Morning in the Central Sector Dome Settlement began like it always did — a low hum of turbines and the faint scent of metal mixed with dew.
Kaodin stepped through the east gate, boots wet from condensation and moss that clung to the outer tunnels. His breath fogged faintly in the filtered air. He'd been out training again — alone, as usual — in the ruins where the old metro line vanished into the sewer channel beyond the dome's perimeter.
Down there, where the world was still cracked and half-forgotten, he could move freely — practice without eyes watching him. He'd tested again the techniques that came to him in flashes of memory:
"Kua Sat Hawk."
"I Nao Tang Grid."
The echoes of each strike still rang in his muscles.
He wasn't sure if he was learning, remembering, or creating something entirely new.
By the time he made it back, the artificial sunlamps were climbing through the copper lattice, painting the streets gold. The markets were already alive — vendors arguing, drones gliding overhead, the smell of oil, spice paste, and recycled steam rising through the air.
Cee-Too spotted him before he reached the plaza.
"There you are!" he called out, waving a delivery slip like a flag. "You went training again, didn't you? Mr. Cee-Ar-Tee said if you sneak out one more time, he'll install a tracker in your shoes."
Kaodin sighed. "You say that every time."
"And I mean it every time." Cee-Too grinned, tossing him the slip. "Anyway — errands. We've got crates to drop off at the central plaza. Trade orders already logged by Mr. Cee-Ar-Tee himself, so it's just delivery and signature pickup. Easy work."
Kaodin raised an eyebrow. "That's what you said last time — right before the mag-cart shorted out halfway across the district."
"That was… a learning experience."
"Uh-huh."
They loaded the crates — stripped alloy panels, scavenged circuit boards, old thorium filters — all neatly tagged and stacked per order. The mag-cart hummed to life, gliding over the polished walkways as they headed toward the trade sector.
The air grew hotter there, heavy with the scent of ozone and rust. Overhead, tangled cables sagged between towers of scrap metal, while flickering neon signs announced names of merchant guilds, repair shops, and barter houses.
It was the heart of CSDS — where every piece of survival had a price.
Talgat trailed behind, still uneasy in the dome's artificial calm. His eyes followed every hovering drone, his jaw tight.
"You'll get used to it," Cee-Too said, grinning. "Kaodin freaked out worse on his first day. Thought the Photonic Veil was going to eat him alive."
Kaodin gave him a flat look. "And you'll never let that go, will you?"
"Not until my memory core burns out," Cee-Too replied proudly.
The two made their way through the settlement's central plaza, hauling crates of scavenged circuit boards, stripped alloy panels, and a few sealed packets from the outer ruins — each marked with Zhang Bo's insignia.
It was a routine run. In CSDS, scavenger teams traded their finds through official channels, where everything was weighed, logged, and taxed through Zhang Bo's registry network.
The market buzzed with life. Merchants barked prices from behind stalls built of welded scrap and old vehicle frames. Purified water, synth-fabric, drone parts, thorium batteries — everything had its place.
As they walked, Kaodin noticed something odd about the way Cee-Too moved—his stride too smooth, too consistent, like a machine perfectly calibrated. When they passed under the neon signs, the reflected light caught faint metallic threads beneath his collar, gone in a blink. Kaodin blinked again, wondering if his eyes were playing tricks on him.
The hum of automated scales and the rhythmic beeps of Crypthorium credit transfers gave the plaza a mechanical heartbeat.
Cee-Too led Kaodin toward the weighing station, where several traders gathered to oversee transactions.
Among them stood Daren, broad-shouldered, with silver lenses grafted over both eyes; and Garo, lean, sharp-faced, his voice like gravel dragged through oil.
Both men were long-time merchants — shrewd, dangerous, and too comfortable with power.
As Kaodin set down a crate, he caught their voices drifting behind a stack of freight containers.
"—that android, the one always with the boy," Daren muttered. "Custom-grade frame. You can see it in the exo-fiber — Mrs. Hong's signature weave, no mistake."
Garo snorted. "Mrs. Hong… the daughter of the Augment Grandmaster before the Collapse, right? Her line of prototypes could buy a city — if anyone still had the means to build one."
"Exactly," Daren said. "Sell one of those, and you'd own a fleet of traderships. And that scavenger kid — Kaodin, or whatever they call him — he's not just muscle. Look at the way he moves. There's something off about him. You find the right buyer, he'd fetch a fortune."
Kaodin froze mid-motion, one hand on the crate. The merchants' words cut through him like cold steel.
His grip tightened. His breath steadied — but he didn't turn.
It wasn't the first time he'd heard whispers like that, but hearing it here, inside the settlement he called home, stung more than the wasteland wind ever did.
The sound of metal weights clinking on scales filled the silence between words — greed humming in rhythm with trade.
Then, a new voice broke through — calm, deliberate, and edged with quiet authority.
"Enough."
Qiran stepped out from a nearby stall. His long coat was clean despite the dust — the mark of a man who still believed in order amid ruin. His tone carried the weight of command without raising a single decibel.
"Give them a break," he said evenly. "They're just kids. And unless memory fails, we all swore an oath — never to trade anything that would drag this settlement back into barbarism."
The chatter dimmed instantly.
Daren's jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Garo muttered under his breath, pretending to inspect the scales.
Qiran's gaze swept the room — measured, sharp.
"If we can't keep even a sliver of decency," he said, "then what's the point of rebuilding markets? Civilization isn't about profit. It's about purpose."
No one dared argue.
From the counter, Cee-Too returned with the stamped tally slip, catching the last of Qiran's words. He gave Kaodin a sidelong glance — a wordless see? not everyone's rotten.
Kaodin exhaled slowly, the tension easing from his shoulders, though Daren's words still lingered like ash under his skin.
Mr.Qiran's Office – Merchant Managerial Representative
Before Kaodin and Cee-Too could follow Qiran into the back corridor, a voice called softly from behind the counter.
"Sir, the next appointment is due in twenty minutes. You might want to finish before the trade council starts."
The speaker stepped forward — Miss Elara, Qiran's secretary.
She was perhaps in her late twenties, tall and graceful, her hair tied back in a silver clasp that caught the lamplight. A light-blue sash crossed her uniform — half functional, half decorative — and her smile carried warmth rather than formality.
Qiran turned with mock despair. "Elara, my dear, you wound me. I was about to impress these two fine young men with my economic wisdom, and now you remind me of bureaucracy."
She folded her arms, amused. "You're about to flirt your way out of another council session, aren't you?"
"Flirt?" Qiran pressed a hand to his chest theatrically. "I merely offer goodwill where it is most deserved. The art of diplomacy begins with appreciation."
Elara rolled her eyes but laughed — the sound light, genuine.
To the boys, she said kindly, "Don't let him talk circles around you. He's good at it. And if he offers to make you tea, be warned — he adds too much lime."
Cee-Too grinned. "Sounds like someone keeps him in line."
Kaodin, slightly red-faced, mumbled, "She reminds me of my sister… if I ever had one."
Elara's expression softened. She crouched slightly to their height, brushing the dust from Kaodin's sleeve. "Then take this as a compliment, little brother. Keep that straightforward heart — the world needs more of it."
Qiran chuckled behind her. "See, this is why I keep her around — she makes me look humane."
"Only because someone has to," she replied dryly, handing him a datapad. "All shipment logs updated. Try to avoid starting any philosophical revolutions before lunch."
As she turned to leave, Qiran called after her, his tone playful but sincere: "Elara, if civilization ever collapses again, I'll rebuild it just so you can nag me in peace."
"Then I'll make sure it doesn't," she said over her shoulder, smiling.
The door slid shut behind her with a soft hiss.
The room felt quieter afterward — the echo of laughter replaced by the hum of data screens and the faint steam of tea.
Qiran sighed, still smiling faintly. "Brilliant woman. She keeps this place running better than half the traders out there. And people think leadership is about shouting orders."
He turned serious, motioning for the boys to sit.
"In truth," he continued, "it's about knowing who to trust, when to listen, and when to act. Commerce, politics, survival — they all run on the same principle."
His voice shifted — lighter again, teasing but edged with gravity. "Learn that, and you might live long enough to flirt with fate the way I do."
The boys exchanged puzzled looks but listened.
Kaodin couldn't help but think that beneath the merchant's polished humor and playful charm lay a man who understood far more about people — and danger — than he ever let on.
Then Qiran leaned back, his business face fully returning. "Now, where were we? Ah, yes — the Crypthorium exchange."
"Let's finish this properly," Qiran said, breaking the brief silence that followed Daren's retreat. "I'll have the acceptance note prepared with the total weight confirmed and stamped. Once I've checked the haul, I'll notify Cee-Ar-Tee or Cee-Too to collect the Crypthorium unit as payment."
He turned halfway toward the boys, coat rustling faintly. "Any questions before we proceed?"
Cee-Too raised a hand casually. "No, sir. Actually, I already got the slip from the tally while Kaodin handled the weighing — so we're good. Right, Kaodin?"
Kaodin blinked, caught off guard. "Uh… right, but… sir — earlier, you mentioned something called a Crypthorium unit. If it's not too much trouble, could you explain what that is?"
Qiran's lips curved into a knowing smile. "Curiosity. Excellent. That's the one currency I never tax. Come along — let's make this trade educational."
He gestured toward the corridor that led into his office. "And if we're lucky, the tea's still hot."
The merchant's office was a sanctuary of old and new — warm lamplight glinting across steel counters, stacks of ledger tablets, and relics of forgotten centuries.
An ancient set of mechanical weighing scales — restored and polished to a dull bronze gleam — stood proudly near the center of the room. Its twin plates still balanced perfectly, suspended by taut cords that creaked softly when the air shifted.
Kaodin's eyes caught on it. "That's… old," he said.
"Older than the Collapse," Qiran replied with quiet pride. "A real trade relic. My grandfather claimed it once belonged to a merchant who sold spices between Bangkok and Calcutta — back when trade meant trust, not code."
He brushed a hand over the scale's plate, almost reverently. "You weighed your goods, your word, and your worth. Lose balance, and you lost everything. Funny how that part hasn't changed."
He motioned for the boys to sit on two rust-worn stools nearby. "Now, let's talk about how the world forgot its own balance."
He poured steaming tea into cups — each with a thin wedge of lime resting on the rim — and took a slow sip before continuing.
"Centuries ago," Qiran began, "currency was born from mathematics. Invisible coins, encrypted into digital ledgers — cryptocurrency, they called it. Code and computation replaced gold and silver. People thought themselves clever."
He leaned back, his eyes glinting with the reflection of the old scale. "But then came the machines — quantum minds that could break any code before it was written. Overnight, value became meaningless. What used to take a scholar's lifetime could be undone by a child with the right processor."
Cee-Too frowned. "So the whole system just… stopped?"
"Collapsed," Qiran said simply. "Because when trust disappears, so does civilization."
He gestured toward the faintly glowing capsule on his desk — a small cylinder pulsing with soft golden light.
"That's where Crypthorium came in. A new form of currency, rebuilt on something tangible again — energy. Each unit is a fusion of cryptographic verification and thorium decay yield. It can't be forged, can't be copied, and if tampered with, it detonates. Poetic justice for thieves."
Kaodin leaned forward slightly. "So… people trade with that?"
"In this age, yes," Qiran said, smiling faintly. "It measures work, not wealth. A single Crypthorium unit can power an android, fuel a city block, or buy a lifetime's worth of food if you're clever. It's power — literal and political."
He turned the capsule slowly in his fingers, the light glimmering like captured fire. "Energy and trust. Two things humanity keeps trying to separate — and never can."
Cee-Too tilted his head. "So… you control all that?"
Qiran chuckled. "Control? Hardly. I regulate. There's a difference. Control breeds rebellion. Regulation breeds respect. And civilization survives only as long as people respect the balance."
He set the Crypthorium capsule beside the old weighing scale, letting the contrast speak for itself. "Two tools. One measures the weight of matter. The other, the weight of faith. Both break if greed leans too heavily."
The boys fell quiet. Even Kaodin — who'd faced monsters and ruins — found himself humbled by the simple gravity of Qiran's words.
Qiran exhaled slowly, softening his tone. "Still, mark me — gold will return someday. When men stop fighting for survival and start chasing dreams again, they'll crave beauty. They'll lust after that yellow, gleaming promise of eternity. It's foolish, it's human, and it's what drives us forward."
He smiled wryly, eyes narrowing in thought. "But until that day, Crypthorium is our lifeline. And it must remain pure. No black-market enhancements. No weaponized trade. No corruption of code. That's the rule of my office — and the foundation of this settlement."
Kaodin nodded slowly, absorbing each word. "So… trade isn't just about money here. It's about trust."
Qiran raised his cup in salute. "Exactly, lad. Civilization doesn't die when the money runs out. It dies when people stop believing in fair exchange."
For a moment, the room held a rare quiet — the hum of the converter blending with the faint metallic ticking of the antique scale.
Then Qiran's smile returned, lighter now. "And that concludes today's sermon. Now, finish your tea before Elara comes back and reminds me I'm late for the council meeting."
Cee-Too smirked. "Does she always do that?"
"Every single time," Qiran said, laughing. "And that, my boys, is why this place hasn't fallen apart yet — good systems, good women, and bad tea."
They laughed together.
As they rose to leave, Qiran slid the stamped trade slip across the table. "Take this to the east counter for your payment. And remember—" his gaze softened, almost paternal, "—honest trade may not make you rich, but it'll keep your soul intact. In this world, that's rarer than gold."
Kaodin bowed slightly. "Thank you, sir."
Qiran smiled. "Anytime. You two are the future merchants of whatever's left of humanity — might as well start learning early."
They stepped out into the sunlit corridor, the air buzzing faintly with the hum of market life returning.
Behind them, Qiran lingered by the old scale, eyes fixed on the glowing capsule beside it.
"Balance," he murmured under his breath. "Always balance."
They thanked him once more and stepped outside into the bright, hazy air of the market district.
Just as the door slid shut behind them—
The air buzzing faintly with the hum of the marketplace.
Kaodin shielded his eyes against the glare — a blend of natural light and solar mirrors — as Cee-Too tucked the stamped trade slip carefully into his vest pocket.
"Think he really meant all that?" Kaodin asked quietly.
"About trade or about gold?" Cee-Too shrugged. "Probably both. The guy talks like he owns the world — and maybe he does."
Kaodin smiled faintly. "Still… I think he believes in what he said."
"Yeah," Cee-Too said. "That's what makes him dangerous."
The two laughed softly and made their way toward the plaza, the crowd's hum swelling around them again — chatter, metal clinks, and the rhythmic hiss of drones weaving through air ducts above.
Behind them, the office door slid shut.
Inside, Mr. Qiran lingered near the antique scale, the faint golden light of the Crypthorium capsule washing over his face.
For the first time that morning, his smile faltered — replaced by something quieter, almost wistful.
He glanced toward the door where the boys had disappeared and murmured under his breath,
"How I wish the world weren't so harsh. I would've wanted kids of my own, too."
A soft knock interrupted the thought. The door slid open again.
Elara stepped inside, datapad in hand, a gentle smile already forming when she saw him lost in thought.
"Meeting in twenty minutes, sir," she said, moving with practiced grace to set a cup of fresh tea on his desk. "I've updated the trade summary and filtered out the flagged transactions from last quarter."
Qiran looked at her — the way her silver clasp caught the light, the steadiness in her voice, the small kindness in every movement — and smiled faintly.
"Or maybe," he said quietly, half to himself, "I should try asking you if you'd agree to that."
Elara arched an eyebrow, not missing the tease. "To what, exactly?"
"Nothing yet," he replied smoothly, recovering his grin. "Just a hypothetical investment — long-term, high-risk, but possibly very rewarding."
She sighed, but there was warmth in her eyes. "You never stop bargaining, do you?"
"Only when the trade's fair," Qiran said, his tone softening as he turned back to his desk.
Elara shook her head, smiling to herself as she gathered the meeting files. "You'd make a terrible husband, Qiran. You'd negotiate the wedding vows."
"Exactly," he said with a grin. "Efficiency saves heartbreak."
Her laughter echoed faintly as she left the room again, and the door hissed shut.
For a moment, silence settled — broken only by the quiet hum of the Crypthorium converter and the ticking of the old mechanical scale.
Qiran exhaled softly, gazing once more at the door. "A joyous wish indeed," he murmured.
Then, with a small shake of his head, he straightened his coat and turned back to his datapads, the warmth of his brief smile lingering long after he was gone.