DUST & COIN
547 Words
Nox entered the city of Franclis at dawn.
The gates were already open. Merchants pulled carts inside. Soldiers yawned in their armor. The smell of bread mixed with iron and animal sweat.
Civilization.
After years of stone, dust, and blood, it felt… loud.
He walked through the streets without drawing attention.
His clothes were still made from stitched beast hide and ruin cloth. Dust clung to his boots. His hair hung long and wild. He looked like what he was.
A man from the wasteland.
People stared, but no one stopped him.
In Franclis, that meant only one thing.
He was poor.
He followed the sound of water.
A public bath stood near the inner wall. Steam rose from its roof. The sign above it was carved with a spiral symbol. Astra-heated water.
Inside, he paid with a fragment of monster bone he had carried.
The owner inspected it.
“Black Expanse creature,” the man said. “Worth a wash and half a meal.”
“Good.”
Hot water hit his skin.
Dirt dissolved. Blood stains faded. The smell of ruin left his body.
He cut his hair with a borrowed knife.
Short. Practical.
When he stepped out, he looked human again.
Not a beast.
Not a relic.
Just a man.
Clothes were next.
He traded another bone fragment for a simple traveler’s outfit.
Dark cloth.
Leather belt.
Soft boots.
Light enough to fight in.
Strong enough to survive.
Now he needed coin.
He watched the streets.
How people moved.
Who carried weapons.
Who carried goods.
Who carried authority.
Franclis was not rich.
But it was alive.
Caravans arrived from Germond.
Ships from Romael.
Spice traders from Aegys.
And where goods moved, danger followed.
A board near the guard post held parchment notices.
Bounties.
Monster near the eastern farms.
Bandits on the southern road.
Escort for a merchant caravan.
Nox read them without interest.
Too public.
Too many eyes.
Instead, he went to the market edge.
Where men with scars waited.
Not guards.
Not criminals.
Workers for violence.
A man with a broken nose looked him over.
“You swing a blade?”
“I swing bodies.”
The man laughed.
“Same thing. We need a carrier and fighter. Warehouse job. Beast infestation. Pay after.”
Nox nodded.
The warehouse stood near old ruins under the city.
Inside, rats the size of dogs moved between crates.
Their eyes glowed faintly with Astra corruption.
Nox did not draw a weapon.
He stepped forward.
His foot slid.
Boxing step.
The first rat lunged.
He struck with a straight punch.
Astra reinforced bone and muscle.
The skull collapsed inward.
The second came from the side.
He turned, used its weight.
Aikido redirection.
Slammed it into a wall.
The third tried to flee.
Low kick.
Karate snap.
Its spine broke.
Silence returned.
The scarred men stared.
“…What are you?” one whispered.
Nox wiped his hand.
“Someone who doesn’t miss meals.”
They paid him in silver coins.
Not much.
Enough.
That night, Nox ate real food.
Bread.
Meat.
Soup.
He rented a corner of a shared room.
Hard bed.
Warm walls.
He lay down and stared at the ceiling.
Coins in his pocket.
A city outside.
A world that did not know his name.
Yet.
- Writer
