Kael didn't sleep that night.
Not because he couldn't. He'd trained himself to sleep through worse—bloodied floors, cold stone, whispers behind broken walls. But the coin sat on the table like a second heart, and every time his eyes drifted shut, he dreamed of numbers burning across the sky.
He sat cross-legged beneath a shattered window, eyes on the flickering rune-light as Sera brewed something foul in the hearth's crucible. The hideout's air was thick with alchemical fumes—sour ink, boiled parchment, and ghoststeel resin.
"You look like death," she said without looking up.
"I feel like a receipt," Kael muttered.
"You should've let me burn the coin."
He smirked. "And ruin all our fun?"
She gave him a sideways glance. "This isn't fun. This is suicide printed on vellum."
Kael stood, stretched, and moved to the table. The Tyrant's Coin sat exactly where he'd left it, unmoved and untouched—but not inert. Its runes had changed in the night. Where once they shimmered in a shifting script, now they formed something legible.
He read the first line aloud:
"BALANCE: -1 PROMISE(S)"
"What does that mean?" he asked.
Sera approached, wiping her hands on a cloth. She frowned at the coin. "That's not good."
"No kidding."
She pulled a thick leather-bound tome from a nearby shelf, tossing it open to a page halfway through. The Ledger of Games. A forbidden index of past Rewrite participants, their debts, and what they'd lost.
"Every coin tracks your standing in the Game," she said. "You're in negative balance. That means someone's already bid against you."
Kael narrowed his eyes. "When?"
"While you slept. Or rather—while you didn't."
He leaned closer. The next line had just appeared:
"AUCTION I BEGINS IN: 2 DAYS, 11 HOURS."
Kael swallowed hard. "That soon?"
"You broke in, remember?" Sera said. "You didn't get the polite invitation. They're accelerating your clock."
"So how do I win this Auction?"
She exhaled. "You don't have gold. You don't have a house of influence. You barely have a name."
"I have you," he said simply.
She blinked, surprised for a moment. Then she nodded. "Yeah. You have me."
Later that morning, they went into the Maze District, cloaked in glamour and deception. The Maze was Vireth's oldest borough—a labyrinth of shifting alleys, enchanted walls, and doors that only opened if you knew their true price.
Their target was a man named Jorn Thatch—an exiled auditor turned spellsmith, known for crafting illegal wards that could hold against Council-grade scrying. Jorn's shop was a ruin from the outside, a collapsed bakery with soot-stained signage. But Kael knew better.
They walked through the front wall.
Literally. The glamour spell shivered as they passed, revealing a clean marble foyer behind the illusion. A glass counter stood ahead, behind which sat a man with ink-stained fingers and a ledger thicker than a corpse.
"Kael Veylor," Jorn said, not looking up. "You're early."
"I didn't make an appointment."
"You never do." Jorn glanced up. "And yet trouble always arrives with you."
Sera stepped forward. "We need two things. A ward strong enough to block a Grand Seer's eye—and a way to disguise a Tier-One Coin."
Jorn leaned back. "That's not a small ask."
Kael placed a tiny golden locket on the counter. "This is a copy of Marr's last transaction before he died. Signed in blood. Traced to Council Vault Three."
Jorn raised an eyebrow. "That's not just blackmail. That's treason."
"Do we have a deal?"
The spellsmith studied them. Then nodded.
An hour later, they emerged from the shop armed with a trio of invisible glyphs—painted across Kael's skin with invisible ink that would flare only under divine scrutiny. The coin now resided inside a false tooth Kael could swallow if things went truly bad.
"So," Sera said, as they made their way back toward the Dust Quarter. "We have two days to raise your balance."
"Raise it how?" Kael asked. "We're not robbing another vault."
"No," she said. "This time we're going to trade."
He gave her a skeptical look.
She smiled.
"There's a market hidden beneath the Throat Bridge," she said. "It opens only for those who've been marked by the Ledger. Once you've touched a Tyrant's Coin, you gain access."
"A black market for reality?" Kael asked.
"More like an auction house for the absurd. You can trade memories. Secrets. Even futures."
Kael shook his head. "I don't like it."
"Good," Sera said. "You're starting to understand."
They reached the Throat Bridge at dusk.
It stretched across the Wyrmflow like a spine, ancient and silent, its surface carved with sigils older than language. Sera traced a glyph into the stone, then placed Kael's hand over it.
The coin inside his tooth vibrated.
Stone cracked.
A staircase unfolded beneath them, spiraling into the depths of the riverbed.
They descended into the Market of Whispers.
Kael expected chaos. What he found was worse—order. Impossibly perfect rows of stalls, each manned by masked figures with ledgers thicker than tombstones. No voices. Only the whisper of coins exchanging hands. Magic pulsed like a heartbeat beneath their feet.
A woman approached them. Her mask was made of mirrors.
"First-time participant," she said, nodding at Kael. "Your balance is low."
"Trying to change that," he replied.
She gestured to a glowing podium. "Offer what you have. The Market will judge its worth."
Kael stepped forward. "I have information. Names of Council traitors. Hidden vault coordinates."
The Market did not respond.
He glanced back at Sera. She shook her head.
"You have to offer something real," she said. "Something personal."
Kael closed his eyes.
Then he spoke.
"I offer my last memory of my mother's voice."
A pause.
Then, softly—"Accepted."
His balance shifted.
The coin in his mind pulsed.
Sera touched his arm. "That's enough."
But Kael wasn't done.
"I offer the face of the man who raised me. His name. His touch. Everything he taught me about knives."
"Accepted."
Sera looked alarmed now. "Kael—stop."
But Kael stepped back from the podium.
His hands were trembling. Not from fear—from loss. Pieces of him were gone. Traded. Burned.
But his coin was glowing.
Sera looked at it.
"Kael," she said slowly, "you're positive."
The coin shimmered.
"BALANCE: +1 PROMISE."
They left the Market before the night grew thin. As they stepped onto the bridge, the river whispered beneath them. Not in words—but in memory.
Kael leaned against the stone wall, breathing hard.
"You didn't have to give that much," Sera said softly.
"I know."
She hesitated. "Was it worth it?"
Kael looked down at his hands.
"Not yet," he said. "But it will be."