Four Vagrants and a Gem

He pivoted on his heel, vanishing into the crowd before I could form another word. In the silence he left behind, a frustrating oversight pierced my thoughts: I had not even asked for his name. In this entire, sprawling world, I now knew the identity of only a single person—that pompous monarch, Ramstaros Imber IX. Or was it the third? My mind, for some reason, kept defaulting to "the third." It simply felt more appropriate for a man of his particular caliber, despite my certainty that he was, in fact, the ninth of his name.

My attention drifted back to the four disparate individuals who had, by some twist of fate, become my charges. The uncanny old man was positively beaming, his face a joyful cartography of wrinkles so profound it seemed he was on the verge of erupting with laughter. The acerbic woman, whose beauty was both a shield and a weapon, was pouting, her arms folded across her chest in a gesture of pure defiance. And the ethereal one, the silent beauty who moved with a grace that seemed to defy gravity, simply watched the scene unfold with those same placid, unreadable eyes. The only one who seemed to have grasped the embarrassing nuance of my recent exchange was the man from Nihon, the one with the spectacles.

He rested a compassionate hand on my shoulder. "I understand, my friend," he murmured, his voice low and sympathetic. "Your words were meant as a jest, but he perceived them as an insult to his pride."

Well, Four-Eyes, you’ve surprised me. It seemed a compassionate spirit dwelled beneath that analytical exterior. If I could, I would take back the patronizing flick I had delivered to his ear earlier. The memory of that petty act now left a sour taste in my mouth.

Untying the leather drawstring, I emptied the pouch's contents into my open palm. Instead of the familiar gleam of copper, silver, or gold from my former world, a cascade of unfamiliar currency spilled forth. The coins were minted from lustrous metals, shimmering in vivid shades of crimson, deep azure, and glossy emerald. They seemed to thrum with a faint, internal light, catching the sun in a dazzling display. Their sheer artistry suggested they possessed considerable value, but what that value might be, I hadn't the faintest idea.

With our pockets marginally heavier and our mysterious benefactor gone, we stepped from the regulated quiet of the Sovereign District onto the main thoroughfare. The envoy’s description had not prepared me for the reality. The road was a majestic river of polished alabaster slabs, fitted together with such flawless precision that they seemed to be a single, seamless expanse. A dozen automobiles could have driven abreast upon it with room to spare. Set far back from this central artery on either side were grand manors, each boasting its own private fields and immaculately manicured gardens—the estates, I presumed, of the lowest echelon of nobility.

We followed the stately avenue until it flowed into a grand plaza, an open space so vast it could have comfortably swallowed four football pitches. Its heart was a maelstrom of activity, a vibrant and chaotic symphony of life. The air thrummed with the polyphony of a thousand voices, punctuated by bursts of laughter and the rhythmic clatter of hooves on stone as carriages of every imaginable design navigated the throng. A sprawling, improvised marketplace flanked the plaza, its colorful stalls forming a canyon of exotic fruits, sizzling meats, and intricate handicrafts through which the crowd flowed like a relentless current. It appeared that while the districts we had passed through were governed by strict commercial regulations, this public square was a free-for-all, a bustling and unregulated nexus of trade.

Dominating the center of it all stood a colossal statue, a monument that rivaled Paris’s Arc de Triomphe in sheer height. It was a magnificent, stylized depiction of a great bird, its wings swept back as if in the final, powerful downstroke of flight. According to the history our guide had shared, this was the mythical creature that had borne the first humans—the nation’s founding ancestors—to this sky-faring archipelago thousands of cycles ago. In this realm, where a cycle was equivalent to a year, the legend was truly ancient. The great bird, not seen for centuries, was now relegated to the status of myth, a creature long believed to be extinct.

But ancient legends were a concern for another time. The more immediate problem was the question of what to do next. Had "we" already ceased to exist?

I gave the coin pouch a decisive jingle, drawing their gazes. "Alright, this is what he left for us," I announced. "So, what’s the plan? If you intend to go your separate ways, I’ll divide this among you now. The choice is yours."

The thoughtful man from Nihon was the first to speak. "Are you planning to go to the Explorer's Guild? To get registered?"

"No, I'm not," I stated plainly. "I have no intention of acquiring any official identity until I have a far better understanding of what that truly entails in this world."

"That is a pity. I plan to register immediately, so I suppose I will be heading there on my own." He looked to the others. "Will any of you be joining me?"

"No," the sharp-tongued woman snapped, her voice laced with contempt. "I am certainly not going anywhere with any of you men. You’re all a pack of degenerates." She wasn’t entirely off the mark; our initial assessments of her had been less than chivalrous. "Give me my portion. I’ll be on my way."

"As you wish, milady," I replied with a theatrical bow, opening the pouch. I counted out a share of the vibrant coins for her, and then another for the man from Nihon.

"That knife, too," she commanded, pointing a slender finger at the blade sheathed at my waist. "It was mine."

It was a simple, utilitarian dagger, the kind that appeared to be common in this place. She would have greater need of a means of self-defense than I. Without a word of protest, I unhooked it from my belt and offered it to her.

Witnessing this, the large, bashful man, who had seemed so imposing moments ago, looked at me with pleading eyes. "May I have my gun back as well?"

"No." My tone was firm, though I tried to soften the refusal. "Sorry, pal. This one, I’m keeping."

His broad shoulders sagged as he seemed to deflate. "Oh. Okay. That’s fine. You can keep it." For a man of his considerable stature, he was remarkably timid, an ordinary soul swept up in extraordinary events.

"And you, old man?" I asked, turning to the smiling elder.

"To explore! To have fun!" he boomed, his voice cracking with an infectious, youthful energy.

"Right. Going your own way, then." I split the remaining currency with him, though I pocketed the single, peculiar gem the envoy had given me. He had referred to the coins as "spare change" but had presented the gem to me as a personal gesture. I didn't yet comprehend the disparity in their worth, but dividing the money felt like the only equitable course of action.

As they all prepared to dissolve into the bustling crowd, I spoke one last time. "Hey! Seeing as we share a common origin and a rather bizarre fate, how about you tell me your names? We might run into each other again. I'm Axel, by the way."

The Nihon man turned back, a slight grimace forming as he tried to sound out the name. "Ak-seru?"

"No, Axel. A-X-E-L."

"Ah, a codename!" His face brightened with comprehension. "In that case," he proclaimed with renewed spirit, "I shall be known as Kyoto!" He wasn't far from the truth about my name; I'd lived with it for so long it felt more real to me than my given one. Kyoto. It suited him.

The old man followed his example, his wide grin stretching the network of wrinkles on his face. "Voktah!" he roared, a name that echoed like a clap of thunder. It was perfect.

I turned expectantly to the last member of our original group.

"We will not be meeting again," she stated, her voice as crisp and cold as a winter morning. "And I have no use for your names." With that final declaration, she turned on her heel and was swallowed by the throng.

"Alright, then! I’ll just call you Ms. Sexy Negligee if our paths do cross!" I shouted after her retreating form, a teasing smirk on my face. She didn’t grant me so much as a backward glance.

"Well, I suppose this is it," I said to Voktah and Kyoto. "Good luck out there." We exchanged a final, parting nod before turning and heading in our separate directions.

My mind already racing with plans and possibilities, I set a course eastward along the wide carriageway. I had walked for no more than a minute, the sounds of the marketplace beginning to fade behind me, when a peculiar prickling sensation crawled up the nape of my neck. It was the faint yet unmistakable feeling of being followed. This was not the surveillance of a curious guard or the stalking of a common thief, but a presence that was both there and not there—a shadow tethered to my own.

I stopped, feigning a casual glance back over my shoulder. It was her. The ethereal beauty. The silent one. She had stayed. I was beginning to suspect she was some kind of phantom assigned to haunt me.

I altered my course, ducking into a narrow, less-traveled alley that sliced through the space between two imposing manors. The air here was cooler, the noise of the city muffled. I waited, and she followed, her approach as silent as falling snow.

Folding my arms across my chest, I met her gaze directly. "Okay, we're alone now." Her own eyes, clear and deep as a forest pool, held mine without flinching, her expression as unreadable as ever. "If you wanted to speak privately, this is your chance."

Being followed by a woman of her arresting beauty was certainly not a hardship, but I needed to know who she was—and what in this world she could possibly want from me.