Pax wandered the tangled streets of Greyvale City without a clear destination, as if the very pathways were guiding him along their course.

The ten gold coins he held felt surprisingly weighty in his palm,light in terms of bulk, yet heavier than any load of grain or goods he had ever carried.

The coins clinked softly against one another, smooth and cool to the touch, their edges softened by the grasp of countless hands before his.

Occasionally, he found himself instinctively tightening his grip, as if he were afraid they might slip away if he relaxed his hold; as if this entire venture,this job, this newfound trust, this strange twist of fate, might vanish the moment he looked away.

Four days had gone by since Sage had placed those coins in his hand and casually mentioned an intelligence organization. At the time, Pax had nearly laughed at the ridiculousness of the idea.

The phrase still lingered in his mind, a mix of fantasy and ambition, like a child dreaming of constructing a grand castle from just sticks and mud.

Yet, every time he tried to shake off the notion as mere folly, his memory shot back to Sage's face,not the usual confident smirk, but a steady assurance that silently conveyed his belief in Pax's ability to succeed. That unwavering faith was what truly unsettled him.

In those four days, Pax hadn't done anything significant. He had simply drifted through the city, observing and listening as life unfolded around him.

From the bustling marketplace filled with merchants to the quiet murmur of taverns, from the animated discussions near caravan depots to the hushed talks behind gambling dens, he moved like a ghost, without purpose or direction.

He told himself he was gathering vital information and deciphering the city's rhythms, yet deep down, he recognized the truth: he was stalling.

He hesitated to take the first real step, aware that once he did, there would be no pretending this was just another fleeting chance that would escape him like so many before.

Responsibility was a heavy thing, far heavier than even poverty. Most of his life had been spent mastering the art of survival without wealth or expectations.

He'd picked up small jobs, traded bits of gossip, and ran simple errands, moving on whenever something didn't work out. No one held him to account; after all, few expected much from him.

But this was a different matter entirely. Sage hadn't offered a task that could be forgotten once completed.

Instead, he had given Pax the groundwork for an endeavor that could flourish or collapse spectacularly, one that would ultimately reflect on Sage's judgment. And that terrified Pax more than the gnawing pangs of hunger.

As he walked beneath a stone archway, the noise of the city hushed momentarily, bringing forth memories he hadn't sought to recall.

He saw himself years ago, standing tall for the first time in ages, dressed in clean clothes and radiating a borrowed sense of dignity while serving a minor noble house.

While the position had been modest, it felt like the first rung of a ladder he was actually capable of climbing. He had listened intently, observed keenly, and learned how power operated behind polished smiles and locked doors.

He was good at it, skillful in picking up on nuances, remembering faces and details, knowing precisely when to speak and when to hold his tongue.

But then, he became expendable.

The noble he served lost his standing, and with him fell everyone under his regime. Pax could still recall the moment of dismissal: a few clipped words, a small pouch of coins slid across a table, and eyes that no longer saw him.

He hadn't done anything wrong, nor had he been commended for his loyalty. He had simply lost his importance.

From that experience, Pax learned a lesson that he never forgot :value was conditional, and when it disappears, so did the people who claimed to see it in you.

That memory hung in the air as Pax continued his journey, his footsteps slower and more intentional now.

He couldn't shake the thought, would Sage ever see him the same way? Was this just another temporary measure, a handy tool that would be tossed aside when it no longer served its purpose?

The thought stung, not because he thought Sage would treat him that way on purpose, but because Pax understood how easily life could push someone to make hard choices.

If he stumbled, there would be no justification, no second chances. Ten gold coins wasn't a small amount, especially when placed in the hands of someone like him.

He paused at a crossroads, where the atmosphere of the city shifted subtly. The buildings seemed to age before his eyes, their stone facades rough and neglected, while the scents surrounding him grew sharper and more genuine.

Laughter rang out more loudly here, laced with a hint of desperation, and the arguments carried the raw weight of those who had little left to lose.

Pax had traversed these streets countless times before, but today they felt different, as if they were waiting for him to make a significant choice.

For the first time in four days, Pax faced the truth he had been avoiding. This was the first moment someone had expressed faith in him without asking for proof first.

Sage hadn't demanded guarantees or collateral, nor had he surrounded the task with threats or vigilant oversight. He had simply trusted Pax to find a way.

That kind of trust unnerved him far more than suspicion ever could. Suspicion was familiar. Trust was dangerous.

Pax breathed out slowly, feeling the exhale like a quiet confession. If he turned his back now, nobody would pursue him. Ten gold coins could offer him months of peace, a chance to fade away into another city and another life of wandering.

But the thought left a sour taste in his mouth as soon as it crossed his mind. He was exhausted from running away from responsibility simply because it frightened him.

Tired of affirming every day that he was exactly as insignificant as others believed him to be.

"If I'm going to fail," he whispered under his breath, his voice barely rising above the street noise, "I'll fail while trying to build something that last."

The words felt foreign, heavy yet grounding. Speaking them aloud gave them life, and with that life came a fragile sense of determination.

Pax glanced down at the coins one last time before tucking them carefully into a pouch at his waist.

They had transformed into something more than mere currency; they represented trust, and perhaps the final opportunity to prove to himself,more than to anyone else, that he was capable of achieving more.

He turned confidently toward Greyvale's poorest quarter, where the streets narrowed and the city's forgotten souls congregated.

This was the domain of beggars, where neglected lives intersected silently in their struggle for survival. If Sage's vision was madness, then this was where it would take root. And if it flourished, Pax understood it would be because he chose, in this moment, not to flee.

As the sun dipped lower behind the rooftops, casting long shadows over the cracked cobblestones ahead, Pax moved forward without doubt.

The fear still coiled within him, but for the first time in a long time, it no longer dictated his steps.

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