Resolve

Lian woke up to the sun stabbing through the slats of an unfamiliar window. The bed beneath him creaked with every shift of his weight, thin straw poking through the worn blanket. He lay there for a few moments, letting the strange silence of the world settle into his bones. No honking cars, no buzzing lights, no hum of city life. Just the distant cry of a bird and the clink of metal from somewhere below.

It hadn’t been a dream.

He was still in that other world.

His stomach made a decision before he did, growling loud enough to shake the mattress. Hunger. That, at least, was familiar.

Downstairs, a squat woman with sharp eyes and thicker arms than he’d ever seen slapped a bowl of gray porridge in front of him.

"You got coin?" she asked.

Lian blinked. "Uh... no. I just woke up here. I don’t really--"

"Then you eat once. Just this once. Next time, you pay."

He nodded, muttering thanks before shoveling the tasteless mush into his mouth. It sat like wet sand on his tongue, but he didn’t care. After that, she pointed toward the door with the ladle, and he got the message. Time to figure things out.

The streets of the city were loud and crowded. Stone-paved roads stretched between buildings of wood and clay, while bright fabrics hung from windows and awnings. Merchants shouted over each other, peddling spices, trinkets, and weapons. Everyone moved with purpose, weaving past armored figures whose very presence parted the crowd like a blade through cloth.

They wore shining cloaks, colored bands at their waists, and walked with a confidence that bordered on arrogance.

"Heroes," someone muttered beside him.

Lian turned. The speaker was a boy his age, or maybe a few years older, with shaggy blond hair and a chipped tooth when he smiled. He held a broom, the kind that suggested low pay and long hours.

"First time seeing them?" the boy asked.

Lian nodded. "Yeah. Who are they exactly?"

"Protectors. Glory-hounds. Depends who you ask." The boy leaned on his broom. "They’re the Gifted. Born with power. Real power. One of them can summon lightning from the sky. Another? He turns to stone and punches through walls. People love them."

"People like us?"

The boy laughed. "People like us don’t have the luxury to love anyone. We rely on them. That’s different."

Lian frowned. "Rely on them how?"

"Monsters. Bandits. Warlocks who’ve lost their minds. You name it. They come down from the hills or out of the forests, and we’d be dead in days if not for the Heroes. So we give them everything. Food. Gold. Shelter. Praise. Whatever keeps them happy and close."

Lian watched as one of the cloaked figures strutted past, laughing too loud at a joke only he found funny. The crowd parted, not from fear, but habit.

"And if they want more than we can give?" Lian asked.

The boy’s grin thinned. "Then they take it. Not all of them are bad. Most do what they’re supposed to. But power makes people strange. You’ll see."

He extended a hand. "Name’s Fen."

"Lian."

They shook, and for the first time since waking up in this new world, Lian felt something close to solid ground under his feet.

It turned out jobs were easy to find if you didn’t mind suffering. Lian spent the next few days running errands, cleaning stables, and hauling buckets for anyone who would toss him a coin. By the end of each shift, his muscles burned, and his clothes reeked. But the porridge at the inn was warm, and the straw bed was his, even if just for the night.

Still, every day brought the same pattern. A monster was spotted outside the southern gate. A Hero was called. Cheers followed. The Hero returned with a torn cloak, maybe a scratch or two, and a tale more exaggerated each time it was told. Coins poured into his hands like rain.

Lian watched from the sidelines. Always watching.

He started noticing little things. How Heroes arrived at the marketplace and took fruit without paying. How tavern owners offered them the best tables without question. How a child bumped into one and was slapped so hard he fell to the ground.

No one said a word.

"Why do they let them act like that?" Lian asked Fen one night as they sat outside the inn, sharing a crust of bread.

"Because we need them more than they need us. You want a better life? You become a Hero. Otherwise, keep your head down."

Lian stared at the stars. They looked the same as home, but colder somehow.

"How does someone become a Hero?"

Fen shrugged. "You go to the Guild. If you’ve got a Gift, they test you. If it’s strong enough, they register you. Give you quests. Titles. Power. And if you don’t have a Gift... well, you work your fingers to the bone for half a loaf of bread and call it a good day."

"And the Guild doesn’t help the ungifted?"

"They don’t have to. Why would they? They answer to the city. And the city only cares about what keeps it safe. The rest of us? We’re just background noise."

Lian’s fingers tightened around the crust. Not out of rage, but out of something heavier. Something colder.

Resolve.

"I’m going to the Guild," he said.

Fen looked at him like he’d sprouted feathers. "You just said you don’t have a Gift."

"I don’t. Not yet."

The Guild building loomed like a fortress. Polished stone. Golden banners. Carved symbols he didn’t recognize. Inside, it was worse. Chandeliers of glowing crystals hung from the ceiling. Heroes lounged on velvet seats, laughing, boasting, flirting. Their weapons gleamed even when not drawn.

Behind a high desk sat a girl about Lian’s age, flipping through stacks of parchment. She had silver hair tied in a braid and eyes like sharpened glass. When Lian stepped forward, she looked up.

"Name?" she asked.

"Lian."

"Purpose of visit?"

"I want to register."

She blinked. "Are you Gifted?"

"...No."

Her pen froze mid-scratch.

"Then you can’t register."

"I just want to help. I’ll clean. I’ll carry weapons. Anything."

Her expression didn’t soften, but she studied him for a moment longer than expected.

"Why?"

He hesitated.

"Because I’m tired of begging to survive."

The silence that followed was long enough to make him regret speaking. But then she sighed and slid a small card across the desk.

"There’s a board out back for mercenaries. Ungifted volunteers. They take the scraps the Heroes leave behind. Dangerous work. Low pay. No glory."

Lian nodded.

"And," she added, almost as an afterthought, "there’s a few weirdos who have power but no one wants to team with. You might get lucky if you convince them you’re useful. But good luck. Most of them would rather work alone."

He took the card, feeling the weight of it in his hand. His first real step.

"Thank you."

She didn’t smile, but she didn’t look away either.

"Try not to die," she said.