CHAPTER 5 — BLOOD AND COIN
Morning light slid through the cracks in the shutters, spilling thin gold lines across the rough wooden floor. The small room smelled faintly of smoke and cheap ale.
Adrian opened his eyes first. His body was rested, but his stomach twisted with hunger. The inn was quiet, except for the muffled voices from the hallway below.
Lucien sat cross-legged by the small table, sorting through a handful of bronze coins — their last ones. Kael leaned against the wall, staring out the window at the rooftops of Ardent Gate.
Adrian pushed himself up, rubbing his face. "How much?"
Lucien's expression was flat. "Not enough for another night here. Maybe breakfast, if we split it."
Adrian stood and looked toward the window. The early morning streets below were already alive — merchants shouting, wheels creaking, boots slapping on stone. "Then we work," he said simply.
Kael raised a brow. "Work where? We don't exactly have papers or a trade."
"Then we take anything that pays in coin," Adrian replied. "Manual labor, delivery, whatever gets food on the table."
Lucien gave a dry smile. "You're volunteering us for backbreaking work before breakfast. How noble."
Adrian ignored him, already pulling on his boots. "We start in the market quarter."
The air outside was crisp, carrying the scent of smoke, wet stone, and spiced bread. The Lower Market of Ardent Gate stretched before them — a maze of stalls, shouting vendors, and wagons loaded with goods.
The city had a pulse, rough but alive.
They split their focus — Lucien asking questions, Kael observing, Adrian scanning the crowd. It didn't take long to find opportunity.
A heavy-set merchant was yelling at his workers near a line of wagons stacked with crates. His face was red, his voice loud.
"Careful, you idiots! That's fine root from the North Fields!"
One of the workers slipped, nearly dropping a crate. The merchant swore.
Lucien stepped closer. "You need help?"
The man turned, eyes narrowing as he studied the three of them — strangers, lean and travel-worn, but strong. "You work cheap?"
Adrian nodded. "We work fast."
The merchant grunted. "Unload these wagons. Stack everything in the back stall. You finish by noon, I'll pay and feed you."
It wasn't much, but it was something.
By midmorning, the brothers were drenched in sweat. They lifted, carried, and stacked wooden crates filled with herbs, salt, and dried goods. The work was heavy but simple — rhythmical, almost meditative.
Kael moved with quiet precision, his motions efficient. Lucien talked little but watched everything — the layout of the market, the kinds of goods being sold, the people who came and went. Adrian just worked — steady, strong, unbothered.
The merchant watched from the doorway, muttering approval under his breath.
When they finished, he tossed each of them a small leather pouch. "Honest work. You'll eat well today. Go tell Mira at the corner stall I sent you."
They found the food stall easily — a crooked table under a red canopy, run by an old woman with sharp eyes. She served them steaming stew in wooden bowls, thick with potatoes, meat, and herbs.
They ate like men who hadn't seen proper food in days.
Lucien leaned back, exhaling in relief. "I'd forgotten how much better the world looks with a full stomach."
Kael wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "We'll need more days like this. Food, clothes, maybe a place that doesn't smell like rot."
Adrian nodded slowly. "And weapons."
Lucien raised an eyebrow. "Already thinking ahead."
"We can't rely on luck forever," Adrian said. "If this world runs on strength, then we need to be ready to fight for it."
Kael's tone was calm but firm. "Then we'll need coin. A lot of it."
They fell quiet for a moment, listening to the sound of the market — laughter, arguments, and the clink of coins changing hands.
The brothers stayed in the market until afternoon. With a few extra coins in their pockets, they bought bread for later and a pair of cheap shirts from a street vendor.
As the sun began to lower, they sat on the steps outside a tavern, watching the people drift by — traders closing their stalls, guards on patrol, and drunk laborers singing badly.
Lucien's eyes followed a group of men leaving the tavern. One had a bruised face and a torn sleeve. The other laughed, clutching a small pouch of coins.
"You should've seen it," the laughing man said loudly. "That pit fighter last night — smashed the poor bastard's jaw clean off. I made five silvers on that match!"
Kael's attention sharpened. "Pit fighter?"
Lucien smirked faintly. "Underground fights. I've heard of those before — illegal, brutal, and fast-paying."
Adrian's gaze stayed fixed on the men disappearing into the alley. "You think it's real?"
Lucien nodded. "Every city has a place like that. Men gamble, others bleed for their amusement. If there's money to be made there, we'll find it."
Kael frowned. "You're suggesting we risk one of us in some pit for a handful of silvers?"
Lucien shrugged. "I'm suggesting we stop starving."
The silence stretched. Then Adrian stood, his expression unreadable. "If the fights are real, we'll find them. Tomorrow."
As evening fell, Ardent Gate shifted. The bright chatter of the market gave way to murmurs, drunken laughter, and the distant hum of music. The lamps along the street flickered to life one by one.
The brothers walked through the lower quarter — the part of the city where stone walls gave way to dirt alleys, and where eyes followed strangers too long.
They passed a group of men gambling with dice, women calling from doorways, and a boy trying to sell rusted knives. The air smelled of smoke, ale, and rain.
Kael slowed his pace, glancing around. "Feels like the city's different after dark."
Lucien smiled faintly. "It is. Day belongs to the honest. Night belongs to everyone else."
Adrian kept walking, silent, focused. "Then we move in both."
They eventually stopped beneath a crumbling archway near the edge of the lower district. Beyond it, the faint sound of cheering drifted from somewhere underground — muffled, rhythmic, like the pulse of the city itself.
Lucien's eyes narrowed, the corners of his mouth lifting. "Hear that?"
Kael listened. "Sounds like a crowd."
Lucien's voice dropped. "Sounds like money."
Adrian looked down the dark alley ahead, the flicker of torchlight catching his eyes. For a brief moment, something in his chest stirred — instinct, anticipation.
He turned back to his brothers. "Tomorrow we find that place."
Kael nodded once. "And if it's dangerous?"
Adrian's reply was calm. "Then we find out how dangerous."
Lucien smirked. "At least we'll know where the real business happens in this city."
They returned to the inn late that night. The noise of the city faded behind them as they climbed the creaking stairs to their room.
Kael closed the door, setting the latch. Lucien dropped their small coin pouches on the table — the sum of a hard day's labor.
Adrian looked out the window again. The city below was a sea of lights and voices, restless even at midnight.
Lucien spoke softly. "You think fighting there is worth it?"
Adrian's voice was low. "If it gets us what we need, then yes."
Kael crossed his arms. "And after that?"
Adrian's gaze didn't move from the window. "After that, we buy weapons."
The candle flickered, throwing shadows across the room. For a few minutes, none of them spoke.
Lucien finally said, "Tomorrow, I'll ask around. The name 'Pit' should turn up if it's known. Once we have the place, we plan from there."
Kael nodded slowly. "We keep our heads down. No one here needs to know who we are."
Adrian gave a faint grin. "They'll know soon enough."
Lucien smirked. "Spoken like a man already planning to fight."
Adrian didn't deny it. "Let's see what the city gives us."
Outside, thunder rolled somewhere beyond the rooftops. Rain began to fall softly, tapping against the glass.
The three brothers sat in silence for a while — not as lost travelers anymore, but as men quietly carving their next move in a world that demanded strength.
And when Adrian finally lay down to sleep, he didn't dream of Earth, or of the past. He dreamed of stone rings, the sound of fists, and the glint of silver coins falling into an open palm.