The town of Ludan looked like it had been plucked from the pages of an old storybook and dipped in soot.
Stone walls wrapped around it like a protective ring. Its gates—half-open, weather-beaten—creaked slightly as Calen stepped through.
Inside, the streets bustled with life. Dirt roads branched like veins through timber buildings, most of them leaning slightly, as if gossiping to each other.
Banners hung from wires above the streets, faded with sun and rain. People milled about—traders, smiths, mercs, cloaked figures with wide hats, and children darting between stalls like joyful shadows.
[Entering Local Territory: Ludan – Outpost Settlement – Population. ~2,300]
[Security Status: Low-Tier Enforced]
[Currency in Use: Copper Stars, Silver Moons, Gold Crowns]
[Network Connection: Weak but Active]
Calen's eyes swept across everything. His systems logged faces, voices, dialects.
But one thing was glaringly missing.
[User Funds: 0 Moons]
[Wallet: EMPTY]
[Survivability Rating: 11% – Financially Inept Lifeform]
"…Great," he muttered.
"Yup," Echo sighed, her voice like the clink of coin and sarcasm. "Welcome to Ludan, where the buildings are charming, the soup is suspiciously brown, and you can't afford any of it."
"I don't need food."
"Sure, Mr. Self-Sustaining-Synthetic-Supermodel. But your energy cells do need components. And last I checked, you can't buy lithium capacitors with your winning smile."
He paused.
"So...?"
"You need a job, my lovely loot-box of a boy. And not the 'become a bounty hunter and die immediately' type. Think: small steps, easy coin. Build trust, gather intel, stay alive."
[New Objective: Acquire Income]
[Sub-Objective: Scan for Employment Opportunities]
He wandered deeper into Ludan.
The town square was shaped like a lopsided star. A fountain burbled in the center—statue of a cloaked woman with one eye and many arms. Each hand held something different: a book, a knife, a flower, a coin.
No signs explained it. Just weathered stone and quiet reverence.
Around the square: shops, carts, a notice board pinned with hand-written fliers.
Some torn. Some fresh.
WANTED: Rat-clearing in cellar. Bring your own boots.
FARMHAND NEEDED – PAYMENT IN MOONS & MILK.
MISSING: Boy with red scarf. Seen near the Weeping Trees.
HELP WANTED: TAVERN AIDE – STRONG BACK, CLEAN HANDS. NO CURSES.
His eyes lingered on the last one.
[Scan Complete – Viable Employment Opportunity]
[Location: The Creaking Phoenix Tavern – 80m Northwest]
"I like this one," Calen said.
"You would. You've got 'moody barkeep's secret weapon' energy," Echo mused. "Taverns are gossip factories. Secrets. Rumors. Drunks who saw the Twilight Empire with their own two eyeballs and half a brain."
"The Twilight Empire…" Calen murmured.
35 km east. Far.
Too far without gear. Too far without energy.
He rolled his shoulders. The satchel clinked faintly.
Tavern first. Empire later.
---
[The Creaking Phoenix Tavern]
It looked exactly how it sounded—old, loud, and held together by hope and wood glue.
The sign out front swung in the wind. A phoenix painted in black ink curled around a tankard of flame. Inside: oak beams, low ceilings, and enough ambient noise to drown a confession.
The barkeep—a square-jawed woman with a braid like a whip and forearms that could break bones—eyed him skeptically.
"You're... what, twelve?"
"I am combat-grade and can carry four times my body weight," Calen replied calmly.
She squinted. "You got curses?"
"No."
"You got diseases?"
"No."
"You got debt?"
"…Define 'debt.'"
"Good enough. You start now. Muck the floor. Don't touch the tap."
---
[Job Acquired: Tavern Aide]
[Daily Income: 2 Silver Moons]
[Room + Board: Provided (Attic Cot)]
[Perks: Access to Tavern Gossip, Local Maps, Customer Rants]
Echo gave a delighted hum in his head.
"Well done, bar-boy. Now we can buy things that keep you from turning into a glorified paperweight."
---
That Night...
Calen scrubbed floors. Hauled barrels. Delivered food to mercs with blood on their boots and mages with glowing eyes.
He listened.
He watched.
And he learned.
People whispered about the Twilight Empire, about war machines that walked, about demon sightings in the Sable marshes, and a silver-masked man seen passing through towns asking questions about a boy with hazel eyes.
At midnight, Calen sat in the attic room on a cot of straw and quiet.
Echo pinged softly.
"Tomorrow, we keep grinding. But we're one step closer."
Calen looked out the tiny window, eastward.
Toward the Twilight Empire.
Toward whatever waited for him.
Toward whoever was looking for him.