Kaelen knelt in the dirt, his small, grey fingers tracing patterns over the 19 copper fangs he had
buried. The Abyssal Ledger chimed in his mind, its script cold and precise.
[CURRENT CAPITAL: 19x COPPER FANGS] [TYPE: STATIC (NON-PRODUCTIVE)]
[ANALYSIS: ASSET IS DEPRECIATING. RISK OF THEFT (LOW), RISK OF DISCOVERY
(LOW). DOES NOT GENERATE NEW VALUE.] [RECOMMENDATION: CONVERT STATIC
CAPITAL INTO AN ACTIVE, RECURRING REVENUE STREAM.]
He already knew this. Theft was a high-risk, low-yield-per-hour activity. The 19 coppers were not
the goal; they were the seed. A true sociopath, an efficient predator, doesn't just take—he builds
a system that funnels.
His target for this new system was already selected.
[TARGET: MOG ('ONE-EYE')] [AGE: 68] [PHYSIQUE: 4 (FRAIL, CHRONIC LUNG-ROT)]
[MANA: 0.1 (INERT)] [OCCUPATION: JUNK-DEALER, FENCE (LOW-LEVEL), INFORMANT
(LOW-LEVEL)] [THREAT LEVEL: 3 (LOW - ASSUMES NO GUARDS)] [NOTES: A 'NODE' IN
THE SLUM'S INFORMATION ECONOMY. WARY, ASTUTE (65%), GREEDY (80%).
SURVIVOR.]
Mog was the closest thing the Rag Market had to a central bank, post office, and news wire, all
operated from a tarp stretched over a mountain of refuse. He traded in everything: scraps, rags,
junk, rumors, and, for the right price, secrets.
Kaelen needed to establish a relationship. He couldn't do it by sneaking out; Mog was in the
most 'public' part of their slum section. He needed to be taken.
He found Elara mending a torn sack, her long, grey fingers working with practiced, weary speed.
"Market," Kaelen said. His vocabulary was still limited, a deliberate choice. A child who spoke in
full, complex sentences was a threat. A quiet, observant child was merely "strange."
Elara didn't look up. "No, Kaelen. It's not safe. Too many people."
"Want see," Kaelen insisted. He didn't whine or cry. He simply stood in her peripheral vision, a
small, unblinking, grey-skinned statue, and stared. His [SHADOW'S WHISPER] was not active,
but his sheer, unnatural focus had a similar effect.
A minute passed. Elara's fingers fumbled, dropping a stitch. [ASSET: ELARA] [EMOTIONAL
STATE: ANXIOUS (45%), UNSETTLED (70%)]
She let out a long sigh. "Gods, Kaelen, you have your father's eyes... Fine. Fine. But you will
hold my hand. You will not speak. And you will not let go. Do you understand?"
Kaelen gave a single, slow nod. [OBJECTIVE COMPLETE].
The Rag Market was a chaotic, sensory assault. The reek of unwashed bodies, spoiled food,
and raw sewage was overpowering. Dozens of slum-dwellers, their [STATUS: DESPERATE],
[STATUS: DISEASED], and [STATUS: AGGRESSIVE] all flashing red in Kaelen's vision,
bartered and screamed over piles of filth.
Kaelen's mind was a whirlwind of data. He was cataloging every face, every transaction, every
whispered argument. This was the true source of information.
Elara's grip on his hand was painfully tight. She navigated the crowd, her [STATUS: FEARFUL
(80%)] spiking, and made her way to Mog's stall.
"Mog," she said, her voice barely a whisper.
The old man, a gnarled creature with one milky, blind eye and one sharp, black one, was sorting
a pile of rusted metal. He grunted, not looking up. "Elara. Got nothin' for you. Unless you're
tradin'?" "I have this," she said, holding out the neatly mended sack.
Mog scoffed. "A rag. Worth a rag."
This was Kaelen's opening. Elara was occupied, her attention fixed on the negotiation. Kaelen,
using her body as a shield, stepped slightly forward.
"You buy secrets?"
His voice was a child's, a high, soft whisper, but it cut through the din.
Elara froze. Mog's gnarled hands stopped moving. The old junk dealer slowly turned his one
good eye, not on Elara, but down... down to the small, grey-skinned child half-hidden in her
rags.
"Kaelen!" Elara hissed, yanking his arm. "Hush! I told you not to speak! I'm so sorry, Mog, he's
just—"
"What kind of secrets?" Mog interrupted, his voice a low rasp. His [STATUS: WARY] spiked, but
[ASTUTE (65%)] was now [INTRIGUED (90%)].
Kaelen met the old man's gaze. There was no fear in his yellow eyes. Only a cold, flat,
transactional focus.
"Him," Kaelen whispered, with a tiny, subtle nod of his head.
Mog's eye tracked his nod. Fifty feet away, 'Slack-Jaw' was trying to sell a stolen boot. Mog
knew him.
"Slack-Jaw," Kaelen continued, his voice barely audible. "Hides his coppers. Tannery alley. Wall.
Third brick from the drainpipe. Five feet up."
The specificity hit Mog like a physical blow. This wasn't a child's rumor. This was precise,
actionable intelligence. Slack-Jaw was known to be a weasel who never seemed to have any
coin, yet always had enough for rotgut. Now Mog knew why.
Elara, hearing this, went pale with terror. She grabbed Kaelen, spinning him around. "He's lying!
He's just a child, he makes up stories! We're leaving, I'm sorry to bother you—"
"Wait," Mog's voice was sharp. Elara stopped, trembling.
Mog stared at Kaelen. The boy stared back, his expression as flat and cold as a winter stone.
This was no child. Not really.
"Audacious," Mog rasped, a sound that might have been a chuckle. "A cold little wisp, ain't
you?"
He looked at Kaelen, then at Elara's mended sack, then back at Kaelen.
"One copper," Kaelen said. "And bread."
Mog's one good eye widened. The boy was negotiating.
The old man held the stare for a long, silent moment. Then, the dry, rasping cackle came. "Heh.
Heh!"
He reached into a greasy pouch at his belt and pulled out a single, grime-covered copper fang.
He flicked it. It landed in the mud at Kaelen's feet.
"And for the sack," Mog said, his voice returning to its gruff business tone, "And the... 'story'. "
He shoved a small, hard, dark loaf of bread into Elara's hands.
Elara, confused and utterly terrified, grabbed the bread, scooped up the copper, and all but ran,
dragging Kaelen behind her.
As she pulled him away, Kaelen looked back over his shoulder. Mog was still watching him, his
single black eye narrowed in thought.
A new notification filled Kaelen's vision.
[TRANSACTION COMPLETE] [CAPITAL GAIN: 1x COPPER FANG, 1x BREAD
(LOW-GRADE)] [NEW ASSET ACQUIRED: 'ONE-EYE' MOG (INFORMANT/CLIENT, LEVEL
1)] [STATUS: INTRIGUED, WARY (70%)] [ANALYSIS: RECURRING REVENUE STREAM
'INFORMATION BROKERAGE' ESTABLISHED.] Kaelen now had 20 copper coins in his personal cache. But the 20th coin was different from the
19 he had stolen.
The 19 were just capital. The 20th was revenue. He had a business.