"They're watching again. Waiting for me to slip.
My bones still ache from last time.
Maybe that's all a nobody is good for — being someone else's amusement."
"What do you mean only one silver cog??" Zero's shout echoed through the guild headquarters
"Read the damn notice, kid. One silver for dead, two for alive," Kade shouted back.
Zero eyed the notice once. Twice. Five times. In his desperation and hunger, he'd missed the most crucial detail.
He looked up at Kade. The man was at least seven feet tall, broad-shouldered, with an imperial mustache that dominated his face.
"I killed a kineticist, Kade. Please?"
Zero could cry at any moment. Dead or alive, either way, a kineticist should earn him a lot more than 2 silvers.
Kade let out a heavy sigh—the same one he always gave before caving. Zero had been coming here since he was small. The man had never stopped treating him like a kid.
"One silver an' one free dinner." Kade tossed the silver cog at Zero and pointed toward the counter where Mara was cooking. "Knock yourself out, kid."
"Thanks, Kade."
Zero rushed to the counter and took a seat.
"Hey, Mara. One usual, please."
"The usual again?" Mara didn't look up from the stove. "Don't ya get sick of eatin' same food?"
"Not when you eat every four days."
Mara sighed but started cooking his usual anyway.
Zero glanced around the guild. Wooden seats circled big round tables. Empyreal-made magic lamps glowed softly overhead—stolen goods, probably. Everything was set, and yet the place was deserted.
"Mara, where is everyone?" Zero asked. "They might want to give me money for hunting my first kineticist."
"Ha! As if they would. We lucky enough gettin' money for their food." She stirred the pot without looking at him. "They down at Ronnie's radio place."
"Radio station? Is there a new recruitment announcement for the war?"
"They always need soldiers. Both sides. Been at it two hundred years now."
"So what's new?"
"They talkin' 'bout ceasefire."
"Ceasefire??" Zero's eyes widened. He'd heard from others that the war would continue until one side destroyed the other.
"Don't get yer hopes up, kid," Kade called from across the guild. "Last time they did ceasefire was thirty years back. Ya know what happened after?"
"No. What happened?"
"They got back at it five years later with new toys an' spells."
Zero shrugged. He'd been born into the war—his earliest memory was stumbling through the Gray Zone, unclaimed land belonging to neither side. Ceasefire or not, nothing would change for people like him.
"Maybe this time they really want peace?" he asked.
Kade snorted.
"Here. Steak, bread, and cheese." Mara slid the plate in front of him.
Zero stared. Steak. Real steak.
"But… that's not what I ordered."
"Don't worry 'bout it, kid. Tonight's on us."
Zero's throat tightened. He didn't trust himself to speak, so he nodded and started eating.
After dinner, Zero climbed the stairs to his room and lay down on the narrow cot, staring at the ceiling. The room was barely more than a closet—just enough space for a sixteen-year-old to sleep.
He held up his old black long jacket.
"I need a new one tomorrow. This one's no good."
But he knew the best he could do was to get Ms.Swan to sew a new collar for him.
He set the jacket aside and placed his hand on his neck, tracing the dark red mark. Ten years he'd had it. Ten years of wondering the same questions.
"Why do I have this mark?"
A Veidonian developing an Empyreal mark was unheard of. And not just any mark—divination. He'd heard that diviners were treated like gods in The Empyrean. Sometimes he imagined traveling to Koresh, the capital, to see if they'd accept him.
"But would they accept me?"
No mana. No kinetic reserves. Hated by his own country. Would they treat him as their own?
There were a couple of Empyreals working in the guild. When he'd asked them about his mark, they'd laughed in his face, calling him God's funniest joke.
"Not that hunters are a good standard to judge others," he muttered.
Most hunters he'd met didn't care about anyone but themselves. Kade and Mara were the exceptions.
"I wish at least one of them could teach me sword fighting."
He knew some sword fighting, watching others duel and fight, but it was self-taught; real teaching was very different.
Zero rested his head on the hard pillow and closed his eyes.
He only had money for one more day.
The next morning, Zero stood in front of the job board, scanning the notices.
"Man, no good bounties. Every one of them is either an Empyreal mage or a kineticist."
I only beat Conor out of pure luck, he thought. And I didn't even know he was a kineticist until it was too late.
If he'd known beforehand, he would've just begged Kade for a loan. Zero knew how to melt that man's heart.
Finding no suitable bounties, he left the guild. Maybe someone in town needed an errand boy.
But first, let's fix my jacket.
He headed toward the only tailor shop in Noj. Thankfully, he knew the owner—she might fix it without charge.
The tailor shop was nothing fancy, like everything else in Noj. Old building, cracked walls, bent wood.
"Hey, Ms. Swan! Haven't seen you in forever. Thought maybe I should visit."
Ms. Swan was an elderly woman with white hair and a black dress. She'd never stopped wearing that dress since Mr. Swan died—or at least, that's what she'd told him.
"Oh, you scoundrel. You never visit this old hag unless you want something." She waved her needle at him. "Come on, out with it."
Zero placed the jacket on the table along with the severed collar.
"Can you fix it, Ms. Swan?" He tried to smile, but his voice wavered. "I might not survive without it."
Ms. Swan glanced at the jacket, then at the dark red mark on his neck. Her expression softened.
"I suppose I could help you out a little." She sighed heavily. "Come back in an hour. I'll have it ready."
"Thanks, Ms. Swan. I'll pay you back, promise."
"Yeah, like all the other times you paid."
Zero left the shop feeling both happy and guilty.
How many times has she fixed my tattered clothes for me without charge? More than I could care to count
Now let's find work.
Zero started at the northern end of town, where the wealthier merchants kept their shops. A grain trader was unloading sacks from a wagon.
"Need help with those?" Zero asked.
The merchant barely glanced at him. "Got my own boys for that. Move along."
He tried the blacksmith next. The forge was hot, the sound of hammering ringing through the air.
"Looking for work. Anything you need done?"
The blacksmith looked him up and down, taking in his worn jacket and empty hands. "Can you work a bellows?"
"I can learn—"
"No time for teaching. Come back when you know what you're doing."
Zero moved on.
He offered to sweep floors at the general store. The owner said he already had someone. He asked about deliveries at the butcher's shop. They told him to try again next week. He even checked the stables—mucking out stalls wasn't glamorous, but it was honest work.
"Full up, kid. Everyone's desperate for coin."
After half an hour of rejections, Zero found himself at the edge of town near the old oak tree. He leaned back against the trunk, feeling the rough bark through his jacket. His feet ached from walking the muddy streets.
"This whole town and no work," he muttered, leaning his head back against the rough bark and closing his eyes. A dry, calm voice cut through his self-pity.
"I do have a job, but you never asked."
Zero slowly opened his eyes. A man stood before him—around his height, maybe slightly taller, with a hawk-like face and sharp eyes.
"You do?" Zero asked, straightening.
"Of course. It's nothing difficult." The man leaned on a polished cane. "I'm a doctor, you see. I had a practice in Namar, but I've moved my establishment to Kodir. Most of my supplies are already there, but the movers—crooks, the lot of them—left two boxes behind in Namar."
"Why are you moving to Kodir? Isn't that close to Veidon's borders?"
"Precisely." The doctor smiled. "Since the ceasefire was accepted by both empires, trade will flow more freely through the Gray Zone."
"The empires trade with each other?"
"No, too prideful for that. Instead, they trade through a third party—us." The doctor tapped his cane against the ground. "My shop is complete in Kodir, but I need those boxes. Retrieve them from Namar and bring them to my camp—twenty minutes west of Kodir. I'll pay you forty silver cogs."
Zero's eyes widened. His jaw dropped.
Forty silver? That was more than he'd made in six months. His hands trembled slightly as he tried to keep his voice steady.
He scanned the man from top to bottom. Clean, well-tailored Veidonian suit. Polished cane. The doctor looked wealthy enough to pay without blinking.
This is too good to be true. The thought nagged at him, but he shoved it down. He needed the money. Plus, transportation jobs were the most common.
"Done," Zero said. "But I'll need a week. It takes a day to reach Namar, and three days from Namar to Kodir."
"Excellent. I'll be waiting for you." The doctor turned to leave toward the north gate.
"Ah, just a second!" Zero called. "Can I have six silver in advance? Travel expenses."
"Oh, where are my manners? Of course, the travel fee." He handed over six silver coins without hesitation and walked away.
Yes! Finally! Zero clutched the coins. About damn time I got lucky.
For the next twenty minutes, Zero rushed around town, adrenaline pushing away his earlier exhaustion.
First stop: the cartographer's cramped shop wedged between two larger buildings. The old man sold him a faded map of the Gray Zone for thirty copper cogs. Zero traced the route with his finger—Noj to Namar, a straight shot south. Simple enough.
Next, he headed to the merchant quarter. Zero managed to buy three strips of salted beef for one silver. Not much, but it would keep him going if he rationed it.
He checked his coin purse. Four silver and seventy copper left from the advance. Enough to get by. And he had one silver from his hunt
On his way back to Ms. Swan's shop, he passed Ronnie's radio station. A small crowd still lingered outside, their voices animated as they debated the ceasefire. Zero didn't stop to listen. The war, the peace, the politics—none of it mattered to people like him. The Gray Zone would stay gray no matter what the empires decided.
It was still early morning—the sun barely halfway to its peak. If he left now, he'd reach Namar by midnight.
Zero quickened his pace toward the tailor shop.
"Hey, Ms. Swan! Is my jacket ready?"
"Behind you. On the hanger," she said, pointing without looking up from her work.
Zero grabbed the jacket and slipped it on. The familiar weight settled on his shoulders. Then his fingers brushed against the left collar—and froze.
His voice was a whisper. "Ms. Swan… I think you made a mistake."
The right collar was intact—black stand-up fabric covering his neck as before. But the left side, where Conor had sliced through, was now patched with gray cloth that rose all the way to his cheek.
"Child, I made no mistake," she said firmly. "No one will see that mark of yours now."
Zero touched the mismatched collar. It completely hid the mark. His throat tightened, and for a moment, he couldn't find words.
"Yeah, but… why does it come all the way to my cheek?"
"Didn't have shorter fabric. You can cut it if you want."
"Can't you cut it real quick? I look ridiculous."
Ms. Swan shot him a glare that made him shut his mouth.
"On second thought, it looks very fashionable."
Zero swallowed hard. The mark had been nothing but trouble since it appeared. Empyreals mocked him for being powerless. Veidonians treated him like a traitor for bearing an enemy's symbol.
"Thank you, Ms. Swan." His voice came out rough. "Really."
She waved him off, but he caught the hint of a smile. "Now get going before I change my mind."
Zero adjusted the collar one more time, feeling the stiff gray fabric against his cheek. It would take some getting used to, but it was better than exposing his neck to every passing stranger.
He slung his pack over his shoulder, checked for his short sword on his hip, and headed for the door.
Zero left Noj through the southern gate.
The guard on duty barely looked up as he passed. Just another drifter heading into the Gray Zone—nothing unusual about that. Zero kept his head down and his pace steady.
The road south was little more than a dirt path, rutted from wagon wheels and worn smooth by countless travelers. On either side, the landscape stretched flat and empty—dead grass and skeletal trees, leftovers from battles fought years ago. The Gray Zone earned its name honestly. No green, no life, just the scorched earth between two empires that refused to stop fighting. He heard that in the far south, there are still jungles with tall trees, but here and now, the old oak tree is the only one alive.
Zero pulled his collar higher against the wind. The mismatched gray fabric brushed his cheek, and he felt the absence of the mark's usual exposure like a weight lifted.
For the first time in years, his neck felt safe.
Namar was a day's walk. Then three more to Kodir. Forty silver cogs waiting at the end.
Zero adjusted his pack and kept walking.