Chapter 01 ~ Zeno
The wooden room was a mess. A single, old-fashioned bulb hanging from a wire in the center of the ceiling cast a weak, yellow light over the chaos. This wasn't the chaos of modern paper; these were brittle, yellowed sheets, covered in frantic scribbles and hand-drawn maps, spilling from every surface. Stacks of thick, leather-bound books leaned precariously on shelves to the right and left, while others lay open and discarded on the floor. The bed was another battlefield of tangled blankets, more books, and a sea of crumpled charts. A simple clothes rack in the corner was barely visible under a heap of shirts and trousers.
Hunched over a small wooden desk, a boy was lost in his work. His eyes darted between three heavy tomes, splayed open, and the large sheet of parchment spread before him. He wasn't just reading; he was cross-referencing, deducing, extracting a single line of truth from a mountain of conjecture. He would sketch a line on his map, then his gaze would flit back to the books, his brow furrowed in concentration.
He absently scratched the side of his head with the feathered end of his quill. His dark green hair—not long, not short—was as unruly as the room. His eyes, a piercingly light blue, were magnified by the intensity of his focus. His square, black-framed glasses slid down his nose. Without looking up, he pushed them back into place with a single, practiced motion of his index finger.
Suddenly, he froze. His hand stopped moving. The quill hovered over the parchment, trembling slightly. He stared at the confluence of lines he had just drawn. A slow whisper escaped his lips.
"I finished it..."
He leaned back, his eyes widening. He blinked, as if waking from a dream. Then, a massive grin spread across his face. He shot up from his seat, snatching the map and holding it high above his head, the yellow light illuminating his triumphant expression.
"I FINISHED IT!" he roared, his voice echoing in the small room.
His victory was cut short. The leg of his old wooden chair snagged, and it tipped backward, sending him crashing onto the floorboards with a loud thud.
For a moment, there was only silence. Then, a laugh. He pushed himself up, still grinning, and rubbed the back of his head. He began moving with purpose, grabbing a few seemingly random items from the clutter—a small compass, a rolled-up waterskin, a small pouch of coins—and stuffing them into a dark green satchel. His blue eyes shone with excitement.
I am Zeno Tokima, he thought, a surge of pride swelling in his chest. I'm an adventurer. And my primary class in this world? You could say I'm a Treasure Collector.
He snatched a pair of black boots from the floor and sat on the edge of his cluttered bed to pull them on.
Sure, "Treasure Collector" is a bit general, he mused, tying the laces with swift, practiced movements. Even pirates and bounty hunters collect treasure. But I'm not like them. I don't steal treasure; I find it. I solve riddles and take on adventures that require brains, cracking puzzles... like the map I just finished.
He stood and walked toward the door. Beside it hung a long, slightly warped mirror. His reflection looked back at him: a confident, if slightly scruffy, young man. Faded light blue jeans, sturdy black boots, and a blue and white t-shirt with the word "Adventurer" printed in shining gold letters across the chest. Blue eyes, black glasses, green hair. He gave himself a quick, approving nod.
His green satchel was slung over his left shoulder, resting comfortably against his right hip. On his left wrist, he wore a simple bracelet made of polished green agate beads. He slung the strap of the satchel containing the new map over his head.
With one last, determined smile, he pulled open the door and stepped out, closing it firmly behind him.
He didn't walk; he ran, his boots thudding against the wooden floorboards of the hallway. He zipped past the open doorway to the kitchen without a word. From inside, a woman's voice called out. She had kind blue eyes and dark black hair tied back from her face.
"Zeno, where's the fire?!"
His voice echoed back as he continued his sprint toward the front of the house. "I'm about to have the adventure of a lifetime!"
The heavy sound of the front door slamming shut was the only reply.
The woman in the kitchen sighed, turning back to the pot bubbling over a stone hearth. "He'll be back in half a day," she murmured to herself, "empty-handed as usual."
Outside, Zeno hit the street running, a wide grin on his face. His satchel bounced against his hip with every stride. The street was alive. People in simple tunics, leather vests, and long dresses ambled along the cobblestones. The air was filled with the chatter of merchants, the clop of horse hooves, and the rumble of wooden cart wheels as they were pulled along. The houses were all timber-framed, their upper floors jutting out over the street below, creating a feeling of a time long before technology. Zeno glanced up, his grin widening at the sight of the brilliant blue sky, streaked with lazy white clouds.