Time still seemed to pass as usual. He would wake with the seeping sunrays, reminded by the orchestra of bells across the city—to follow the path of the Gondola between the shadows of towering skyscrapers and the bluest skies.
While most commuters were absorbed by the staggering views, Lorien tried to focus on the book he had borrowed from the library, one harboring introductory knowledge of chemistry.
Once in the Central District, he would approach the New Liceas University campus, where he attended his classes—his mind mostly elsewhere. The same happened in Zenith’s workshop, where he slowed down and worked minimally compared to his past enthusiasm.
Before the sun began to settle, he would leave the city center to reach the passageway to the underground, lingering mostly around the scrap vendor Aristarchus, collecting as many metal pieces as possible.
He often walked among the crowds as well, soaking himself in the darkness and misery of an exploited society, taking notice of particularly disadvantaged individuals—the homeless, the crippled, the starving children.
At the end of his night shift at Larissa’s kitchen, he would go up to the attic, place the collected pieces on his workbench, and manifest the white sparks around him—turning the scrap into glittering, precious gold.
And so, Lorien repeated that routine for an entire week, until he finally arrived at his free day.
He woke later than usual, strained by the repeated use of the power to change the world. Nonetheless, he prepared himself, not without packing a few important items along the way.
After breakfast at the inn, Larissa saw Lorien wearing a dark, rugged cape just before he stepped into the sunlit streets. Her sharp eyes remained fixed on him for as long as he could be seen. His objective was to visit the lower city, where he would spend the rest of the day.
The lingering darkness received him with open arms in his usual ritual of descent. Each step he took within the labyrinth of pipes and conduits came with the mind-piercing echoes, which he was completely unfazed by now. Nothing seemed able to stop him from stepping into the crammed slums, where the wind carried the faint smell of grease and rust from the distant shipyards far above the white heavens.
It was the first time Lorien walked the underground with his head held high, despite feeling the full weight of commitment and responsibility.
He held the Vault in his left hand with confidence and secured the bags surrounding his waist before pulling the rugged cape far over his head—concealing his identity completely moments before merging with the incoming crowds.
Lorien, now wielding the power of a god, walked the narrow streets and passages of Low Liceas, surrounded by exploited workers, greedy merchants, and all kinds of people subjected to the lowest behaviors of human society.
His silver-colored eyes observed everything in extreme detail, reserving any reaction for himself. Even then, there was no superiority or disdain in his semblance—he was still young and good-hearted, after all. The discomfort he had always sensed about the world no longer felt personal; he now saw himself merely as a tool of what he considered righteousness.
Thus, he decided to carry out his first fully fledged act after crossing paths with the power to change the world.
Word would later say the first to receive unconditional grace was a woman—one who offered her own body to earn just enough to eat. Despite her visible bones, ill-hearted men still desired her for her objectively good looks.
When she saw the caped figure, she was not surprised by his lack of height or build; she had seen much after all.
“Fifteen drakes for a fully fledged hour, if you manage to last that long…”
Without waiting for a reaction, she unbuttoned her rugged shirt to display the beauty adjudicated in her creation.
However, the caped figure stood completely still, only reaching for what she assumed was payment to seal the darkened deal.
“You don’t need to do this any longer…”
After handing her the bag, the caped one immediately turned away and left.
She disapproved of his piousness, as his charity would only allow her to stop for about a day. But in the moment she opened the bag, she saw specks of glittering dust. It was gold in its purest form—worth more money than she would ever need.
“I was told this fit could change the world… Hopefully, it will change yours.”
At first, she thought it was part of some unheard-of scam. However, as seconds turned into minutes, she realized it had truly happened. Without warning or sign, her life had completely changed.
By then, the generous stranger had already disappeared, leaving only the weight of his words and actions behind.
Lorien traversed the Underground District with haste; there was much more to do. He handed another bag to a homeless man, then to an arm amputee.
At some point, a young child ran past him, skillfully stealing a couple of bags for himself. Despite that, Lorien did not chase after him and considered those two bags delivered.
A few more people enjoyed the benefits of the transmutation, practically becoming rich in an instant. Word spread quickly of a so-called Almoner who had arrived to save those in need. Some suspected a ghost, others the act of an eccentric millionaire. A significant few believed it to be a scam or an attempt at laundering stolen goods or money.
Regardless, curiosity grew about the mysterious figure and his intentions—whom people began to refer to as ‘the Almoner.’
Thanks to his concealment, Lorien was not identified as a boy from the surface, allowing him to return to Aristarchus’ scrap store without issue.
“There you are. Have you been sleeping well lately?” The man welcomed him, noticing his exhaustion, only to receive one of the last remaining bags hanging from the boy’s waist.
“Some guy gave me this earlier… enough to share for both.”
Aristarchus froze at the sight of the precious metal, immediately grasping the dust with his weary hands.
“Real gold… who gave you this?” he inquired with extreme worry.
“I have no idea!” Lorien shrugged, describing his own act from a third-person perspective. “This is a lot of money, but I realized I don’t need all of it. Since you have been sharing your pieces with me, I might as well share this with you.”
Aristarchus looked at the bag with a dubious expression but allowed himself to be reassured.
“I might have a contact who can help me sell this. Would you like me to sell yours too?” the man suggested.
At first glance, anyone would think twice about handing that amount of money to a second party. Lorien, however, did not care much at all.
“I think I’ll try my own luck.”
The man understood the boy’s decision and let him leave, not without thanking him.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
“With this, I will no longer care about the shop. I’ve had enough of this city,” Aristarchus admitted. “Now it’s time to start somewhere anew, if the God of Possibilities permits.”
That small shop next to the underground market was not much by itself, but it held significant memories for Lorien. Although its disappearance saddened him, he thought it was probably for the best.
After all, the world and its people had to move on—improve. Otherwise, he believed his actions would hold no purpose or meaning.
On the way back, for the first time, Lorien allowed himself to feel proud of his actions—even though there was much more to do.
Night fell once more upon the city, wrapping it in the glow of yellow lights that shimmered against the cold breaths of its people.
Despite having done much that day, Lorien still had one matter pending—the share he had decided to keep for himself. He wanted to give that wealth to Larissa and repay not only the current inconveniences but also the countless investments she had made in him throughout the years. At the very least, that was what he felt he owed her.
Among the shopfronts of the Central District, a man with thinning hair and a growing belly stood behind a glass counter, wiping jewels, necklaces, earrings, and other goods with a red silk handkerchief. His pawnshop brimmed with valuables once traded through honest business—as well as through desperate hands.
He did not expect customers at such a late hour, yet the bell at the entrance rang anyway. A boy with dark blond hair, pale skin, and silver-gray eyes stepped inside. He lingered for a moment, admiring the interior before meeting the shopkeeper’s stare.
“Good evening, Mister—”
“Get out!” the man yelled, pointing sharply. Lorien froze in confusion.
“No kids allowed in my store, now get out!”
“W-wait, my name is Lorien and… I came from the Eastern Port to make an exchange.”
“An exchange?” the balding man scoffed. “Listen, boy, I’ve seen enough tricks for one lifetime. Leave before I lose my patience.”
The man’s attitude crushed Lorien’s timid resolve.
In truth, this had already been the third place to reject him. For some reason, engaging in business as a young person was far harder than he had imagined.
Running out of time and patience, he forced himself to produce an excuse convincing enough to let him proceed.
“I, uh… came on behalf of my mother!” he stammered. “She said: take this, sell it, and come back with the money—or else…”
The pawnshop keeper exhaled deeply through his nose. “Fine. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Lorien stepped forward and placed the small bag on the counter. The man unfolded it and inspected the contents with practiced skepticism.
“Dust?” he muttered. “Is this a joke? What is this—your grandfather’s ashe—”
He stopped mid-sentence as a faint gleam caught his eye. Pouring a small amount into his palm, he watched the golden glitter sparkle.
Crushed gold?
“It is real gold,” Lorien assured quickly, leaning against the glass countertop. “You can test it if you want.”
The man reached for a small bottle containing a strange liquid—a dose of nitric acid—which he poured over the sample. “Step back and cover your nose.”
After a moment, the gold still shimmered—untouched, incorruptible.
“Well, how much can ‘we’ get for it?” Lorien inquired, attempting confidence.
“This looks like gold of exceptional purity,” the man murmured, weighing the dust. “Three hundred and forty-three grams… that’s roughly thirty-eight thousand drakes.”
Lorien’s jaw dropped in stunned silence. Though he understood gold’s value, he had never expected such wealth in return. That amount was more than enough to pay his tuition several times over—far beyond what his part-time job could ever yield in a lifetime.
And all of it had come from scrap gathered from a heap of garbage.
The man carefully funneled the gold back into the bag, ensuring not a single grain spilled.
“So,” Lorien insisted, scratching the back of his head, “how do we go about this now?”
The shopkeeper lifted his gaze—eyes sharp as broken glass.
“I’m not giving this back to you.”
It took a moment for the words to settle in Lorien’s busy mind.
Huh?
“In fact, I will call the police, thief.”
People drifted by slowly, peering at the commotion before the pawnshop. Two officers in pure white uniforms and tall hats stood rigid beside the glass door. Between them, Lorien sat on the dirty cobbled floor, dodging the curious and judgmental stares. He shivered in his white linen shirt, his breath frosting in the air.
Suddenly, an agile figure pushed through the crowd—a woman in a long dark trench coat, tight boots, and a scarf wrapped around her neck. Her unmistakable hazel eyes flashed like heated steel at the sight before her.
“What’s going on here?” she demanded, beyond annoyance.
One of the officers stepped forward. “Please state your name and your business.”
She glanced at Lorien, then bit her lip.
“Larissa Heeler. You called earlier and demanded my presence. I am his guardian.”
The officers exchanged looks and began taking notes. “That is a foreign name… from Celánth or the Sidereal Theocracy?”
Larissa’s tone sharpened. “Listen: I own the Heeler Inn in the East Port. I am a citizen of this Republic. Now, would you mind explaining why Lorien is under arrest?”
“Just detainment, for now,” the other officer clarified. “But we have probable cause for theft.”
People drifted by slowly, peering at the commotion before the pawnshop. Two officers in pure white uniforms and tall hats stood rigid beside the glass door. Between them, Lorien sat on the dirty cobbled floor, dodging the curious and judgmental stares. He shivered in his white linen shirt, his breath frosting in the air.
Suddenly, an agile figure pushed through the crowd—a woman in a long dark trench coat, tight boots, and a scarf wrapped around her neck. Her unmistakable hazel eyes flashed like heated steel at the sight before her.
“What’s going on here?” she demanded, beyond annoyance.
One of the officers stepped forward. “Please state your name and your business.”
She glanced at Lorien, then bit her lip.
“Larissa Heeler. You called earlier and demanded my presence. I am his guardian.”
The officers exchanged looks and began taking notes. “That is a foreign name… from Celánth or the Sidereal Theocracy?”
Larissa’s tone sharpened. “Listen: I own the Heeler Inn in the East Port. I am a citizen of this Republic. Now, would you mind explaining why Lorien is under arrest?”
“Just detainment, for now,” the other officer clarified. “We have probable cause for theft.”
“Theft?” she snapped, then turned to the boy. “Were you stealing scrap again?”
Lorien tried to explain himself, but the officers were quicker, holding up the bag for her to see.
“Mrs. Heeler, does this belong to you?”
Larissa crossed her arms and held her ground. She had never seen the bag before, nor did she know what it contained. But she knew she had to trust Lorien.
“Of course. It is mine. What is your objection now?”
The shop owner, who had remained observant inside, stepped forward.
“Would you mind explaining why you sent a boy with nearly forty thousand drakes’ worth of crushed gold on your behalf?” he demanded.
Larissa nearly lost her composure at the figure, glancing at Lorien before steadying herself. “I know my rights. It’s none of your business where I get my money. However, if you gentlemen truly must know… it was from a foreigner who wrecked my canteen. He apologized and paid me with that. I don’t know where the gold came from, but it is mine now.”
Like Lorien, Larissa possessed a particular talent for improvisation. Faced with her firm stance, the officers had little choice but to apologize for the inconvenience. The shopkeeper followed suit, contrite.
“When he came in, he mentioned that his mother sent him. The police confirmed that you are his guardian. Why say so in the first place?”
Larissa turned to Lorien, inhaled slowly, then faced the man. “I give him food, shelter, work, and education—draw your own conclusions.”
She tugged her hair back and sighed. “Now, if you don’t mind, I need to return to my kitchen. I left in the middle of my shift.”
She dragged Lorien away from the pawnshop and into a nearby corner, pressing him against a brick wall.
“What the hell were you trying to do? And what were you doing with crushed gold? Did you know only criminals crush gold to hide its origins? Where did you get that?!”
“I did not steal it,” Lorien answered truthfully, though concealing the real answer. “I just crossed paths with it.”
“What kind of excuse is that? Have I not told you before—whenever you find something that isn’t yours, you hand it over to the police?”
Lorien looked aside, thinking of the one object he had not returned—the Nebuchadnezzar’s Vault. What would have become of him if he had surrendered the artifact to the authorities or the university?
“Jesus, I knew you were up to something since you didn’t show up all day, but I never thought—”
She suddenly realized she had pinned him against the wall.
In that instant, she remembered the faint whisper of a confident voice from the past.
“One day, Lorien will have to turn into what he is meant to be. What do you plan to do when that happens? Are you still going to follow our arrangement—Larissa Heeler?”
