The trio of Xain, Zee, and Larkin sat around a wooden table on the first floor of the inn they'd been staying at. The afternoon light filtered through windows, casting warm streaks across the floor. The common room wasn't bustling, but it wasn't empty either—a handful of patrons lounged about, engaged in quiet conversations over half-finished meals and mugs of ale and other beverages.
"So, what did you want to talk about, old man?" Xain asked, leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed lazily over his chest as he shot a glance at Larkin.
Larkin exhaled like life itself had become a burden. He dug into his coat pocket, fingers fumbling around before pulling out the coin pouch. It hit the table with a dull thud, sagging like it was ashamed of itself. The faintest jingle of metal barely followed.
"We…" Larkin started, then rubbed his face with both hands before slumping forward, elbows on the table. He gripped his head dramatically, groaning like the weight of the world had just crushed him. "Are runnin' outta coin!" he blurted, his voice louder than necessary.
A few heads turned their way, curious glances cast from nearby tables.
"Hey! Quiet down!" snapped a sharp-voiced waitress from across the room, her hands on her hips.
"Sorry, sorry," Zee quickly apologized, giving an awkward smile in Larkin's defense.
Larkin didn't even seem to notice. He kept his head buried in his hands, staring despondently at the coin pouch like it had personally betrayed him. "Ugh… what should we do?" he mumbled.
Xain arched a brow. "Are we really running out of coin? How much do we even have left?"
Without a word, Larkin snatched the coin pouch, upended it, and dumped its contents onto the table. A measly pile of ten iron crowns scattered across the wooden surface with a faint clatter.
Both Xain's and Zee's eyes went wide.
"That's it?" Zee exclaimed, her voice just shy of a shout.
Larkin gave a solemn nod, his expression grave as if he were mourning the loss of a dear friend.
Xain quickly ran the numbers in his head. *Ten bronze coins make one gold coin, and five gold coins make an iron crown…* That meant they had the equivalent of fifty gold coins. Not exactly enough to live comfortably—especially in a city like Arcadicia.
"Wait, hold on," Xain said, leaning forward, suspicion creeping into his voice. "How did we spend so much coin so fast? Didn't Malvin give us sixty iron crowns?"
Larkin scratched his scruffy beard, then lazily held up a finger. "Well, we've been stayin' here for twelve days. One room costs two gold coins, but I haggled it down to five gold total. So we only had to pay one iron crown for the whole stay. Food costs about two iron crowns a day. Add that up, and yeah… it drains fast."
Zee hummed thoughtfully. "Makes sense."
But Xain wasn't convinced. Something wasn't adding up. He squinted at the pile of coins, tapping his fingers on the table. "Wait, wait, wait—if we're spending three iron crowns a day, we should have twenty-four iron crowns left. Not ten."
Zee's eyes narrowed as she quickly did the math in her head. Realization dawned on her face. "You're right!"
She turned sharply to Larkin, her expression shifting from confusion to... well more confusion honestly. "Where's the rest of the coin, Larkin?"
Larkin suddenly found the wall to his left incredibly interesting. He scratched the back of his neck, his gaze avoiding both of theirs. "Well, uh… I kinda… drank a lot, so…"
His words trailed off, his awkward chuckle doing little to ease the tension.
Xain didn't respond right away. His expression softened with quiet concern. He leaned forward slightly, voice low. "Larkin… are you alright?"
Larkin ran his hands through his hair, fingers tangling in the messy strands as he pulled in frustration. His voice rose, panicked and sharp, "This wouldn't be happenin' if those goddess damned demons didn't come!"
The words hung in the air, drawing attention from nearby patrons, again. The waitress from earlier snapped her gaze toward him, eyes narrowing with silent warning. Beside her, the innkeeper—an older man with thick arms and a perpetual scowl—glared, his stare heavy enough to carve stone. Larkin's mouth snapped shut, his face twisting into an awkward grimace as he slouched lower in his seat, muttering under his breath.
But the weight of frustration dragged his mind back—to the moment it all started unraveling.
---
"What do ya mean we can't get in?!" Larkin's voice echoed against the stone walls of the Aeruna border checkpoint, tinged with disbelief and rising panic. His arms flailed slightly, as if gestures alone could force the situation to change.
The border guard standing before him didn't even flinch. Dressed in worn armor that had seen better days, the officer crossed his arms over his chest, his expression carved from the same stone as the fortress behind him. His voice was flat, rehearsed, and filled with the exhaustion of a man who'd repeated the same answer a hundred times too many.
"What I meant when I said you can't get in," the guard replied dryly, "is that—you can't. Get. In."
Larkin's eye twitched. "But—but why!?"
The officer let out a long, suffering sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose like this was the fifth idiot he'd dealt with today. "Demons attacked the border over two weeks ago. Heavy casualties. We're waiting for permanent reinforcements. But," he added, his voice tightening slightly, "portals opened across the country, spewing out more of them. The Emperor's focus is on that now. So, until the situation's under control, no one gets in."
His tone had the finality of a slammed door.
Larkin opened his mouth again, words tumbling out like loose stones. "Bu—but—"
The guard cut him off with a curt wave of his hand. ""Don't worry. We expect to be done by the start of next month. Maybe a few days after that. You won't have to wait long."
His gaze shifted past Larkin to the horizon. "Besides, the Annual Tournament of Greatness is happening this month. Why not stay there and enjoy it? Witness some 'greatness,' as they say. The Emperor himself will be attending this year. Maybe you'll even catch a glimpse of His Majesty."
Then, with a faint, condescending smirk, he added, "I'm sure it'll be the first time you people see a man like that."
Disregarding the blatant racism, Larkin's shoulders slumped under the invisible weight of frustration and disbelief, his gaze dropping to the dirt beneath his boots. Behind him, Xain and Zee exchanged a quiet glance, the same disappointment mirrored in both their eyes.
---
Now, back in the confines of the inn, Larkin sat with that same defeated posture. Shoulders slouched, head down, his fingers idly tracing patterns in the worn grain of the wooden table. The pile of ten iron crowns sat there like an insult.
Across from him, Xain's mind raced. *What now?* They couldn't afford to stay here much longer—not with the coin draining faster than Larkin could drown his regrets in booze. And the alternative? Living rough in the wilderness again—and after nearly three weeks of that, none of them wanted to do it again.
But for three thieves, the answer was simple.
If you don't have coin—
Steal it from someone who does.