The long, dusty road stretched endlessly ahead, winding through barren fields and crooked hills. On this worn path, a small convoy of three carriages and two carts rumbled steadily forward. The rhythmic creaking of wooden wheels and the occasional snort of horses were the only sounds, save for the whispering wind.
In the second carriage, two children huddled together on a rough bench. Wrapped in a thin woolen blanket, they slept soundly—one boy, one girl. Despite the bumps and rattles of the road, they clung to each other, warm in their shared slumber.
Seated across from them was a man with a long sword strapped to his waist. His face was rough and weathered, a crooked scar running across his chin, but his eyes softened as he glanced at the sleeping pair.
"Heh... Cute kids," he muttered, a wretched yet strangely gentle grin tugging at his lips.
Without a word, he reached into a weathered satchel at his side and pulled out a threadbare woolen sheet, its edges frayed but clean. He draped it gently over the children, taking care not to wake them.
Dawn's brow furrowed slightly in her sleep, and Dusk instinctively shifted closer to his sister. The man gave a small nod, then stood and moved toward the open end of the carriage, peering out into the road ahead.
They were heading toward Ram City, one of the largest trading cities in the region. The sword-bearing man was a mercenary hired to escort the convoy, and the two children—Dusk and Dawn—were merely passengers. Strays from the slums who had managed, by some stroke of luck and silver tongue, to board this caravan.
After the mercenary stepped out, Dusk's eyes slowly opened. He hadn't been asleep. He had only pretended to, out of habit—one learned quickly in the slums not to trust too easily. But this swordsman… he seemed different. His appearance screamed trouble, but his actions spoke of someone better than he looked.
Dusk remembered how the man had convinced the carriage driver to let them ride. Even though Dusk had paid with the few coins he and Dawn had saved, most wouldn't have given them the time of day. Getting a ride to a major city was no small feat for two kids with slum-born faces and tattered clothes.
A few hours later…
The convoy came to a halt. A murmur passed through the drivers.
A pack of wolves had appeared on the pathway. They weren't attacking, just crossing warily, ears perked and bodies low as they assessed the humans with glowing eyes.
The swordsman immediately placed a hand on his scabbard, standing alert. His gaze followed the wolves, calm but ready. After a tense few minutes, the animals slinked away into the woods.
Letting out a breath, he turned to Dusk. "Don't worry. Just like we fear them, they fear us too."
Dusk nodded. Dawn, still curled on his lap, remained asleep, her tiny fingers gripping his shirt.
Across from them, a young noblewoman sat stiffly, her gaze flitting toward the children only to flinch away again. She kept her distance, as if afraid proximity might make her unclean. Dusk noticed, of course—but he was used to it. No matter how hard he and Dawn scrubbed themselves clean, their worn-out clothes and sun-baked skin marked them as slum kids. Dirt, after all, could not be washed away from the soul in one night.
That evening…
The convoy halted in a triangular formation, carriages forming a makeshift camp with a bonfire crackling at the center. Shadows danced around them, chased by the golden glow.
Dawn munched happily on a small rice cake, crumbs sticking to her cheeks. Dusk smiled faintly beside her, content just watching her eat. He'd used their last coins to buy the cakes, but it was worth it.
Not far away, the swordsman was practicing his swings, his blade cutting clean arcs through the air. Dusk's curiosity got the better of him, and he scooted to the edge of the carriage to watch.
Suddenly, a low growl echoed in the distance. The swordsman's eyes snapped open. Without hesitation, he spun and slashed the blade toward the sound. A wave of shimmering energy burst from the sword, slicing the air with a dazzling light. It hit the ground a few meters away, carving a shallow trench.
A strange creature—about the size of a crocodile but shaped like a chameleon—screeched and bolted away on two legs.
"Night Chameleon," the mercenary muttered. "Not that dangerous. Just annoying pests."
Dusk's eyes sparkled with wonder. "What was that light? Was that... magic?"
The swordsman turned sharply. "Kid, don't say that word out loud."
Dusk blinked.
"Magic is something only wicked wizards and witches use," the man said in a low, serious voice. "The Church burns them on sight. If you're even suspected of using it, you're as good as dead."
Then his tone lightened again, slipping back into something more casual. "That wasn't magic. That was Divine Energy. A blessing from the Radiant God Himself. Mine's weak since I'm not with the Church, but it's still strong enough for chameleons and bandits."
"Divine Energy…" Dusk echoed. "Can I learn it too?"
The swordsman grinned. "Maybe. You'll need affinity for it. And lessons. Once you're in Ram City, you can find tutors. But it'll cost you—at least 200 Thales."
"Thales?" Dusk tilted his head.
The man chuckled. "Right. You're still used to Fins. One Thales equals twenty Fins. So 200 Thales… that's 4000 Fins."
Dusk's heart sank. He barely had two Fins left. Four thousand might as well be a mountain.
"Don't look so down," the swordsman added. "You might find a good job in the city. Some pay in Thales. If you're lucky, even in Diane."
"Diane?"
"One Diane is twenty Thales," the man explained. "Which is four hundred Fins. Pretty coin, eh?"
Dusk fell into thoughtful silence. The numbers spun around in his head, dizzying and distant.
"As long as there's status and wealth," the swordsman mused aloud, "the world will always split into two—the privileged and the pitiful. Power and money, kid. Only way to climb up."
He paused, then added with a knowing smirk, "Funny thing is, when people do climb up, they forget where they came from. They become the same people who once looked down on them."
Dusk didn't quite understand everything, but he listened. He always listened.
The next afternoon…
The city walls loomed into view—tall stone ramparts glinting in the sunlight. The gate of Ram City was massive, buzzing with guards, traders, and travelers. Horses neighed, merchants shouted, and children darted through crowds.
The carriage rolled toward the gate as Dusk stared, wide-eyed.
So this was Ram City.
A new beginning, probably.
----
Author Here:
Here is a chart:
| **Coin** | **Value** |
|-----------|-------------------------|
| 1 Diane | = 20 Thales = 400 Fins |
| 1 Thale | = 20 Fins |