The morning light poured through the small, cracked window, casting a dull glow over Reid’s cot. He woke with a start, his body alive with energy and vigor, as though the night’s sleep had purged the weight of the grave from his bones.

Reid stared at the sagging roof above, the wooden beams warped with age and neglect. He needed to get some damn answers about this pesky rank system today.

The old woman had left him alone last night. She had given him a room—small, forgotten—but it was dry, quiet, and the perfect place to collect himself. Now, with the first light of day creeping into the room, he made his way down to the common hall. The air was thick with the smell of stale bread and something vaguely metallic, a reminder of how distant this place felt from anything real, anything substantial.

When he entered the dining room, he was met by nothing but silence. The room was empty save for the flickering hearth in the corner and the old woman behind the counter. She stood there with a quiet patience, her hands moving in practiced rhythm as she worked at a pot.

Reid took a seat at the far corner of the room, his eyes scanning the emptiness of the space. It felt like the town itself was made of the same hollow wood and dry dust that made up this inn. He hadn't expected warmth, but he hadn't expected this either. Not after the crowds and the gaudy inns of Grinholt.

The old woman soon came over with a cracked wooden bowl, filled with something that could only vaguely be called porridge. She placed it in front of him without ceremony, then took a seat across from him with a creak of old bones. She didn't speak at first, but her eyes, sharp like the blades of forgotten knives, watched him.

Reid broke the silence.

"Tell me about the rank system," he muttered, his voice low and edged with the quiet command that seemed to settle wherever he went. His tone wasn’t an invitation for a tale; it was a summons.

The woman’s eyes flickered with something like amusement. She set her hands in her lap, still watching him with the intensity of someone who knew better than to underestimate the silence of a stranger.

"You speak our tongue," she said slowly, as though considering his words carefully, "but you claim ignorance about our ways."

Reid’s lips curled in something halfway between a smile and a sneer. "Humor me," he said flatly. "I need to understand."

Her eyes seemed to soften for a moment, and then she gave a little shrug, as though deciding that a stranger’s questions were as inevitable as the sun. "Very well," she said. "You’re in the Kingdom of Anguth. It’s not like the plains you might have seen in other lands. We live here among the hills, in villages like this one, but the true heart of the kingdom beats in Dales."

"Dales," Reid repeated, the word feeling heavy, filled with more than just its simple syllables. He leaned back slightly, his fingers tracing the edge of his bowl as he waited for her to continue.

She was more than willing to. Her voice grew louder, more confident. "The kingdom's a strange thing, lad. Full of tribes, scattered in the hills and plains. It’s not all a kingdom, really. It’s a collection of sorts—tribes bound by gold and blood. Dales is the capital. A city built on laws that everyone breaks and obeys in turn." She laughed bitterly, a sound like old bark cracking. "In truth, it’s a lawless society held together by the strongest chains of gold."

"Gold," Reid murmured, eyes narrowing. "How does that fit with the ranks?"

"Ah," she said, her voice dropping into a rasp. "The ranks are everything. The Sadis are the lowest—commoners, like you or I, without much to their name except survival. Above them, you have the Marchios. Those are the ones who’ve scraped together just enough coin to afford the start of something more. They can buy their way into a place in society, buy a title, a place in the world."

Reid’s eyes didn’t leave her as she spoke. The words were like pieces of a puzzle falling into place.

"How do they decide?" he asked. "What makes someone worthy of a rank?"

The old woman shifted, leaning forward as though enjoying the darkening of his curiosity. "It’s all about the gold. Your net worth decides your rank. A Marchios holds at least five hundred gold coins to earn that title. Not much, really, if you have connections. But the real power, the real strength, is in how much you can gather. The higher your coin, the higher you go."

She paused, letting him digest the meaning of her words, before continuing. "After Marchios, you have the Xaldes, the Ravios, the Torriks, the Vandros, and the Malvor. Each step up requires more than the last. Each rank is more expensive, more exclusive."

"And the highest?" Reid asked, his voice quiet, but a dangerous edge creeping in. "What is the highest rank?"

"Vlad," she said simply. "A Vlad controls everything. The King himself is a Vlad. But there is not enough gold in this world to buy their way to the top that hold such power. It requires much more than that. They own the city, own the land. They are the law." Her voice softened. "And yet, the law is nothing but a means to control the rest of us. We fight for scraps beneath their feet."

Reid considered her words. The idea of a kingdom built on gold, not blood, was unsettling—yet oddly familiar. He could feel it pressing into his chest, the weight of it, the heaviness of the laws, the lives tied to wealth. It was a system that mirrored the emptiness inside him—where worth was measured by how much you could hold in your hand.

"How much gold for Vlad?" Reid asked, his eyes locking onto hers.

The old woman smirked slightly. "A Million. Maybe more. We never dared to ask."

He let the words hang in the air. Million coins to become a king, to sit above everyone else. It was a world where wealth determined everything—and he had none. He was a Sadis. But the word Vadi gnawed at him, a constant ache in his skull. It wasn’t a name. It wasn’t a title. What was it?

"And how does someone move through these ranks?" he asked, voice cutting through the silence that had grown between them.

"Earn gold. Spend it wisely. Protect it with your life, son. Buy loyalty, buy power. The King keeps it all tied in knots, but gold is the key. Nothing else matters here." The old woman’s eyes glinted as she spoke, a flicker of something darker passing through her gaze. "A Sadis, like you, would never make it to the top. But you could climb. You could climb until you reached the walls of Dales, and if you have enough gold—enough will—you can make something of yourself."

Reid stood, dropping the last of his porridge into the bowl, the words of the old woman lingering in the quiet room. His fingers gripped the edge of the counter, his gaze distant.

"I’m not here for gold," he said softly. "But I am here for answers. Answers I’ll find in Dales."

The old woman gave him a long, knowing look. Her voice dropped to a softer cadence, almost a whisper laced with amusement and warning.

“And answers, lad... are always paid for in blood and gold here. Dales does not open her gates to just any wanderer. Unless you’re a Xaldes, you’ll be turned to dust before you reach the steps.”

Reid leaned forward slightly, shadowed and still. “A Xaldes? How many coins buys that rank?”

“Five thousand,” she replied with relish, her eyes glittering with something between mockery and admiration. “And not the kind you find under pillows or buried in the woods.”

He considered the number in silence, jaw tightening. “Where would I find a Xaldes in Grinholt?”

The old woman’s smirk bloomed like a wound. “To ask him for work... or to slit his throat and take his gold?”

Reid let the corner of his mouth twist upward—wolfish, dangerous. “You know me.”

She chuckled, dry and brittle like crumbling paper. “Not in Grinholt, my dear. The ones here stay behind velvet and steel. Try Aldor, two days south by the trade route. You’ll find one there who fancies himself untouchable. But the road’s not free, and neither is Aldor. You'll need coin.”

Reid nodded once, slow and thoughtful.

The old woman leaned in slightly, lowering her voice again. “There’s an arena near the center of town. The kind of place where men bleed for applause. A large man with nothing to lose might walk out of there heavier with gold... if he walks out at all.”

He reached into his pouch and dropped a copper on the counter, not out of gratitude, but as payment for the words. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

His boots thudded against the wooden floor, each step echoing through the silent inn like a war drum in a hollow hall. At the door, he paused.

“You’re no ordinary Sadis,” she said behind him. “Whatever you are, boy, I hope the world is ready for it.”

He didn’t turn, didn’t respond. Just opened the door.

Outside, the wind had picked up again, tugging at the street’s tattered banners. The sky was darkening, clouds heavy with threat. The scent of wet stone and iron filled his lungs.

Reid stepped out into the world without hesitation, shoulders squared against whatever came next.

Shadows moved across the cobbled path, cast not by the buildings—but by the man himself.