"Ah, for fu*k's sake," Alex muttered under his breath, his voice low and sharp, barely audible over the hum of the bustling city. The cool evening air bit at his skin as he stepped out of the healer's guild, the scent of herbs and antiseptic lingering faintly on his cloak. His hand tightened around the nearly empty coin pouch tucked inside his coat, its weight—or lack thereof—a reminder of his dwindling resources. "Almost out of money... and it's all because of her."
His frustration was a dark, coiled thing, pressing against the edges of his composure. Lyra. Even now, unconscious and bedridden, she was a problem he couldn't solve. He'd tried to kill her before—tried and failed. Something intangible, yet unyielding, had stopped him every time. It wasn't pity or hesitation; it was as if the world itself had placed a barrier between him and that final act.
His teeth clenched, but he forced himself to breathe deeply, grounding himself in the sights and sounds of the capital. The streets were alive with activity. Vendors called out to passersby, hawking everything from silks to spices. Magic lamps bathed the cobblestones in a warm, golden light, their steady glow casting long, shifting shadows as the crowd ebbed and flowed around him.
He hadn't wandered far before the scent of something sweet teased his senses. At the small crossroads, the same pastry stall he'd passed earlier caught his eye. The young woman behind it was still there, her smile unwavering despite the long hours. A basket of golden pastries sat in front of her, their aroma wafting through the air like a siren's call.
Alex hesitated, his tired body craving sustenance, though his mind screamed practicality. As he approached, the woman's eyes lit up with recognition.
"Traveler!" she called out cheerfully, waving him over. "You look like you've been through the wringer. How about something sweet to lift your spirits?"
Her voice carried an effortless warmth, one that grated against the sharp edges of his mood. Still, the pastries looked tempting—flaky, golden twists dusted with cinnamon and sugar. His stomach growled audibly, betraying his stoic front.
"I could use something sweet," Alex admitted grudgingly, his tone flat.
She laughed lightly, the sound disarming in its sincerity. "How about a cinnamon twist? Fresh from the oven. They'll put some warmth back in your step."
Alex narrowed his eyes slightly, scanning the pastries with a critical gaze. They looked perfect—too perfect. "How much?" he asked, his tone clipped but cautious.
"Two coppers each," she replied, holding one up as if to prove its worth.
Two coppers. He didn't know if it was fair or extortionate, but every coin counted now. His lips curled into a faint smirk. "Two coppers for one? That's steep. How about two for a copper?"
The woman blinked, clearly taken aback. She crossed her arms, her cheerful demeanor dimming slightly. "Two for a copper? You're kidding, right? These are freshly baked, not leftovers."
Alex didn't flinch. "You've got other customers, right? You'll sell out anyway. Two for a copper won't hurt your bottom line."
Her fingers drummed against the edge of the basket as she deliberated, her expression shifting between skepticism and amusement. "You drive a hard bargain, traveler," she muttered, shaking her head. Finally, she relented with a sigh. "Alright, two for a copper. But don't think this is a regular thing."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Alex replied dryly, handing over a single copper coin. He accepted the paper bag with a nod, his stomach already anticipating the meal.
The first bite of the cinnamon twist was a revelation. The flaky crust shattered between his teeth, giving way to tender, buttery layers beneath. The cinnamon hit him in a warm, spicy wave, perfectly balanced with the sweetness of the sugar. It wasn't cloying or overpowering—just right. There was a faint hint of caramel in the sugar's glaze, the kind of subtle touch that spoke of a baker who cared about their craft.
For a moment, the chaos of the world seemed to fade. The pastry's warmth spread through him like a gentle balm, easing the tension in his body. He allowed himself a rare moment of indulgence, leaning against a nearby wall as he savored the last bite.
But the moment passed, as all things did. Reality crept back in like an unwelcome guest, dragging his thoughts back to the weight in his pouch—or lack thereof. He pulled out the pouch and turned it over in his hand. The remaining coins clinked softly: fifteen coppers. That was it.
Alex let out a slow breath, his jaw tightening. The healer's guild had taken most of what he had, and now he was left with barely enough to last a few days. He stared at the small pile of coins, a deep frustration simmering beneath his calm exterior.
It wasn't the first time he'd been low on resources, but this was different. Before, he'd only had to worry about himself. Now, there was Lyra. Every coin spent on her was another he couldn't use for himself. Yet no matter how much he rationalized it, he couldn't shake the feeling that abandoning her—or worse—wasn't an option. The barrier blocking him wasn't physical, but it might as well have been ironclad.
With a sigh, he tucked the pouch back into his cloak. His gaze swept over the bustling market around him, its vibrant energy almost mocking in its indifference to his plight. Merchants shouted, coins exchanged hands, and the glow of magic lamps bathed it all in an otherworldly sheen.
Alex straightened, the faint sweetness of cinnamon still lingering on his tongue. He needed a plan—work, money, something to regain control of his situation. But for now, all he could do was endure.
He turned his gaze toward the healer's guild in the distance. Lyra was still there, unconscious and recovering. He hated the tether that kept him bound to her, yet he couldn't break it. Not yet. As much as he wanted to be free, he knew he'd have to help her first.
"Fu*k"