Chapter 1: A Profession Built on Other People’s Risk

The Tower stood in the distance like it owned the sky.
Kaelira Voss ignored it with professional dedication.
She had long ago decided that anything large enough to cast a shadow over an entire kingdom didn’t deserve her attention. Things like that had a habit of demanding more than they gave.
Instead, she focused on things that could be measured.
Weight. Quality. Price.
“Don’t lie to me,” she said flatly.
The man across her stall stiffened. “I’m not—”
“You are,” Kael cut in, not even looking up as she turned the object in her hand. “This is supposed to be Fifth Floor grain metal. It dents too easily.”
“It’s just a bad batch.”
“It’s a bad attempt,” she corrected.
Now she looked at him.
Not angry. Not annoyed.
Just… unimpressed.
“Floor Five metals don’t soften unless they’ve been overheated,” she continued. “Which means you either damaged it yourself or bought it from someone who did.”
Silence.
Kael placed the piece back on the table.
“I’ll give you half.”
“That’s robbery.”
“That’s mercy.”
He hesitated, clearly calculating whether arguing further was worth the effort.
It wasn’t.
“…Fine.”
He took the coins with a scowl and left.
Kael slid the metal into a crate behind her without ceremony.
Another day. Another correction of someone else’s mistake.

The market was already loud, even this early.
Vendors shouting over each other, buyers pretending not to care, and in between them—people like Kael, who existed in the quiet middle ground of usefulness.
Not important.
Not powerless.
Just necessary enough to be tolerated.
Most stalls sold directly.
Kael didn’t.
She dealt in things that had already passed through too many hands. Things that came from inside the Tower but never quite made it to official channels.
Sometimes that meant better prices.
Sometimes it meant worse questions.
She preferred the first.
“Kael!”
She didn’t turn.
“If it’s about a discount, the answer is no.”
“It’s not!”
“Then I’m not interested.”
A pause.
“…What if I brought something good?”
That made her glance over her shoulder.
A boy—too young to be climbing, too confident to be harmless—grinned at her, holding up a small pouch.
Kael sighed. “Every time someone says that, it’s either illegal, broken, or both.”
“Or,” he said, stepping closer, “it’s valuable.”
She held out her hand.
He dropped the pouch into it with a flourish.
Kael opened it, took one look inside, and closed it again.
“…You stole this.”
“I acquired it.”
“From someone who’s going to come looking for it.”
“Probably.”
She handed it back.
“No.”
His grin faltered. “No?”
“I don’t deal in things that cause problems within the hour,” she said. “Come back when your bad decisions have had time to settle.”
“That makes no sense.”
“It makes perfect sense if you plan on staying alive.”
He stared at her for a moment, then huffed and walked away.
“Your loss!”
“Statistically unlikely,” she called after him.

By midday, the heat had settled in.
Kael leaned back in her chair, balancing it on two legs as she counted coins with practiced ease.
One silver short.
Again.
She frowned slightly, then recounted.
Still short.
“…That’s irritating.”
“Talking to your money now?”
She didn’t need to look to recognize the voice.
“Only when it disappoints me,” she replied.
Riven dropped into the seat across from her, looking far too relaxed for someone who actually climbed the Tower for a living.
Dust on his boots. Minor cuts along his arm.
Normal.
“You ever consider a different career?” he asked.
“Constantly,” Kael said. “Then I remember I dislike effort.”
“That’s not true. You work all day.”
“Yes,” she said. “But I don’t risk dying for a slightly better rock.”
He smirked. “It’s not just rocks.”
“Right,” she said dryly. “Sometimes it’s plants.”
Riven laughed, shaking his head.
“You really don’t get it, do you?”
“I get it perfectly,” Kael said, finally looking at him. “You go in, you fight things, solve whatever strange nonsense the floor throws at you, and come back with materials the kingdom needs.”
“And?”
“And,” she continued, “people treat you like you’re special for surviving something you chose to walk into.”
“That’s a harsh way to put it.”
“It’s an accurate way to put it.”
He leaned back, studying her.
“You’ve never even tried.”
Kael didn’t hesitate.
“No.”
“Not even once?”
“No.”
“Why?”
She shrugged.
“Because I don’t need to.”
Riven gestured around them.
“This?” he said. “This is enough for you?”
Kael followed his gaze—the crowded market, the noise, the endless cycle of buying and selling.
Then she looked back at him.
“It’s stable,” she said.
“That’s not the same as enough.”
“It is if you’re not greedy.”
Riven didn’t respond to that.
Instead, he glanced past her—toward the horizon.
Toward the Tower.
Kael didn’t follow his gaze.

By evening, the market began to thin.
Kael packed her remaining goods with efficient movements, tying off bundles and stacking crates for storage.
Another day finished.
No surprises. No problems.
Exactly how she preferred it.
She lifted one of the crates, pausing only briefly as a familiar shadow stretched across the ground.
Long. Unmoving. Unavoidable. The Tower. Kael adjusted her grip and kept walking.
Not her problem. Not her business. Not her life. And she intended to keep it that way.