2-3

The docks of Armonia lay under a crisp midnight blue, cast in the quiet glow of the spatial moon. Light rippled off the rustling waves of Osiedi’s Gift. Shadow bugs chirped in a disjointed melody, their rhythm broken by the crashing tide.

The port was filled with big, fancy boats, some from realms thousands of leagues away. They bore sigils from their homelands—the golden arrow of Reneyan, the eye of the chimera from Myri. These ships carried the merchants and Archas Knight candidates who had flooded the city streets.

The docks weren’t far from the Scrapper’s District—riding along the southwestern coast, where the Flood District met the southern walls of Armonia.

Armonia, sitting just off the coast of the eastern continent, on the far west border of Attimus, relied heavily on commerce. Goods poured in from all parts of the world, making the docks a constant tide of movement.

Today, though, the docks were running on a skeleton crew—just a few armored guards and some servants cleaning the ships.

Reba scouted the area from the shadows.

The docks weren’t cut off from the public. As far as anyone knew, she was just a sailmaker who had forgotten something on a ship. Still, she stayed cautious. No telling how anyone would react were they to know a spirit was in their midst. No one would believe her anyway. If they did, they would ask her how she knew it, and that she would only tell her uncle.

He seemed to know that she was coming here. She was surprised that she got no protest from the man. For all his warnings about spirits and wraths, he seemed incredibly passive. Reba took it to mean he trusted her to deal with this. She wanted to prove him right in that regard. Maybe then he would let her join his company if the next time they met, she had a piece of the Coin Mimic as a trophy.

The red-roofed warehouse was the largest building in sight, right off the port facing the sea. It was used to store high-value cargo—locked at all times. Its frame was reinforced with thin steel plating, covering any spot a thief might consider breaking through.

“Just playing around, my foot. How’s a girl that small even get inside a fortress like this?”

Her first thought was to get on top of the red roof. Up there, she’d have less chance of being seen breaking her way inside. She carried a light leather satchel for her special operation. Conjuring took time, and so many tools she kept with her to reuse. In the satchel she carried a length of chain, a short staff, and a few other trinkets she never thought to get rid of. With these things, she made her plan: First, climbing a nearby building, then tossing a conjured chain over its smoke pipes, praying the metal was sturdy enough to hold her weight as she crossed.

When she landed safely, she looked for any possible entrances, settling on a high window on the seaside wall. She conjured a flat-headed crowbar to deal with it.

Leaning over the roof’s edge, she peeled the frame from the wall. Then, steel staff in hand, she swung inside the warehouse, landing on a stack of cargo crates before shimmying down to the floor.

It was even darker inside than it had been outside. The only light was the faint silver glow from the broken wall. Reba let that light guide her as she searched for anything resembling a treasure chest.

The warehouse was immaculate—clean and well-maintained. Most of its goods were sealed inside massive wooden crates. If she were a thief, which she definitely would look like if caught, she wouldn’t even know what to steal.

Nearly half an hour passed, and she found nothing. She was beginning to wonder if the girl had been lying. Maybe there was no chest. Maybe this was all a waste of time—

Bump.

A dull thud echoed from the other side of the room. Reba tensed.

Another bump.

Something was beating against the inside of a crate. She clenched her teeth and followed the sound. Her staff trembled slightly in her grasp.

Bump. Bump. Bump.

Each thud came harder than the last.

The crate shook, rattling against the floor as if something inside was tearing at its walls.

Something was trying to escape.

Reba pictured the greed spirit. A monster lurking beneath a pile of gold, waiting to lure in its prey. But this didn’t match the story she had heard as a child. The greed spirit was supposed to be a trap, a lure to tempt those seeking wealth. Whatever was in this crate wasn’t waiting to trap someone.

It was ravenous. A caged animal smelling blood.

She hesitated.

She had no gold.

If she were wrathed here, she would be stuck, next waking up many moons from now if at all. She wasn’t going to take that chance. She was going to strike first.

As the crate struggled against its own walls, Reba conjured a mallet head—nothing fancy, just a solid steel brick. Once the glass-like form was made, she stuck the end of her staff into it and fused the attachment. A trick she had learned from Uncle Kreo. “If you can’t carry all your tools, then a piece is better than nothing.” A tool didn’t have to be built just once. It could be crafted, adapted, and changed on the fly.

She braced her mallet, lifting it over her head, willing to let gravity do most of the work as she swung it down. But the crate flipped on its back. The mallet’s head crashed into the wooden floorboards instead, cracking them on impact.

The top of the crate sprang open. Reba barely had time to react, leaping backward to prepare for whatever creature was going to emerge from it.

“Here it comes.”

It came. Breathing heavily, gasping as if it had been starved of air.

A humanoid figure. Its hair showed the lightish hues of lavender.

And a meek, almost cute face.

Reba blinked, stunned.

It wasn’t a spirit.

It was a girl.

Tanned skin, thin, with a delicate, heart-shaped face. A child of Myr, unmistakable. They were the only people born with such strangely colored hair. Reba guessed she was around the same age as her—maybe a moon or two older.

She was immodestly dressed in a simple linen top dyed pink and baggy pants to match—far too large for her frame, like they had been made for someone else. And she was barefoot. But most notably, there was a strange scar cutting through her left eyebrow. Reba could barely make it out between the girls' covering fingers. But it seemed to resemble the number 13.

The Myri girl coughed, struggling to sit up. Her eyes were wide as castles, unfocused and darting, until she finally registered her surroundings.

Then she saw Reba standing there, braced for attack. A sharp squeal escaped her lips as she scrambled backward, pressing herself into a corner.

“Is this some sort of joke?” Reba let down her guard. “Why in the Thirteen were you in that crate? Don’t you know there are spirits around? I could’ve smushed you, and it wouldn’t have been my fault if it knocked you stupid.” She grumbled as she inched closer, but the Myri girl’s expression caused her to stop.

The girl didn’t look scared, exactly. More like… stiff. Like she was purposely trying to stone her own face.

“Did someone kidnap you, or is living in boxes just something you do?”

Silence.

The Myri girl held her breath like she was keeping a secret. Reba frowned, waving a hand in front of her face. “Are you in there?”

No reaction.

“Hellooo? Cat burn your tongue? Blink twice if you can understand me.”

No blinks.

Reba crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes. A challenge.

She pretended to turn away.

“BOO!”

No emotion.

She made a ridiculous face, squishing her nose and blowing out her tongue.

No emotion.

“I heard a joke about a roof, but it went over my head.”

Still. Nothing.

She even gestured with the punchline like it was the funniest joke of all time.

She groaned, giving up. “Look, I’m here to find a spirit. Just get out of here before you get hurt.”

She waved her hands, shooing the girl away.

“A spirit? No, you can’t.” The girl finally spoke. Her voice was shrill with a faint gruffness, like she hadn’t used it for a while.

Reba raised an eyebrow. “Ah. It speaks.”

“Yes, I speak! Why would you do something so stupid as to look for a spirit?”

“Stupid? I’m not the one who lives in a crate.” Reba huffed. “Besides, I’m a capable warrior, and I’m here to slay it. Now, go on.”

She turned away—really this time. But the girl moved to block her path.

“But… but what if it gets you?” she stammered. “What if it turns you into something?”

“It’s just a little greed spirit. Or… actually, its real name is the Coin Mimic. But as long as I don’t steal from it, I should be fine. If the stories are right.”

“I heard about that spirit. It’s Selplian.” The girl’s eyes locked onto her. “You’re Selplian.”

“Yes. I’m aware.”

“I won’t let you.” The girl spread her thin arms, blocking the space between the crates like a human wall.

Reba twitched. “You won’t let me?”

“No.” The once-blank expression had suddenly hardened into something stubborn.

“Listen, Crate Girl, no one asked you to get in the way. You’re free now. Go fly away or whatever Myri people do.”

But when she stepped left, the girl blocked her. She stepped right—blocked again.

“You don’t understand. You can’t just face a spirit that way. You have no idea what it can do to you,” the girl said.

Reba froze. Her face darkened. Her voice turned cold. “I understand completely. That’s exactly why I am going to kill it.”

The Myri girl’s posture faltered at the change in tone.

Reba shoved past her and resumed her search through the crates. The girl lingered, and a tinge of sorrow crept into her.

Then another noise. It sounded like a door opening.

Reba looked for the source of the noise. Then she heard a soft puff of smoke and then the sound of a rodent scurrying behind the crates. When she turned back around, the Myri girl was gone.

“Must’ve scared her off,” Reba muttered. “I’ve got to ask people how they just disappear like that. Seems like a useful trick.” She turned toward the first sound.

It came from the other side of the warehouse, an open space with a thin spread of crates. In the middle looked exactly like what she had come for—a big wooden chest with its top flipped open. Inside, it held the greatest riches anyone could imagine. Gold. Jewels. Treasure beyond measure.

The sight was mesmerizing, each coin and gem seeming to glow with an unnatural brilliance, feeding off some nonexistent light source to shine in the dim room. There wasn’t a soul around that could’ve opened it. And nothing that could’ve put it there in a spot that Reba had already determined was empty. Still, it begged her to come closer, to claim the wealth inside.

Reba caught herself staring too long and quickly shook off the temptation. Her fingers tightened around the handle of her mallet as she tiptoed forward, her heart pounding, sweat beading along her forehead. She kept one eye on the treasure and the other anywhere but, as if staring with both too long would overwhelm her.

She didn't know what triggered the wrathing—whether it was touching the gold, crossing some invisible threshold, or something else entirely. She had never seen it happen, only heard the stories. She didn't even know what to be afraid of, but the fear wrapped around her like a snake, squeezing tighter with every step. Now she was a foot away, close enough for the golden coins to be reflected in her wide grey eyes.

She exhaled, steadying herself. “I don’t see a spirit,” she murmured. “Well, it’s the greed spirit, so I s’pose it won’t show itself unless I…” Her voice trailed off as she reached out, hesitant, fingers hovering over the coins.

The moment her skin brushed the gold—

SLAM!

The chest snapped shut, nearly crushing her fingers. She yelped and leapt back, gripping her hammer, only to find herself staring not at a spirit, but at a small, lavender-shaded wolf pup with its paws pressed against the top of the chest.

It held an almost human-like seriousness in its multi-colored eyes.

“A dog?” Reba muttered, rubbing her fingers, still startled. “Where did you come from?”

She grabbed the pup by a heap of its skin. “Must just be a stray.” It began to tremble in her hands. “You scared of something?” Her eyes flicked around the room. “I guess there’s no way out for you, huh? All the doors are locked, and I got in through a hole in the wall. Were you stuck in a crate, too?”

It whimpered softly, and Reba felt something in her chest tighten. She looked back at the chest, now rumbling as if it, solely, was being struck by a quake of the earth.

She put the pup down and nudged it toward a safe corner. “Go hide.” It hesitated a moment and fled.

Then she watched the spasming chest. Perhaps it didn’t like being closed so suddenly before another potential victim. Or it was angered that the Selplian didn’t take the gold. But whatever it was, Reba was now certain that this crate contained the nasty aura of a spirit as the room shrieked to a chill. 

“You mad! Tell that to the wrath girl!” Without thinking, Reba kicked the chest over, sending its contents spilling onto the floor in a golden avalanche.

She held her breath.

The coins spread. And kept spreading.

Until one of them rolled on its side for a little too long and a little too far. And then…

It morphed.

From that tiny coin, a creature emerged. It was small, the size of a grown man’s forearm. Its skin was made of some blackened, rough leather. Its humanoid body twisted unnaturally as it pulled itself together. It wore a crown of jewels and held two blood-red jewels where normal eyes would be. But between them, at the center of its face, a single, golden eye flickered open.

Its form was still shifting, the last traces of golden metal dissolving into its dark hide.

It was the greed spirit in the flesh.

The thing that had haunted her nightmares as a child.

It was real. But she should’ve expected that.

Because in this world…

All bad dreams had flesh.

When Reba kicked over the Mimic’s chest, she didn’t know what to expect to emerge from it. A small part of her hoped it would be nothing but treasure. Then she might’ve been able to call an end to this fool’s errand and go home. But now, staring into the creature’s single golden eye, there were only two options:

Fight or be turned.

It wasn’t particularly large or outwardly intimidating, but its crawling, near-human body sent a chill up her spine. It looked like a demonic child, something clearly not of this world. Its mouth muttered unintelligible words, its eye darting wildly across the scattered gold.

Then, without so much as acknowledging Reba, it lunged for the coins scattered across the ground. Its grubby, muddied paws raked them into itself. At first, Reba thought it was simply hoarding them, but the treasure vanished as it touched the creature’s body, sucked into a hidden mouth. It was eating the gold.

Disgust, fear, and confusion tangled in her chest, but she wasn’t here to watch it consume its hoard.

She was here to slay a spirit.

Her grip tightened on her mallet as she charged. With a heavy swing, she swiped at the Mimic, but the creature reacted instantly, hurling itself away. It clung to the top of a stack of crates, its claws digging into the wood as it hissed and swung its arms wildly.

Reba braced herself as the scattered coins lifted off the ground and shot toward her in a frenzied hailstorm.

Conjurers weren’t supposed to be able to control their archaea after creation. That was the defining trait of most other wielders—fire, water, wind, even shadow. But spirits had never followed the rules of archads.

Reba darted to the side, her feet moving fast, but the barrage was too chaotic to dodge completely. Coins sliced across her arm, one gouging into her shoulder before she could dive behind a stack of crates for cover.

The onslaught continued. Metal pelted her weak cover, hammering against the wood like a relentless drum. The splintering of crates behind her rattled her ears, indicating she wouldn’t be long for this world without any defense.

In her satchel, she grabbed something she always kept handy for a fight—her shield. It was a small, round plate, similar in style to the ones used by the knights. But hers was sigilless, unmarked by any rank or allegiance.

She used her last length of conjured chain to fix the shield to her left forearm, just as another volley of coins whizzed past her head. The pain whizzed in her shoulder where the coins had already hit her. It was nothing she couldn’t ignore, but too many hits and she wouldn’t have to worry about being wrathed.

She needed a plan, a moment to breathe and take stock of the situation. But before she could focus, a small, shivering figure caught her eye.

The lavender pup was cowering beneath the onslaught, cornered by fallen debris.

The Mimic saw it too.

She cursed under her breath as the creature’s eye locked onto the pup. The Mimic tilted its head, its expression unreadable.

Then it lurched forward.

Reba reacted. She threw herself between them, shield raised, blocking the barrage of coins aimed at the defenseless wolf pup. The force slammed into her limbs, bruising and cutting, but she held firm.

“Not very good at hiding, are you?” she strained through gritted teeth.

The first moment the attack relented, she swung her shield outward, bashing the Mimic away. It screeched, scuttling backward into the shadows.

Reba scooped the trembling pup into her arms and ran for cover again. She tucked herself behind a building-sized tarped object before lifting its little face to look at it properly.

Its big, round eyes blinked at her, shining with something strangely familiar.

Reba frowned. “Spirits have no shame. Attacking a puppy like you’re some kind of threat.”

The wolf pup arched a brow, giving her a strangely unimpressed look for something that had just been inches from death.

“Guess I’ve got no choice.”

She pulled the blue-grey smithing cloth from around her waist and fashioned it into a sling across her back, securing the pup with a bit of extra chain. It was the perfect makeshift carrier.

“You better not pee on me or nothin’.” She felt it snuggling into her back with tiny whimpers, and she scratched her head, unsure of its warmth.

The Mimic scurried in the dark, coins clinking as it gathered them once more.

Reba rolled her shoulders, grip tightening on her mallet. “None of that gold’s gonna matter when I get ya. I’m gonna take your coins and finally get me that Basilisk Whale Stick.”

Outside the warehouse, the dock guards remained unaware of the chaos unfolding just beyond the doors of the red-roofed warehouse. They were occupied with something else—namely, a warm drink on a cold night, courtesy of a sweet old Selplian man who lived near the docks.

His name was Jacobi, but most called him Ol’ Joke. And Ol’ Joke had his ways. He had spent years pandering to the Attian white-coated guards, winning their favor with simple offerings. All it took was some warm milk on nights like these, and they loved him for it. They never let anyone mess with Joke or his home.

Inside that home, he kept a hidden stash—his entire life savings. Every sina he ever managed to save, a few hundred coins. It was enough for him to one day buy a small cottage outside the city walls, a patch of land where he could grow his own food and live out his days under the Mother’s light and Reneyan’s warm winds.

He was stingy with his coins. Never let anyone touch them or even know where he hid them. Not his kids. Not his neighbors, and barely himself. What little of it he did spend, he offered to the guards who didn’t realize they were being bribed.

So when the guards thanked him for his generosity, lazing about instead of working, Joke only smiled and thought, “Drink up, ya lazy bums. Just make sure no one gets in my stash.”

But tonight, something caught his ear.

A muffled banging from the red-roofed warehouse.

His bushy, greying eyebrows lifted beneath the rusted piercings on his face. “Umm… I think something’s happening in that building over yonder.”

“Nahh.” One of the guards waved him off. “We hear weird noises all the time. Just some rodents looking for a late-night snack.”

“Aye,” another said, yawning. “You wouldn’t happen to have any biscuits to go with this milk, would ya?”

Joke chuckled. “Why, it just so happens—”

CRASH!

The distinct sound of hundreds of coins hitting the floor echoed through the night.

And Joke would know that sound anywhere.

His smile faded. “Now, these ears still work, and I think you might have a thief.”

The guards groaned, but one of them finally relented. “Fine. I’ll go check it out. But when I get back, you'd better have some desserts ready.”

The man moved to unlock the warehouse door but stopped when he heard a rustling inside. His posture stiffened, and he quickly called the others over. The guards assembled at the door, forming a loose defensive stance.

Then, with a swift kick, it was smashed open.

“Stop, thief!”

Inside, they saw a young Selplian girl and a dog, wide-eyed over a scattering of gold coins.

Reba barely had time to react. “Wait! Close the door!”

But, of course, they didn’t listen.

She spotted the Mimic crawling down the wall, moving toward the now open exit, just behind the eyesight of the men. Without thinking, she hurled her shield at it, but the creature dodged, darting for the door. The guards remained oblivious, too focused on the girl in their midst to see that her throw was not aimed at them.

Reba lunged forward, but before she could reach the Mimic, a dogpile of guards slammed her to the ground. “Where do you think you’re going?” one of them sneered.

“You don’t—argh—there’s a… sp—spirit—” Reba growled, thrashing beneath the weight of three guards. She could barely move.

Her head twisted toward the streets beyond the door, scanning for any trace of the Mimic.

It was gone.