease the tension. "And that high-grade potion's no joke. Otherwise, I'd be picking out my next life right about now."
"Save the jokes," Baron grunted, helping Lucien sit up slowly and guiding him to sit on a nearby step. "Potion or not, it takes a toll. Don't push it. The medicine?" He asked, his voice tight with concern. "I'm tapped out. That was my last potion... and coin."
Panic jolted through Lucien. He frantically patted the pocket where his small coin purse should be. Empty. The thugs must have snatched it during the scuffle! His heart plummeted. Then, his fingers brushed against the hard, familiar shape in his other pocket. The key. Still there. A sliver of relief cut through the dread.
He looked up at Baron, his expression bleak. "Gone. What do I do? Elinora needs that potion *tomorrow*. Without it... who knows how long she'll last?" He glanced towards the setting sun, despair deepening. "Curfew hits at eight. Lasts 'til six tomorrow morning. That barely gives me any daylight to gamble in the Scrapyard..."
"Don't panic. I'll borrow from the squad. We'll get the money," Baron assured him, though doubt flickered in his eyes. He'd already borrowed heavily for Elinora's treatments. Whispers followed him now: Baron's solid, but always in debt... bad look.
"No," Lucien cut him off, sharper than intended. "Elinora is my burden. You keep borrowing... it's poisoning your reputation. Your future. Staying tied to us... it only makes things harder for you."
"Harder?" Baron's voice rose, fierce and protective. "Your family is my family! When those monsters killed my parents, only Elinora take me in and treated me like her real son! How can I walk away?!" His passion was cut short by a soft, chime-like ping only they could hear. A glance at his invisible system interface confirmed it: 4 PM. The alarm he'd set to remind him to get home for Lucien's birthday.
Lucien watched as Baron's index finger swipe into the air, silencing the chime. The sight never ceased to amaze him. Every Awakened had such a system---a personal interface only they could see. It tracked skills, levels, experience, aided daily life. But it was all second-hand knowledge, gleaned from school, Baron, or Viola. Unawakened, Lucien had never glimpsed that world.
"Anyway," Baron continued, his tone softening, "I'll figure out the potion. Can you move?"
The physical pain was gone, replaced by a bone-deep exhaustion that made his limbs feel like lead. Pushing himself upright, Lucien swayed for a moment, then nodded. "I'm good. Let's go. Elinora and Viola are waiting."
Baron stood, his tall, broad frame radiating a sense of dependable strength that made Lucien, still lean and wiry from hardship, seem almost boyish in comparison. Baron's close-cropped, pale gold hair suited his rugged features perfectly. Lucien knew well that Baron attracted plenty of female attention; it was only the shadow of his mounting debts that kept potential suitors at bay. The thought twisted Lucien's gut with guilt.
They quickened their pace, soon leaving the city center behind and crossing the defining boundary---the Gruss Stone Bridge. The moment they stepped onto the East End side, the stark decline was palpable.
Dilapidated buildings, five or six stories tall and leaning precariously against each other, choked the narrow streets, casting deep shadows. Residential and commercial zones blurred chaotically. Plaster peeled off walls like scabs, revealing water-stained brickwork near the rooftops. Laundry hung precariously from upper windows dripped onto the wares of street vendors below, sparking furious curses. The air hung thick with the stench of rotting vegetables and stale seafood mingling on the grimy cobblestones. The East End was a constant, discordant symphony of shouts and clatter.
Baron and Lucien navigated the chaotic market, finally reaching a dead-end street. Here stood their home---a single-story structure, untouched by repairs for years. Rain and neglect had eroded its facade, exposing the raw brick skeleton beneath. The surrounding houses stood empty---their owners long gone, driven away by whispers of the "East End jinx" clinging to the "useless brat" who lived there. This abandonment, however, offered the small family a rare, if desolate, peace.
As they stepped through the creaking door, a warm, chiding voice floated from the kitchen. "You're so late! Elinora and I have been waiting forever!" Viola peeked out, her fiery red hair framing a face lit by a bright smile.
"Got held up at the Corps," Baron replied easily, returning her smile. He exchanged a quick glance with Lucien, a silent pact to keep the alleyway horror unspoken. "Just ran into Lucien on the way."
"Sit down!" Elinora called out, emerging from the kitchen carrying a steaming pot of fish stew. She placed it carefully on the wobbling wooden table. Her brown hair, brittle and faded, was loosely tied over one shoulder. Though her smile was genuine, the pallor of her skin and the deep lines of exhaustion etching her face betrayed the relentless toll of her illness. "We get so few chances to gather like this since you've all grown. I made all your favorites."
The laden table groaned under the weight of the modest feast, its precarious sway ignored by the four gathered around it. Laughter and chatter filled the cramped space as they shared snippets of their lives.
"I'm so happy we could all be together for Lucien's birthday," Elinora said, her voice thick with emotion. She raised a simple wooden cup. "It feels like a precious, unrepeatable moment. We've weathered the hardest storms. Baron's in the Guard Corps, Viola's joined the Subjugation corps... you're all finding your paths..." Tears welled in her eyes as she looked at her children. "May the Primus watch over you all. Shield you from winter's bite and sickness's shadow. Grant you joy and health always."
A lump formed in Lucien's throat. Viola blinked rapidly, and even Baron's eyes looked suspiciously bright. They raised their own cups, clinking them gently against Elinora's. "Cheers!" they chorused, the sound bright and loud, officially marking the start of the birthday feast.
Conversation flowed easily, mostly centered on Baron's stern warnings about the worsening city. "Monsters are restless, getting bolder," he cautioned, his voice serious. "And desperate people are using the chaos as cover---more robberies, more killings. Be careful. If you or Elinora are ever in trouble, Lucien, triple-tap your signet ring." He gestured to the small ring Lucien wore. "Viola, just ping me through your system interface. I'll come running."
His earnest, protective demeanor was so reminiscent of Elinora that Viola couldn't resist a teasing grin. "Lucien, are you sure Baron isn't Eila's real son? This whole 'mother hen' routine is spot on!"
"Viola!" Baron and Elinora exclaimed in perfect unison. They locked eyes for a split second, and then all four burst into laughter, the tension dissolving.
Lucien, remembering a snippet of conversation, turned to Baron. "Speaking of danger... Viola mentioned you signed up for the Subjugation Corps? With the monsters acting up... is it safe?"
Baron shrugged, a confident smile playing on his lips. "Relax. You know me---places where I can actually fight monsters are where I belong. Dealing with paperwork and drunks in the Guard Corps gives me a headache."
Seeing Baron's easy confidence eased Lucien's worry, though a thread of concern remained. Baron was strong---easily Subjugation squad leader material---but Lucien couldn't shake the habit of worrying.
"Exactly!" Viola chimed in, adopting a theatrically woeful expression. "Come rescue us, O Great Knight Baron! We're swamped! If it weren't for the eight o'clock curfew, my captain would have us working round the clock!"
Elinora chuckled and lightly flicked Viola's forehead. Viola yelped in mock pain. "You two used to call him 'Great Knight Baron' so sweetly when he stood up to those bullies for you. Now you just use it to tease the poor boy!"
Lucien and Viola exchanged a sheepish look. Viola stuck out her tongue. "Well, he is such a stiff sometimes," she mumbled under her breath.
Time, sweet and stolen, slipped away like sand. At precisely 7 PM, a soft, distinctive chime sounded---inaudible to Lucien and Elinora---and both Baron and Viola instinctively raised their hands, swiping through their invisible system interfaces. The 8 PM curfew was as ingrained as breathing for every citizen of Cocoon City.
Baron and Viola stood, the mood shifting subtly. "Lucien, Ela, take care," Baron said, his voice serious again. "If anything happens, signal us immediately."
"Yeah! We're just a ping away!" Viola added brightly, though her eyes held the same concern.
They exchanged final, meaningful looks with Lucien and Elinora before hurrying out into the gathering dusk, needing to be safely within their own districts before curfew fell.
The moment the door clicked shut behind them, Elinora's fragile composure shattered. A wracking cough seized her, violent and deep.
"Mother!" Lucien was at her side instantly, supporting her frail weight as he guided her back to her bed. He fumbled for the precious blue vial and helped her drink it down.
The potion brought a semblance of calm, easing the cough but leaving her frighteningly pale and weak, her breath shallow. She looked like a candle guttering in a draft. She reached out a trembling hand, brushing Lucien's hair back from his forehead. "I'm alright, child," she whispered, her voice paper-thin. She paused, gathering her strength, her gaze steadying on his face with unnerving intensity. "I know... I know how much this medicine costs. How hard you've struggled all these years." Her voice caught. "You're grown now... a man. I don't need to cling to life... just to shield you anymore. I want... I want you to walk your path... unburdened."
"No! No!" Lucien recoiled as if struck. Her words were a physical blow. "You said things were getting better! We are finding ways! Why give up now? I *won't* give up on you!" His world, built on the fragile foundation of protecting her, threatened to crumble. What point was there in breathing if she wasn't there?
He didn't wait for her response. "I'm not giving up. It's late. Please have a rest." He stood abruptly.
"Lucien!" Elinora's weak call was met only by the protesting groan of the door as he shut it firmly behind him.
Lucien leaned against the closed door, blood pounding in his ears, his limbs tingling with numbness. One thought hammered relentlessly in his skull: The Key. His fingers closed around the cool metal shape in his pocket like a drowning man clutching driftwood. He took the stairs down to the cellar two at a time. One last try. If... if the key still wouldn't open that damned wooden box, he'd sell it first thing tomorrow. He had no other choice.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, Lucien approached the box. It sat where it always had, on his father's old desk, gathering dust and mystery. Tonight, however, it felt different. It felt... expectant. As if it had been waiting all these years, specifically for this moment.
He pulled the key from his pocket, its emerald catching the dim cellar light. With trembling fingers, he inserted it into the box's lock. Disappointment, sharp and familiar, washed over him. The key didn't fit. Not even close. The shapes were fundamentally wrong. Foolish hope, he chastised himself. How many times did you try? Why expect magic now?
He stood frozen, the weight of despair pressing down, the key hanging uselessly from his fingers.
Then, light bloomed.
A soft, eerie cerulean glow emanated from the base of the box. Lucien stared, dumbfounded, as the light intensified, tendrils snaking outwards, not towards the lock, but towards the key itself. The blue-white radiance enveloped the intricate metal and the emerald, bathing them in an otherworldly luminescence. Lucien heard it then---a soft, definitive CLICK.
The lid of the box sprang open.
Inside, no gold, no jewels. Instead, a sphere of pure, shimmering light hovered above the velvet lining. It pulsed gently, surrounded by intricate beams of blue-white energy that formed a shifting, complex matrix, numbers and symbols flickering upwards in a mesmerizing cascade.
Drawn by an irresistible compulsion, Lucien stepped closer. His green eyes reflected the dancing numbers, wide with awe and trepidation. Slowly, almost against his will, his hand reached out, fingers stretching towards the radiant core.
His fingertips brushed the light.
SYSTEM LOGIN SUCCESSFUL.
A cold, utterly mechanical female voice resonated directly within the confines of his skull.