The leap was not dramatic.
It was inevitable.
Days after leaving Lythar, the locomotive crossed the final coastal tunnels and emerged onto a steel bridge that revealed, in the distance, the silhouette of Vhal-Dorim.
The city did not rise.
It expanded.
Industrial towers competed for space with banking domes clad in wrought iron. Steam cranes moved metal containers with almost military precision. Armored ships rested in the docks like sleeping beasts, releasing rhythmic columns of vapor through their side valves.
The air tasted of salt, coal, and heated oil.
There, everything was in motion.
Rails connected the port to the commercial districts. Bells marked shifts. Signs in multiple languages announced auctions, maritime insurance, financing for experimental inventions.
Vhal-Dorim was not elegant.
It was efficient.
And efficiency generates power.
The bureaucratic process was not complex.
The city understood money.
Fees were paid. Forms completed. A name entered into municipal records. Basic residency permission and a provisional commercial license issued on sealed paper stamped with bronze.
Nothing grand.
Nothing suspicious.
In a city driven by capital, documents are merely receipts.
He now officially existed.
That was enough.
---
The conversion of capital required greater care.
The coins in his inventory were valuable — rare metals, old mintings, real weight. They could be converted into a significant sum in Elysion's local currency.
But converting everything would be imprudent.
He did not yet fully understand the Republic's monetary policy. He did not know the true backing of the central currency. He did not fully grasp the behavior of private banks in the face of the emerging crisis.
Centralizing all his assets within a system he was still studying would be equivalent to surrendering control.
Liquidity is power.
But poorly positioned liquidity is vulnerability.
He converted only the minimum necessary.
Enough for:
– Initial fees.
– Basic operating costs.
– Strategic acquisitions.
The remainder stayed under its original custody.
Diversification is not a luxury.
It is shielding.
---
The house came first.
An upper-middle district. Close enough to the commercial center to be practical. Far enough from the most turbulent docks to avoid undesirable noise.
Discrete façade. Solid structure. Adequate security.
Nothing extravagant.
Silent wealth provokes less.
The shop came next.
A prime commercial location, on a street frequented by bankers, investors, and bored heirs. The previous establishment had been a traditional jewelry store. Decades of operation. Old prestige.
But recent years had been harsh.
Protests in working districts. Credit tightening. Cautious clients.
The former owner was tired.
In debt.
Under pressure.
The mathematics were already against him.
Part of the payment was made upfront.
Part through assuming debts at reduced value.
Simple contract.
Fast transfer.
The old sign still hung above the door, slightly oxidized.
A jewelry store is a straightforward business.
Precious metals enter.
Precious metals leave.
Value is measurable.
Price is justifiable.
But jewelry competes with banks.
Relics compete with time.
He walked through the empty interior. Dusty display cases. A safe built into the wall. Solid structure.
Sufficient foundation.
He would not maintain the previous model.
Jewelry is a store of value.
Antiquities are a store of meaning.
And meaning is harder to calculate — therefore, more profitable.
He would not sell merely old objects to historians.
He would sell instruments of permanence.
Restored mechanical clocks that had crossed three generations.
Ceremonial weapons that symbolized lineages.
War furniture transformed into functional pieces.
Old safes with mechanisms still operational.
It would not be a store for contemplation.
It would be a store for acquisition of symbols.
Old objects.
Usable.
Carrying narrative.
He looked at the old sign one last time before removing it.
Predictable name. Too commercial. Limited.
The new name needed to suggest something deeper.
When the new sign was installed, the contrast was immediate.
Domus Memoriam.
House of memory.
It sounded ancient. Institutional. As if it had existed before that street had existed.
It did not evoke luxury.
It evoked permanence.
Memory is the most stable form of symbolic power.
Who controls memory controls narrative.
Who controls narrative influences value.
He stepped inside again and observed the reorganized space.
The display cases no longer exhibited mere pieces.
They exhibited implicit stories.
A functional astrolabe, still precise.
A military pocket watch, marked by a distant campaign.
A signet ring whose coat of arms no one there would recognize — yet which seemed to belong to someone important.
The price was not in the metal.
It was in what the object suggested.
That was when the thought arranged itself clearly.
Economics is a curious art.
Many insist on calling it science.
Others try to make it moral.
Some believe they can control it.
But it is nothing more than an organized reflection of what people desire.
And desire is more constant than it appears.
Currency was never merely metal.
It is trust made tangible.
It is promise compressed into solid form.
When it circulates, it does not carry only value.
It carries expectation.
The world likes to condemn greed as though it were an anomaly.
It is not.
What they call greed is almost always merely an attempt — sometimes clumsy, sometimes desperate — to secure stability.
Men accumulate not only from excess.
They accumulate from fear.
Fear of losing.
Fear of lacking.
Fear of depending.
Most do not want to dominate the world.
They simply do not want to be crushed by it.
They want enough security to sleep.
Enough recognition to exist.
Enough control not to feel small.
And when these things seem scarce…
they increase the quantity.
More gold.
More influence.
More credit.
As if quantity could resolve an absence that has no shape.
The economy responds to this with almost mechanical precision.
If the heart values security, the market will sell protection.
If it values distinction, it will sell status.
If it values permanence, it will sell assets that promise to endure.
There is no malice in the system.
It merely amplifies what was already there.
Currency does not create emptiness.
It only offers substitutes.
And substitutes are always negotiable.
It is curious how principles seem unshakable until scarcity knocks at the door.
Until wages are delayed.
Until risk increases.
Until uncertainty becomes personal.
Then values are reassessed.
Not from perversity.
From necessity.
The economy does not judge.
It organizes.
It transforms unease into flow.
Insecurity into investment.
Ambition into expansion.
Invisible gears moving visible gears.
Vhal-Dorim believed it was driven by steam and steel.
It was not.
It was driven by interest.
And interest rarely arises from excess.
It arises from the sensation that something is still missing.
Perhaps that is why markets never sleep.
There is always someone trying to ensure that tomorrow does not hurt as much as yesterday.
He observed his own reflection in the glass.
The objects behind him seemed to carry centuries.
Gold shines when polished.
But memory… remains even when the shine fades.
Promises move cities.
Credit moves governments.
Need moves men.
In the end, there is no need to control people.
It is enough to understand what they believe they need.
The rest… is merely accounting.
The bell above the door rang, brief and clear.
Footsteps crossed the threshold.
A young man entered.
The cut of his suit betrayed high-level tailoring. There was no vulgar ostentation — only belonging. The fabric fell with studied precision, adjusted to suggest power without begging for it. His boots did not creak. The floor seemed to accept him.
Two steps behind, a servant. Upright posture. Exact distance. Hands behind his back, gaze lowered enough not to compete, attentive enough to act before any explicit order.
Hierarchy consolidated.
The young man surveyed the interior with calculated attention. His eyes did not skim the shelves — they examined. They did not touch the pieces — they weighed them. Each antique clock, each carved box, each restored blade seemed subjected to a silent judgment.
He was not seeking shine.
He was seeking meaning.
He paused before a brass astrolabe polished by time, then before an old safe adapted to a modern mechanism. There was no haste. There was criterion.
The servant, discreet, observed as well — but observed the young man. Small adjustments in breathing, nearly imperceptible micro-expressions. He knew the pattern. He knew when something sparked genuine interest.
And that made the visit even more interesting.
Gepetto waited.
He did not advance. He did not offer explanations. He remained behind the dark wooden counter, hands resting with trained serenity. His gaze did not ask for purchase. It offered understanding.
The shop did not sell objects.
It sold symbols.
The young man finally spoke, his voice low, but steady:
"What do you recommend for someone who intends to… build something lasting?"
It was not a question about price.
It was about legacy.
Gepetto held his gaze for one second longer than protocol required.
If the client wanted gold, he would sell metal.
If he wanted security, he would sell mechanism.
If he wanted permanence…
He would sell memory.