After the long shift, Larissa gathered the inn’s cleaners and kitchen staff into a line, ready to hand out their pay.

  Lorien felt hollowed by fatigue, forcing himself to stand straight—even though he was last in line.

  At last, the woman in the apron thrust a small bag of mixed-alloy coins into his hand, each stamped with the dragon’s crest.

  “There you go, your hard earned money.”

  “Only nine hundred?” Lorien examined the weight of it, raising a brow. “...Isn’t that two hundred less than last month?”

  “It’s because of all the times you were late,” she replied without remorse. “All actions have consequences.”

  Despite the warning, Lorien did not stare at his pay with disappointment. Money had meant less to him ever since he performed his first transmutation. He could summon rich materials with a thought—and though money had never ruled him, he understood how its absence made life harder for others.

  Back when Larissa threw away the bag full of gold, he also realized that many things could not be bought or repaid with wealth.

  Still, he felt indebted to her for all the trouble he had caused. The power to change the world did not seem to be the answer. Instead, she had asked him to change himself—the one thing he could not accomplish so easily.

  The next day, Lorien resumed his routine of attending university and gathering scrap to build a reserve of transmuted gold. This time, however, Aristarchus was gone from his stall. Lorien suspected it had something to do with his gift, yet he chose not to dwell on it.

  Perhaps it was already time…

  Instead, he spent the remainder of his free hours at the Church of Travellers in the heart of the East Port District, slipping coins into the charity vault while worshippers prayed silently to the God of Possibilities.

  “Your gesture is commendable, considering how little you earn,” Father Ben noted from behind as Lorien emptied the money from his monthly salary into the chest.

  “I was sheltered and fed with charity money once,” Lorien replied. “I just want to give back to the orphanage what I received.”

  Father Ben chuckled softly, rubbing his sculpted jaw. “As if that hasn’t happened already.”

  Still, Lorien’s eyes remained fixed on the chest—a question gnawing at him. “Father Ben, the Church of Possibilities has many resources, and it even has God on its side, right? Couldn’t it have solved everyone’s problems by now? Why still depend on people’s money to help others?”

  Though the question bordered on heresy, Father Ben received it as youthful bewilderment.

  “Even if God descended to satisfy every need, by the next day problems would still exist.”

  His voice was calm and steady, like a stone resting beside still water.

  Lorien frowned at the counterintuitive answer. “...How?”

  “Poverty, hunger, conflict, prejudice… These are intrinsic to human nature and free will. As long as our broken humanity persists, those ills will endure—regardless of how much providence intervenes.”

  “But if things can’t remain better, then what is the point?”

  At that, Father Ben’s expression turned serious and expectant. “What comes to your mind?”

  Lorien considered carefully. “You said as long as humanity exists… so if it didn’t, those problems wouldn’t exist either.”

  “A dangerous answer,” Father Ben replied. “Though it may appear logical, it ignores an important premise. We can always choose to be better without intervention. Even if that improvement does not last, perseverance still matters. True change is easier to achieve when everyone strives to change themselves rather than forcing change upon the world—especially because the latter invites conflict. Who can truly decide which vision of the world is better? Yet almost everyone can recognize which version of themselves is better.”

  Lorien fell silent, contemplating the missing weight of the cube on his right hand.

  “Then is it truly wrong to try to change things for others, even if it improves them objectively?”

  “If it were, we would not have that box in the first place,” Father Ben answered firmly. “Helping others often reveals more about one’s desire to help than about others’ problems. And even then, what is objective, good, or true becomes nuanced in the end—at least within the limits of human understanding.”

  Lorien listened quietly, reflecting on what he had attempted and what he still desired to do.

  “You could study Scripture to understand mankind’s struggles,” Father Ben continued, “but you are better off using your own hands. In the end, you may help more by creating solutions than by seeking understanding alone.”

  The priest stepped toward the altar to clean the ceremonial elements arranged across its surface.

  “Lorien, do you know why I helped you when we first met?”

  The silver-eyed boy shrugged.

  “Wasn’t it simply your job?”

  Father Ben smiled gently at the bold reply. “As a servant of God, I am bound to offer opportunity to those in need—not because all humans are the same. God, in His infinite understanding of possibilities, knows we are equal in what we may become while acknowledging our present differences, each of which holds value.”

  “What made me different from the others?” Lorien pressed.

  “Your talent and unusual nature were exceptional. At first, I thought you might be one of the ‘Gifted.’”

  “You mean those people who were randomly cursed or went mad?”

  “Madness is only one outcome. The ‘Gifted’ are said to bear blessings and curses at once.”

  The ‘Gifted’ had long fueled stories throughout the Republic. Some told of a man who gained the body of a beast. Others spoke of individuals granted unknown knowledge or memories from past lives. In distant lands, tales persisted of people vanishing without reason, and of others claiming to be visitors from different ages.

  It was believed that some among the ‘Gifted’ became saints—representatives of the God of Possibilities and foundational figures in society’s formation.

  “Are you saying I am one of those ‘Gifted’?” Lorien asked with rising anticipation.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Not necessarily,” Father Ben replied, scratching the back of his head. “And you need not be one to be special. What makes you stand out has always resided in your noble heart—and I believe it will remain, regardless of what comes to pass.”

  Lorien’s curiosity faded, though he acknowledged that he might have become something akin to the Gifted the moment he encountered the Vault.

  When he finished cleaning, Father Ben rose—his towering frame like a monument reaching toward the heavens. He extended a hand to Lorien.

  “I am heading to the police station to assess some newly arrived stray children. I know you are busy, but it seems you could use the company.”

  Lorien’s silver eyes drifted, recalling how he had disappointed his guardian at work.

  “I’m sorry, Father Ben, but I have duties at the inn’s kitchen. If you’d like, I can join you after my shift.”

  Part of him felt drawn to those who once shared his situation. In them, he saw lives that could be helped.

  The priest answered with a thumbs-up and a knowing smirk, allowing him to leave as evening settled.

  They met again when the clock struck midnight. By the time Lorien stepped outside, Father Ben was already waiting at the entrance.

  Larissa watched the two disappear into the cold, dark streets, her arms crossed.

  The towering skyscraper of the Police Command in the Central District was not a place Lorien wished to revisit—especially after recent events. Yet he felt safer under the Church’s presence, which commanded a certain respect from the authorities.

  Lorien and Father Ben walked past the main hall into the ward section, where inhabitants were held in temporary confinement.

  As he expected, a couple of children who had escaped from Low Liceas had already been caught by the police. The remaining detainees were mostly individuals involved in altercations or petty crimes.

  Lorien leaned against a cold wall with his arms crossed, watching Father Ben speak with the two strays. His attention, however, drifted toward the criminals lurking in the shadows.

  One particular figure caught his eye—a frail woman with long, unkempt hair. As he stepped closer to the bars, he noticed that traces of her natural beauty still lingered beneath the malnourishment. He had seen her before.

  His breath shortened as he recognized the sex worker from the slums—the first person to receive his gift of transmutation.

  A nearby officer noticed his reaction. “Do you know her?”

  Even the woman herself stared back at Lorien with distrust.

  Lorien swallowed. “Not really… I was just wondering why a frail woman is being held among criminals.”

  “Don’t let her appearance fool you. She is suspected of theft.”

  “I am not a thief!” the woman shouted. “You stole everything from me!”

  Her cry was raw and heartbreaking.

  “We found her carrying gold dust,” the officer explained. “We suspect it is linked to a new criminal trade emerging in the Low Liceas slums. There has been no formal accusation yet, but we have withheld the goods pending proper legal procedures.”

  The situation struck Lorien like lightning. Unlike him, the woman could not escape suspicion given her background. She had likely tried to sell the gold—hoping to change her fate—only to be seized and thrown into confinement, stripped of the miracle she once held with hope.

  In truth, Lorien found he could not blame the police as much as he blamed himself. His actions had led her—and perhaps others—to this outcome.

  “Isn’t there a way to help her?” he asked, grabbing the officer by the uniform. The man scratched his nose.

  “She can post bail. But people like her have no one to pay for it. Even then, she will remain under criminal investigation.”

  Lorien’s thoughts raced.

  He considered using his remaining gold to pay the bail, yet he knew he could not trade it without drawing suspicion. He even thought of bringing the Vault and dissolving the bars into air—but that would not erase her criminal status.

  “Two thousand Drakes. That should cover her bail, correct?” Father Ben intervened, his calm voice cutting through the tension. The officer straightened at once.

  “Since it is Church charity, half that amount will suffice…”

  Through Father Ben’s intervention, the woman regained her freedom. She wept, thanking the priest for his kindness and for believing in her.

  “Daughter, you have been granted a second chance. It was this young man who took interest in your case,” he said, gently guiding Lorien forward.

  “So young, yet able to see goodness in others… I will never forget your actions.”

  As the officer had explained, she was not entirely free from legal scrutiny. Fortunately, many lawyers in New Liceas offered charity work to those unable to afford representation.

  Lorien noticed a tall man wearing an elegant coat and dark gloves. His slicked-back hair and golden frames accentuated his chiseled features.

  The man’s gaze briefly crossed Lorien and Father Ben before dismissing them almost entirely. He addressed the officer instead as he approached the cell.

  “I’ll take it from here.”

  “Of course, Mr. Jor’Sen,” the guard replied, lowering his head.

  Later, Lorien met Father Ben again after the stray children had been transferred to the Church orphanage. Though no longer stationed there, Ben’Kairos remained deeply involved.

  “I’m sorry, Father… I will repay the thousand Drakes you spent as soon as I can.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” he answered gently. “It was not your fault, though you feel guilty. As you said, the Church holds enough funds for such matters. It may not mend the world’s wounds, but it eases the burden of those who live in it. For now, we can only pray that she strives to become someone new.”

  The incident left Lorien feeling as though he were standing upon thin ice. He once believed the trouble at the pawnshop had been mere carelessness—but now he understood more. It was as if the world itself rejected transmutation, spreading the guilt of his actions onto those he tried to help.

  Maybe the power to change the world was not a gift, but a curse—perhaps even a sin, as the book had suggested.

  That night, Lorien could not sleep. He wondered what had become of the others he had given gold to. The air drifting through the open attic window felt tense and sharp. He paced in circles until an untroubled voice pierced the silence.

  “You seem quite distressed,” Laplace said, concealing his pointed jaws behind a faint smile.

  “What did you do?!” Lorien shouted. The amalgamation of shadows merely pointed at himself.

  “I have done nothing. You, on the other hand, have been quite busy.”

  “That’s not it. You didn’t tell me the truth about the power to change the world. Transmutation might be something evil.”

  Laplace adopted a reflective posture before replying. “First, I told you more than you were capable of understanding. Second, a gun is not evil because it kills, but because someone chooses to pull the trigger. Do not mistake me for calling you evil, Lorien—only that you ascribe malice to something incapable of acting on its own.”

  “It wasn’t my intention to harm those people. You could have warned me…”

  Laplace remained silent for a moment before responding with a grin. “Would you have listened?”

  Lorien had no answer. He watched the shadowed creature drift toward his bed and sit upon it, like a guest making himself comfortable.

  “In the economy of men lies a fragile balance between labor, value, and price—a trinity ruled by supply and demand. Every object bears worth, and thus cost, under those principles. But tell me, what happens when that balance shifts? When something desired becomes easy to obtain? If every man held gold in his hand, it would become as common and cheap as air—provided demand does not rise accordingly. Value bends to need. Instead, would not a drowning man give anything for a breath of oxygen?”

  Lorien stopped pacing and crossed his arms, irritation plain on his face.

  “All that said,” Laplace continued, “the gold you conjured does not weigh the same as that earned through blood and sweat. Humans perceive that difference—through status, pride, expectation…”

  “So you are saying it is acceptable for the rich to possess everything while the poor remain with nothing?” Lorien challenged.

  “I am saying wealth follows possession. People are rich because they hold money—money that represents labor and value. If that money loses worth, so too does their wealth. A simple truth.”

  “It is not obvious,” Lorien muttered. “What if the world is wrong? And even then, is it truly wrong to shift that balance—even slightly—if it helps those who suffer?”

  Laplace did not deny society’s exploitation. The rich often claimed more than they needed; the poor received less than they deserved.

  The shadow’s grin widened, serpentine. “Let us assume that is true. What will you do about it?”

  The question echoed in Lorien’s mind. He clenched his fists, ready to answer—yet something in the demon’s tone warned him against playing along.

  In that moment of clarity, he realized the argument was futile. Action towards those he had wronged mattered more.

  He seized the nearby Vault from his workstation and stormed out of his bedroom, leaving the grinning shadow behind in silence.