The sun beats down mercilessly, turning the sand into a rippling sea of gold and heat. The carriage slows, kicking up dust that clings to the wheels, the leather, and the wood.
I stare ahead, blinking against the light. A small, leaning cabin sits stubbornly in the middle of the desert, patched and weathered, like it's been surviving on sheer stubbornness for decades.
The carriage halts. The driver drops the reins and gives me a curt nod. Just the sun, the sand, and me now.
"This is your new home," the driver says flatly, he throws my suitcase on the ground, then climbs back onto the carriage. With a crack of the whip, the horses move, and the vehicle disappears over the endless dunes, leaving nothing but a cloud of dust in its wake.
I blink, heart hammering. My stomach twists. The world stretches empty in every direction, barren and silent except for the faint hiss of wind over sand.
Alone. Completely.
I step down, boots crunching against the hard, sun-baked earth. My suitcase rattles as I lift it to the porch, its weight grounding me against the dizzying emptiness.
The cabin looms ahead, crooked and patched, but at least standing... Right? Actually no it actually might fall.
I take a deep breath. The wind tugs at my shirt, whistling through the gaps in the cabin's walls.
I glance at the horizon. The sun burns low, painting the sands in fiery streaks of orange and crimson. I am far from the mansion, far from my parents, far from everyone who ever judged me. How did the real Wonder feel...? Why did I get exiled? This wasn't part of the plot.
I push open the cabin door. It creaks loudly, protesting after years of neglect. The hinges groan as if warning me not to enter, and a sharp draft of hot, dry air rushes past, carrying with it the faint smell of dust.
Inside, the cabin is barely standing. One wall leans at a strange angle, patched with mismatched boards. The floorboards sag in places, threatening to give way if I step wrong. The roof is riddled with holes, letting shafts of sunlight pierce through in jagged lines.
I step carefully, boots creaking against the uneven wood. Dust rises with each movement, coating my shirt and settling in my hair. The air is still except for the faint whistle of wind squeezing through the gaps.
A small hearth sits in the corner, empty and cold. A single, rickety table leans to one side, and a chair missing a leg rests nearby. There's barely enough room to move without brushing against something unstable.
I glance around, stomach twisting. This place. This ruin—is going to be my home. My life, stripped down to bare essentials. No walls of marble, no servants, no watchful eyes. Just me, this cabin, and the desert stretching endlessly outside. Wow. This is even worse than my past life!
I take a slow breath, letting the heat and silence settle over me. My heart feels numb.
I drag my suitcase inside, brushing dust off my shirt, and then it hits me. My throat tightens.
I don't have any water.
Not a drop. Not a single bottle, jug, or hidden barrel. Just sand, heat, and the desert stretching endlessly outside. My stomach twists.
"Oh, come on..." I mutter, staggering back against the leaning wall. "This is great...!"
A sudden ping slices through the silence. A holographic interface flickers to life in front of me, glowing cold and sharp.
SYSTEM: [Young Master. You are dehydrated. Immediate action required. Do you want to survive or not? ]
I blink, startled. "Oh. You're back, system."
SYSTEM: [Obviously. You look like a mess. Water level critical. I assume you want guidance?]
I run a hand over my face. "Yes... yes, please... I mean thank you."
SYSTEM: [You're dehydrated. I have mapped a water source. Follow the trail. Don't die. <(￣︶￣)>]
It... Uses emoti-cons now?!
"...Right. Follow the trail." I mutter, already feeling absurd for talking to a glowing interface in the middle of the desert.
A faint line flickers on the dusty ground, only visible when I focus. A holographic arrow points the way, pulsing steadily.
SYSTEM: [Move. Stop whining. Your body will not survive heatstroke theatrics.]
I step carefully over shifting sand, my boots crunching softly. Each step feels heavier, but I force myself onward, following the system's glowing trail.
The desert stretches endlessly. The sun blazes down, turning the horizon into a wavering blur of heat and gold. I blink. Sweat drips down my forehead.
SYSTEM: [You're slow. Do you want to live or not?!]
"Yeah, yeah, I get it! I'm moving!" I snap back, wiping my face with my hand.
Finally, the trail leads me to a gentle rise. My jaw drops.
Below me stretches a city—bustling, alive, buildings clustered tightly together, streets crawling with people and carts. Water glints in fountains and canals weaving through the city.
My throat tightens again, but this time it's not thirst. It's awe. Civilization. Life. A world beyond the endless dunes. Maybe I can survive here after all?
SYSTEM: [City detected. Water detected. Survival chance: high]
I drop to my knees, gulping greedily from the small creek feeding into the city. The water is cold, refreshing, almost shocking.
"Oh... oh, that's perfect," I mutter, splashing more onto my face. My boots are soaked, but I don't care.
The city sprawls before me, a sea of sandstone and sun-baked bricks glowing golden-orange under the harsh desert sun.
Narrow streets twist between clustered buildings, their flat rooftops catching the light like molten gold.
A faint haze of dust and spice hangs in the air, carrying the scent of roasted nuts, dried fruit, and something sweet I couldn't name.
I step carefully into the bustling streets, my boots kicking up tiny clouds of sand. Stalls line the roads, each one packed with trinkets, fabrics, pottery, and strange foods.
The vendors shout prices and haggling customers weave through the crowded paths.
I pause, glancing at one small stall selling bright-colored fabrics. "I wonder... how much would it cost to just own a stall here? Sell stuff, make a little money."
SYSTEM: [You would have to pay with real-life currency. That isn't in the RP shop.]
I freeze, brow furrowing. "...RP shop?"
But before I can ask, a large shadow falls over me. I stumble back and bump into someone massive, warm and solid, shoulder-first.
"Oh! I-I'm so sorry!" I stammer, stepping back quickly.
The man is enormous, broad-shouldered, and built like a wall. His tanned skin is streaked with dust, and his eyes are sharp, scanning the crowd as if calculating every movement. He looks me over for a second before speaking, voice low but carrying authority.
"I'm looking for someone," he says, more statement than question, "someone reliable. Someone willing to work."
I blink, swallowing hard. "...I uh...maybe? I mean—"
SYSTEM: [Relax. You're being sized up. Don't embarrass yourself.]
I straighten, heart thudding. "I'm listening, sir," I manage politely, forcing my voice steady.
The man narrows his eyes, like he's deciding whether I'm worth it—or whether I'm about to run off into the crowd.
The desert city hums around us, golden light bouncing off the sandstone walls, but all I can hear is the sudden thrum of tension between me and this giant stranger.
Before I can respond further, the man grabs my arm—not roughly, but with enough strength that I have no choice but to follow him.
He pulls me into a narrow alleyway between two sandstone buildings, the heat and noise of the market dimming behind us.
The alley is dim, shadows stretching long across the sand-strewn floor. He stops and turns to me, eyes serious.
"Listen carefully," he says, voice low. "The work I'm offering... isn't exactly legal. You'll be... well, you'll be scamming people."
My stomach tightens. "...Scamming?" I repeat, cautious but polite.
He shrugs, like it's no big deal. "Everyone here does it. Sellers, buyers, even guards. It's the way things work in this city. You cheat a little, they cheat a little back. The city runs on it. You don't? You starve."
I swallow, hands clenching at my sides. "I see... I—I mean... thank you for telling me. I appreciate the honesty." My voice is calm, but my pulse is racing.
SYSTEM: [Warning: This is highly illegal. You are about to interact with con artists. Probability of minor humiliation: 94%. Probability of serious trouble: 67%. Do you really want this?]
"...I—I can't," I stammer, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. Before he can react, I turn on my heel and sprint.
Sand sprays into the air with each frantic step, slipping under my boots. A cloud of dust fills my eyes, stinging, making me blink and tear up.
I barely notice the way the city streets twist around me; all I feel is the urgent need to get away.
I don't stop until the city shrinks behind me, the golden sandstone buildings just hazy shapes in the distance. My lungs burn, my throat aches, my stomach growls. Sand clings to my skin, my hair, my clothes. I stumble blindly, guided only by the trail back to the cabin in the desert.
When I finally collapse onto the floor of the shabby cabin, my body aches from exhaustion. I curl up on the rough wooden bed, knees to chest, eyes half-closed, and let the hunger wash over me. Days pass in a blur of thirst, sand, and the gnawing emptiness in my stomach. Each day is longer than the last.
Finally, on the fourth day, desperation turns to determination. My stomach still protests, but my mind is clear. I need to know. I need to face him, the man with the offer, the one who saw me as just another tool.
The desert sun is brutal, but I push forward, each step bringing me closer to the city. Sand clings to my boots and pants, the wind carrying the scent of spices.
The city emerges on the horizon, bustling and alive, unbothered by my haggard appearance.
I grip the strap of my bag tighter, heart thumping. "I'm not running this time," I mutter to myself, determination pushing the panic down. My stomach growls, and my throat is parched, but I know I can't go back to the cabin hungry again.
I push through the throngs of people, the market's heat pressing down on me. The scent of roasted spices, baked bread, and sweat fills my nose, but I barely notice. My eyes scan every stall, every shadowed alleyway.
There. A familiar figure, broad and towering, moving with the same measured authority I remember. My heart jumps.
"Hey!" I yell, voice cracking from disuse. "You! The man from before!"
He freezes mid-step, head tilting slightly as if trying to place me in the crowded sea of people. The chatter of merchants and customers swirls around us, but for a moment, the world shrinks to just him.
The market noise hits in waves behind him—vendors shouting, metal clinking, people arguing over prices that probably change every five fucking seconds.
The man studies him. Calm. Unbothered. Like this is just another Tuesday in a city built on chaos.
"You came back," the man says finally.
"I did." Wonder swallows. His throat is dry, but not from sand this time. "I– I thought about it."
SYSTEM: [You took four days to decide on the obvious option. Impressive.]
He ignores it.
"I won't pretend I understand all of it," Wonder says, voice steadier now. "But I understand one thing. I can't survive out there alone like that."
The man tilts his head slightly. "So?"
Wonder hesitates, then he bows his head slightly.
"I'll do it. I'll learn..."
A beat of silence.
Then the man exhales, almost like he expected this from the start.
He turns and starts walking.
"Keep up."
Wonder follows immediately.
SYSTEM: [Congratulations. You have officially joined a morally questionable employment situation.]
"Yeah," Wonder mutters under his breath, stepping over spilled sand and market trash. "Not celebrating that."
SYSTEM: [You should. You were starving. Idiot.]
The man leads him deeper into the market—away from the clean stalls and louder crowds, into tighter lanes where the air feels heavier, more private. Less performance. More intent.
Finally, he stops beside a narrow stall tucked between two sandstone walls. It's not flashy. Bare wood. A cloth canopy. A few small objects laid out like they're pretending to be valuable.
"This is where you start," the man says.
Wonder looks at it, then at him.
The man picks up a small trinket—cheap metal, polished just enough to look important.
"First rule," he says. "Nobody here buys truth. They buy stories."
Wonder's fingers tighten slightly.
SYSTEM: [This is the part where you reconsider your life choices.]
The man sets the trinket down again.
"You want to survive? You learn to sell the story. Not the object."
Wonder stares at the stall.
The desert wind pushes through the alley behind them, carrying heat, dust, and the sound of a city that never stops negotiating.
"Okay." he says quietly.
The man nods once.
"Good. Then you're working today."
And Wonder steps behind the stall for the first time.
Wonder keeps blinking like his eyes are personally offended by the concept of sand.
He rubs at them again—too hard—wincing as grains refuse to leave like they signed a lease.
"Still in there..." he mutters, voice filled with annoyance.
SYSTEM: [Stop touching your eyes. You are making it worse.]
Before he can respond, the man exhales through his nose—long, tired, like he's dealt with worse problems.
He turns, rummages behind the stall, and pulls out a large cloak.
It's heavy. Rough fabric. Clearly made for function, not fashion.
He tosses it at Wonder.
"Put this on."
Wonder catches it awkwardly, nearly dropping it before wrapping it around himself. It swallows him a bit—shoulders disappearing into fabric.
The shade hits immediately. Instant relief.
"...Oh," Wonder says softly. "That's...actually really good."
SYSTEM: [Basic survival gear acquired! I would give you points but I don't want to.]
Wonder curses at the system in his head.
The man watches him adjust it, then gestures loosely toward the stall.
"We can negotiate more after you sell those, okay?"
Wonder pauses mid-adjustment.
"Sell what, exactly?"
The man points at the items laid out on the stall—small trinkets, cheap-looking metal pieces, polished stones, little carved tokens.
"Whatever you can convince someone has value."
Wonder looks down at them. Then back at the crowd flowing through the street—voices, bargaining, movement, constant noise.
His grip tightens slightly on the cloak's edge.
"I just... Talk to them?"
"Not just," the man says. "You make them want it."
Wonder nods slowly.
SYSTEM: [Instruction simplified: lie, but politely.]
"I don't like how you said that," Wonder mutters under his breath.
The man ignores that entirely.
"Stand there. Watch. When someone stops—don't freeze. Don't overthink. Just speak."
Then he adds, almost casually:
"And don't pass out. Sand's already doing enough damage for one day."
The man turns without another word, disappearing into the flow of the market like he was never really there in the first place.
Just like that—Wonder is alone.
Behind a stall.
In a desert city.
With sand still somehow trying to invade his eyeballs out of spite.
He stands there stiffly, cloak hanging off him like it was designed for someone twice his size. The trinkets on the table sit quietly.
A minute passes.
Then another.
Wonder shifts slightly.
"Do I just– wait?" he mutters.
SYSTEM: [Yes. Congratulations. You are now a decorative merchant.]
Before he can respond, a shadow falls across the front of the stall.
Someone stops.
Wonder looks up fast, it's a customer.
They stand there casually—arms loose, posture relaxed—but their eyes are already scanning the items like they're calculating it's worth.
Silence stretches for half a second too long.
Wonder's brain freezes.
SYSTEM: [Speak. Now. Or lose opportunity and dignity. ]
He clears his throat.
"Hello—welcome," he says quickly, then immediately regrets how fast it came out.
The customer tilts their head slightly.
Wonder rushes on.
"I mean—uh—these items are available. They're… uh… well-made. Locally sourced. I think."
He glances down at them like he's also meeting them for the first time.
Great strategy.
SYSTEM: [Excellent sales technique. Confusion. 'i think' really?]
The customer picks up a small metal trinket between two fingers.
"It's light," they say.
Wonder nods too quickly. "Yes. Very portable."
Another long silence, like he's waiting for Wonder to continue speaking.
"...And what does it do?"
Wonder pauses.
That is a fantastic question.
He looks at the trinket again. It looks like it does absolutely nothing. It is aggressively decorative.
"…It represents durability," he says carefully.
SYSTEM: [That is not a function.]
The customer hums, not convinced but not leaving either. They turn the trinket over slowly.
Wonder stands very still, like movement might ruin whatever fragile illusion is currently holding this situation together.
The desert wind passes through the alley behind him.
The stall creaks slightly.
The customer waits.
Wonder realizes this is it—first sale or first disaster.
And somewhere in the back of his mind:
SYSTEM: [Try not to panic. Or do. Its not like I care about what happens to you]
The customer turns the trinket over one last time, then sets it back down with a soft clink like it personally offended them.
"I'll think about it," they say.
Translation: not happening.
They walk off before Wonder can even attempt a recovery arc.
Silence drops back into the stall like a curtain.
Wonder just stands there.
"Okay," he says quietly. "That went... not great!"
SYSTEM: [Assessment: no sale. Emotional damage: minor. Skill level: unchanged. Infact I might have to change the skill level that you previously had, I clearly overestimated you.]
He exhales, rubbing his face under the cloak again.
"I think I did something wrong."
SYSTEM: [Correct. You spoke.]
"That's not helpful."
SYSTEM: [Accuracy is not meant to be helpful. It is meant to be accurate.]
Wonder stares at the trinkets again, like they might suddenly explain themselves out of pity.
A few seconds pass.
Another person walks near the stall. Slows.
Wonder straightens instantly.
Too fast.
The passerby glances once at the stall—
—and keeps walking.
No stop. No hesitation.
Just gone.
Wonder deflates slightly.
"Do I look suspicious or something?"
SYSTEM: [You look like someone who has not slept, eaten properly, or learned capitalism. So yes.]
He groans softly, leaning his elbows on the stall counter.
"This is harder than surviving the desert."
A breeze kicks through the street, lifting the edge of the cloak slightly. The city keeps moving—vendors shouting, coins clinking, life continuing like his failure is just background noise.
Wonder watches it all for a moment.
Then straightens again.
"...Okay," he says, more to himself than anything. "One more."
SYSTEM: [Finally. Persistence detected. Barely.]
Wonder straightens.
He shifts his stance, squares his shoulders under the oversized cloak, and tilts his chin up like he's suddenly remembered he's supposed to be someone important in this universe.
A confident pose. Locked in.
For a second, nothing changes.
Then—
Footsteps slow.
A shadow stops right in front of the stall.
Wonder doesn't move.
Inside his head, the silence is loud.
SYSTEM: [Oh. You activated 'fake confidence.' Risky choice... Can you pull it off?]
The customer stands there.
Looking.
Wonder's brain starts doing that thing where it forgets how words work.
Say something. Anything. Don't mess it up.
He clears his throat, slower this time—controlled.
"Welcome," he says, calm. "You're looking at quality goods."
The customer raises an eyebrow, clearly noticing the sudden shift in energy.
They pick up a trinket.
Turn it once in their hand.
"...These are from the lower district," they say casually.
Wonder pauses.
That sounds... specific.
SYSTEM: [Uh-oh. Customer has lore knowledge. Abort mission!]
He doesn't panic.
"...Yes, you have a good eye." Wonder says smoothly. "Sourced carefully."
The customer looks up at him now, more interested.
"And what makes yours different from the others?"
Ah.
The question.
The fork in the road between success and immediate humiliation.
Wonder looks down at the stall.
Trinkets. Stones. Little carved pieces that absolutely did not sign up to be described in detail today.
He takes a breath.
Then—just slightly—leans forward.
"They're not mass-produced," he says. "Each one is handled individually. That means...inconsistency."
The customer blinks and cocks his head sideways.
Wonder continues, steadying as he goes.
"But it also means uniqueness. No two are identical. If you're buying something here, you're not buying an item."
He gestures lightly at the trinket.
"You're buying a version of it that only exists once."
Silence.
Even the market noise feels like it dips for half a second.
SYSTEM: [Wait...that was actually competent. I'm mildly annoyed.]
The customer stands there, turning the trinket over in their hands like they're deciding whether it's worth continuing this conversation or just walking away and forgetting this stall exists.
"...How much?" they ask again, slower this time.
Wonder doesn't even blink.
"...Three silver coins," he says.
Silence.
Not the normal kind.
The you just said something insane in public kind.
The customer actually pauses mid-breath.
"...Three silver?" they repeat.
Wonder nods once, like that number was carefully calculated by ancient scholars instead of pulled from pure confidence and desperation.
SYSTEM: [You have selected: financial violence. This sale is fucked!]
The customer stares at him.
Then at the trinket.
Then back at him.
"You're joking," they say flatly.
Wonder doesn't break eye contact.
"...No."
Another long pause.
A vendor two stalls down laughs at something. Life continues. But here? Time feels stuck.
The customer exhales slowly through their nose.
"This is a common market trinket."
Wonder tilts his head slightly.
"Yes."
"Made of low-grade metal."
"Yes."
Another pause.
The customer looks like they're actively trying to understand what kind of scam is being attempted on them.
Wonder, meanwhile, is just trying not to panic while looking like he knows exactly what he's doing.
SYSTEM: [Is this because I forgot to give you a tutorial...?]
Finally, the customer sighs.
"Fine."
They reach into their pouch.
And drop three silver coins onto the counter.
Clink.
Wonder freezes.
The customer gives him one last look—half disbelief, half annoyance.
"You're either talented or insane," they mutter, then walk off.
Wonder stays still.
Eyes on the coins.
"I think I overcharged," he says quietly.
SYSTEM: [Correction: you wildly overcharged.]
He slowly picks one up. It's heavier than expected. Real. Solid.
"How much is this worth again?" he thinks.
A beat.
Then the system suddenly flares brighter in his vision like it's been waiting for this exact moment.
SYSTEM: [$$$ Currency Tutorial Initiated. $$$]
A holographic breakdown appears in front of him:
SYSTEM:
[Platinum / Jade: Reserved for royalty. Extremely rare. Worth ~1,000,000+ USD. Used in high-level contracts and elite trade. Value fluctuates heavily (similar to unstable high-tier investment assets).
Gold: Noble currency. ~10,000 USD. Used for large transactions and elite commerce.
Silver: Formal trade currency. ~1,000 USD. Standard for mid-level goods and serious market exchanges.
Copper: Common shop currency. ~100 USD. Everyday purchases.
Tin: Low-value common currency. ~10 USD. Used for small change, produce, and basic transactions. Highly volatile alongside copper.]
SYSTEM: [Reminder: you just asked for 3,000 USD like it was pocket change.]
Wonder goes completely still.
"Oh."
He looks down at the coins again.
Then slowly back at the direction the customer left.
"...I think I might be bad at this," he says.
SYSTEM: [Tch. Beginners luck. That's all.]
The sun finally starts to dip behind the sandstone buildings, turning the whole city into molten gold and long shadows.
The market noise doesn't stop—but it softens, like the city is finally exhaling after a long day of shouting at people.
Wonder stands behind the stall.
Cloak dusty, his hands a little sore, voice basically nonexistent at this point.
The table is empty.
Everything sold.
He stares at the small pouch in his hand.
Coins clink inside it when he tilts it slightly.
"...That's it?" he mutters.
SYSTEM: [End-of-day report initiated. ]
A small overlay appears in front of him:
[3 silver coins
5 copper coins
4 tin coins.
~3540 USD Acquired.]
Wonder slowly sits down behind the stall, letting his back hit the wooden frame.
"I thought I'd feel richer," he says.
SYSTEM: [You are richer. You are just bad at perception.]
He opens the pouch again.
Twelve coins total. Real value sitting in his hand, heavier than it should be.
He glances out at the market one last time.
People are already packing up stalls. Laughing. Counting.
"I did this all day," he says quietly.
SYSTEM: [Correct. You participated in capitalism tutorial mode. Level 1 complete.]
He leans forward, elbows on the counter.
"I don't know if I like this world," he admits.
SYSTEM: [Not required. You only need to survive it.]
The wind moves through the alley, tugging at his cloak.
He stands up slowly, slinging the pouch into his cloak.
The stall is quiet now.
Wonder has just tucked the pouch deeper into his cloak when he feels it—
A presence.
Behind him.
He turns slightly.
The man.
Same broad frame. Same calm eyes. Like he's been watching the whole day without ever actually being seen.
"...You did alright," the man says, looking at the empty table.
Wonder straightens a little. "I managed."
SYSTEM: [Translation: barely survived social interaction simulator.]
The man nods once toward the street.
"Come on. There's a tavern nearby."
Wonder blinks. "A tavern?"
"Food. Water. Noise. Less sand." The man turns already, like the decision is made. "You look like you're about to collapse."
Wonder hesitates for half a second.
His stomach answers for him with a loud, traitorous growl.
"Right," he mutters. "Okay."
He follows.
The streets are dimmer now, lanterns flickering to life along sandstone walls. The heat of the day fades into something cooler, more tolerable. The city feels different at night.
They walk in silence for a while.
Then Wonder speaks up.
"I made money today."
The man glances at him briefly. "I saw."
Wonder nods slowly.
They turn a corner.
A tavern comes into view—warm light spilling out from inside, loud voices, clinking cups, the smell of cooked meat and spice cutting through the desert air.
The man pushes the door open.
Noise hits immediately.
Laughter. Arguments. Life.
He tilts his head toward the inside.
"Go in," he says. "Eat."
Wonder pauses at the threshold.
"You're coming too?"
The man gives him a look like that's the dumbest question he's heard all day.
"Yes."
Wonder nods quickly. "Right. Sorry."
SYSTEM: [You are developing a habit of apologizing to everything with a pulse.]
He steps inside.
Warmth hits him first.
Then food.
Then the realization that he hasn't eaten properly in what feels like forever.
The tavern is loud in a way that feels almost comforting after the silence of the desert.
Wonder sits at a rough wooden table, shoulders finally dropping now that he's not standing behind a stall pretending he knows what value is.
A server drops off water first—cold, real, almost aggressive in how good it feels.
He drinks it too fast.
Then the man sits across from him, he pats his back.
No small talk. No easing in.
Just—
"So," the man says, leaning back slightly. "How much did you make?"
Wonder freezes mid-sip.
"...Oh."
He sets the cup down carefully.
"I'm not sure I understand the currency properly yet," he admits honestly. "But… I think it was three silver, five copper, and four tin."
Silence.
The man doesn't speak immediately.
His eyes narrow slightly.
"Repeat that."
Wonder does. A little slower this time, like maybe it'll sound less confusing if he says it like that.
The man just stares.
Then—
"...In one day?"
"Yes," Wonder says.
SYSTEM: [Subject experiencing economic shock.]
"That stall was basically junk," the man mutters.
Wonder tilts his head. "I thought so too."
The man exhales, rubbing his face once.
Then his eyes move—properly this time.
Up.
Down.
Taking in Wonder's cloak. The way it hangs. The fabric quality underneath. The clean edges trying to survive sand and neglect. The posture that's too naturally straight.
His expression shifts.
"Wait."
He leans forward slightly.
"Where are you from?"
Wonder hesitates. "North, I think."
That lands.
The man's eyes sharpen immediately.
"North," he repeats.
Wonder blinks. "Yes?"
The man's gaze drops again—this time more intentional.
"...A noble," the man says.
The tavern noise swells around them—laughter, clinking cups, the low burn of conversations that don't care who you used to be.
Wonder sits a little straighter under the man's gaze.
"I am a noble," he says quietly.
The words land heavier than anything in the room.
The man doesn't react immediately.
Just watches him.
Wonder exhales once, then adds, more carefully—
"Or I was."
The air between them tightens.
Wonder's fingers rest near his cup, but he doesn't drink this time.
"I was exiled," he continues, voice steadier now that it's out. "From up north. I don't have a house there anymore. No title. No access to anything that has worth."
He shrugs slightly, like he's trying to make it sound smaller than it is.
"Just a name people probably aren't allowed to say anymore."
"Exiled," he repeats.
Wonder nods once. "Yes."
Silence settles again, but it's different this time.
The man leans back in his chair, eyes narrowing slightly as he studies Wonder again—properly this time.
"That explains the clothes," he says.
Wonder glances down at himself. "These?"
"They're not merchant clothes," the man replies flatly. "And you're not used to living like one."
The man taps the table once, slow.
"So a noble gets thrown out, walks into a desert city, and accidentally makes more profit than half my workers on day one."
Wonder looks up. "I didn't mean to."
The man huffs softly—almost a laugh, but not quite.
"I know."
Wonder sits there for a moment, fingers still around the cup, the warmth of the tavern settling into his bones in a way he doesn't quite trust yet.
Then he looks up.
"...I never asked your name," he says.
The man pauses mid-sip.
For the first time, something like amusement actually shows on his face.
A short chuckle escapes him.
"You didn't," he admits.
Wonder waits.
The man leans back slightly, like he's deciding whether this is worth saying out loud.
"Call me Rahan," he says at last.
Wonder repeats it quietly. "Rahan."
Rahan nods once, like that settles something.
Then he stands.
"Finish your drink," he adds.
Wonder blinks. "Why?"
Rahan is already turning toward the door. "Because you're coming with me."
"W-Where?"
Rahan glances over his shoulder.
"Clothes."
Outside, the night air is cooler, sharper. Lanterns flicker along the sandstone streets, painting everything in gold and shadow.
Rahan walks with purpose, Wonder follows.
They stop at a row of stalls still open despite the hour.
The market is still alive, lanterns flickering as vendors start packing up. Rahan moves through it like he belongs to the whole place, stopping at stalls without hesitation. Fabric merchants, accessory stands, anything that looks even slightly useful.
Wonder barely gets a word in.
Rahan holds up clothes against him, squinting.
"Too plain."
"That one looks like it's offended people before."
"This... actually, wait."
He pauses.
This time, he doesn't immediately reject it.
A clean outfit—black sleeveless top underneath a jacket that shifts in color like moving water. It starts as a soft light cyan near the shoulders, then deepens as it flows downward into a rich ocean blue, like waves getting darker the further you look out to sea.
Rahan nods like he's made a very serious decision.
"Yeah. That one."
Wonder blinks.
Rahan is already paying.
As if that wasn't enough, he grabs one more thing off a nearby stand—a simple white hair tie.
"For your hair," he says, like it's a correction to the universe.
Wonder holds it for a second, slightly lost in the sudden shift of everything around him.
Rahan just grins at him, all confidence and no explanation.
"Now you look less like you crawled out of nowhere," he says. "And more like you're going somewhere."
----
The desert at night is different. Quieter. Colder.
The sand doesn't burn anymore—but it still shifts under every step like it's reminding him he doesn't belong here either.
The city lights shrink behind him.
Step by step.
Until they're just a glow on the horizon.
Then nothing.
Just him.
The wind.
And the long walk back. Fuck his legs hurt.
By the time the cabin comes into view, it looks exactly the same.
Crooked.
Like it's offended he ever left.
Wonder stops a few steps away from it.
Stares.
"...Yeah," he says under his breath. "Still terrible."
Wonder steps in slowly, setting the clothes down carefully—carefully, like they matter.
Because they do.
He unties the pouch.
Lets the coins fall into his palm.
They clink softly in the quiet.
"...I didn't starve today" he says.
SYSTEM: [Correct. Survival streak: 1 day. Don't get cocky.]
He shuts his eyes, drowsiness taking over him. He gives a slight smirk.
Maybe tomorrow he'd try not to charge someone three silver coins.