Darkness sat cross-legged on the wooden bench outside the guild, her gloved hands carefully laying out the little stack of bronze coins she had managed to scrape together. One, two, three, four… thirty-six in total. That was all she had left after food, after guild fees, after her little mishaps on the road. Thirty-six bronzes, the remnant of her effort and humiliation.
Her long platinum-blonde hair, still damp from the river, clung stubbornly to her neck. She could smell faint traces of moss and mud on her armor—armor that was more patchwork than protection. The improvised wooden staff she carried leaned against her thigh, less weapon than reminder of her current weakness. She sighed.
"Thirty-six… That's enough for seven nights at the cheap place I've been using… barely. But if I want to save for a weapon, even seven nights is too much."
She bit her lip, golden eyes narrowing. The memory of the blacksmith's words echoed: "Five hundred bronzes for even the simplest sword. Bring me materials, and I'll forge. Bring me ores, and I'll buy. Otherwise, you'll just keep swinging sticks."
Five hundred. An impossible gulf, unless she started cutting every cost she could.
Darkness gathered the coins, stacking them into a small pouch and tying it tight against her belt. She rose, brushed the dust from her skirt, and let the evening air settle around her. The city was shifting into twilight—the merchants were closing stalls, children ran barefoot across muddy alleys, and the faint smell of roasted barley drifted from taverns.
But Darkness's destination wasn't the main street. She turned her steps toward the south, where the cobbled roads dissolved into dirt, where lanterns were fewer, and where the sound of laughter was replaced by coughing and the mutter of broken families.
The slums.
The Search for Lodging
The first inn she found was half-ruined, its sign hanging from a single chain, the wood so rotted the letters were unreadable. When she entered, the stench of alcohol and sweat hit her so hard she gagged. Men sat sprawled across the floor, one vomiting in a corner, another pawing at a serving girl too tired to resist. Darkness lasted only two breaths before retreating.
The second place was little better—a shack crammed with hammocks tied too close together, bodies overlapping, snoring like cattle. The owner, a shriveled woman with no teeth, named a price: eight bronzes per night. Darkness had smiled politely, bowed, and slipped back into the street. Too expensive, given the conditions.
By the time she reached the third building, the sky had gone full dark. Stars glimmered faintly between clouds, and torches cast orange halos across crooked walls. The inn had no sign, only a door reinforced with iron nails. A fat man sat on a stool outside, picking at his yellow teeth with a knife. His belly spilled out of his shirt, and his greasy hair shone even in the dim light.
"Room?" he grunted before she even spoke, his voice low and irritated.
Darkness nodded. "Yes. Something… affordable."
The man spat into the dirt and dragged himself upright. He smelled of onions gone sour. His tiny eyes squinted as he studied her—armor, hair, the way she stood straight despite exhaustion.
"Five bronzes. Shared room." He spoke like a judge delivering a sentence.
Darkness blinked. That was… shockingly cheap. "Shared…?"
"Nine others. Ten with you. No walls. No privacy. You get a corner if you're lucky. Bed's a mat on the floor, nothing more. Don't like it?" He jabbed a sausage-thick thumb northward. "Go to the high district. Pay silver for pillows and perfumes. Not my problem."
Darkness hesitated. Five bronzes per night… That would save me so much. I could stay weeks, maybe a month, and still gather enough to buy a proper weapon. But… sharing with nine strangers? No separation of sexes…
Her mind pictured it—bodies pressed in a room, the smell of unwashed flesh, the threat of wandering hands. She shivered, but clenched her fist. I can endure. I must. If discomfort buys me steel, I'll gladly suffer it.
The fat innkeeper's grin widened, showing stained teeth. "Or," he added, his tone mocking, "there's always the stables. Costs nothing to curl up with the horses. They don't mind new company."
Darkness flushed with a mixture of shame and anger. She reached for her pouch and dropped five bronzes into his palm. "I'll take the room," she said firmly.
Entering the Slum Inn
The man led her through the door, his bulk swaying with each step. The inside smelled worse than outside—a mix of mildew, old beer, and damp straw. The floor creaked under his weight, and the lanterns barely lit the long hallway.
At the end, he shoved open a door without ceremony.
The room was wide, low-ceilinged, and suffocatingly hot. Nine mats had already been laid out across the floor, each claimed by a person sprawled in exhaustion. Some were curled in blankets, others half-naked, sweat glistening under the lantern's dim light. The air was heavy with the sound of snoring, coughing, muttering in sleep.
One man turned his head toward Darkness, eyes bloodshot, lips cracking into a smile. Another woman with tangled black hair merely pulled her blanket tighter and rolled away.
Darkness stepped inside slowly, feeling every gaze press against her skin. She chose a corner near the wall, furthest from the door, and set her small pack down. The mat was little more than a sheet of rough cloth stretched across straw. Her armor clinked softly as she lowered herself onto it.
The fat innkeeper grunted. "There you are. You want better, you know where to go." Then he shut the door with a slam, leaving only muffled city noise outside.
The First Night
Darkness sat on the mat, hugging her knees. The room was stifling. The man two mats away wheezed with every breath. The woman across the room scratched constantly, as though fleas devoured her. Somewhere to her left, a pair whispered and chuckled under their blankets.
Darkness exhaled slowly. This is my life now. A paladin sharing a floor with beggars and drunkards. All for five bronzes a night.
She lowered her head, letting strands of wet hair fall across her face. For a moment, she considered praying—for comfort, for guidance, for strength. But the words would not come.
Instead, she thought of the smith, of gleaming steel, of the weapon she would one day hold. Every humiliation, every stink, every restless night—she would endure it all if it brought her closer to that.
Her fingers brushed the pouch at her belt. Thirty-one bronzes left. Enough to last. Enough to survive.
The man next to her shifted, scratching his stomach, mumbling nonsense. Darkness closed her eyes and forced her breathing steady.
"Steel. Just hold on until steel."
Life in the Slum Inn
The days began to blur together. Every morning, Darkness would rise before dawn, slipping out of the crowded room while others still snored. She trained in the empty alleys, swinging her stick against shadows, lungs burning with determination. Then she hunted goblins, earning a few bronzes more. At night, she returned, always to the same suffocating room.
The fat innkeeper never smiled. He counted her coins with greedy fingers, muttering insults under his breath. "Paladin, hah. More like beggar with shiny hair." Darkness ignored him.
The other residents were a shifting mix of laborers, drunks, and wanderers. Some tried speaking to her; she answered politely but distantly. A few looked at her too long, their gazes crawling, but no one dared approach while she sat rigid, her hand near the hilt of her dagger.
The mat scratched her skin. The smell of the room sank into her clothes. She woke often in the night, surrounded by coughing and moans, but each time she told herself the same words: "It's only for now. I'll endure. Steel awaits."
The Weight of Resolve
One evening, as she lay staring at the ceiling, listening to the shuffle of ten bodies around her, Darkness realized something. She was learning. The discomfort, the lack of privacy, the ceaseless noise—it hardened her. Her shame dulled, her tolerance grew. If her training with Orvus Kael was a test of body, then this inn was a test of spirit.
She smirked faintly in the dark, lips twitching with a strange thrill. Yes… let it be hard. Let it grind me down. I will suffer it gladly, because suffering means progress.
And when her eyes finally closed, she dreamed of a blade of silver light in her hands, cutting clean through the filth of the world.