The dirt road felt rough under Klein's bare feet as he walked, dust rising in little puffs with each step. The trees had thinned out, giving way to patches of farmland and distant rooftops.
'So that's the town,' he thought, eyes narrowing at the collection of crooked wooden buildings in the distance. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, and the faint sound of chatter drifted through the air.
He tightened the ragged rope belt around his waist. His clothes were simple, even ragged—definitely nothing that said "future king."
'Still, it's a start.'
Paros' voice hummed in his mind, smooth as always. "Welcome to civilization, master. Charming, isn't it? The perfect place to begin your reign."
'If by reign you mean being broke and barefoot, sure.'
"Ah, every empire starts with dust on its toes."
Klein shook his head, smirking faintly. 'You talk too much for a coin.'
"I talk just enough for one that always lands on heads," Paros replied. "Speaking of which—when you do flip me, do remember that little quirk. I find tails… distasteful."
'So you only land on heads?'
"Yes. Luck, after all, has a sense of humor."
Klein's grin widened. 'Then let's put that humor to work.'
He entered the town through a creaking gate. The streets were narrow, the air thick with the smell of ale, sweat, and roasted meat. Men and women went about their business, most too focused on survival to glance his way.
After a few minutes of wandering, he found it—a rundown building with a crooked sign that read The Rusty Mug. Laughter and shouting poured from inside.
'A tavern,' he thought. 'Perfect.'
Paros chuckled softly. "Oh, how poetic. A king begins his empire in a den of drunks."
Inside, the place was exactly what he expected—dim light, sticky tables, and the pungent mix of cheap alcohol and bad decisions. At a corner table, several men were gambling with dice and worn cards. The crowd was loud, cheering and jeering at every roll.
Klein leaned against the wall, watching. Most players were dressed in patched shirts and threadbare coats, farmers and laborers spending what little coin they had.
But one man stood out—a bearded fellow with sunken eyes and trembling hands. His pile of coins was dwindling fast. Each roll seemed to drain more than his luck—it drained his hope.
"That one," Paros whispered. "He's the one you'll start with."
'Why him?'
"Because he's desperate enough to listen."
Klein nodded slowly. He approached the table as another round ended in curses. The bearded man groaned, rubbing his temples as he watched his last few coins vanish.
Without a word, Klein stopped beside him.
The man glared up, his voice rough. "What do you want, brat?"
Klein looked at the man's shaking hand, then at the empty space before him.
"I want to gamble for you," Klein said calmly. "You're losing too much. Let me take the next few rounds."
The table went silent. Someone snorted.
The bearded man scowled. "You? Gamble for me? You don't even have shoes, kid."
Klein met his gaze without flinching. "Fifty-fifty split on whatever we win. You take half. I take half."
The man's face twisted into disbelief. Then he laughed—a hoarse, bitter sound.
"You hear that, lads? This street rat wants to gamble for me!" He leaned down, grabbed Klein by the collar, and lifted him halfway off the ground. The other players laughed harder.
Klein didn't struggle. His eyes stayed steady, calm, almost too confident for a boy his age.
'Paros,' he thought. 'A little help?'
The coin's voice purred. "Say this to him, word for word: 'You've been losing because your luck's empty. I'm offering you mine.' Then show me."
Klein smirked faintly. "You've been losing because your luck's empty," he said aloud. "I'm offering you mine."
The laughter at the table faltered. The bearded man's hand loosened slightly.
"And what luck do you have, boy?" he muttered.
Klein pulled the coin from his pocket, holding it between his fingers. It gleamed faintly in the candlelight, the etched runes shifting as if alive.
"This one," he said. "My coin never lands on tails."
The man scoffed. "Every coin's got two sides."
"Not this one."
He flipped it once. It spun high into the air, catching the light before landing neatly in his palm—heads. He flipped it again. Heads. Again. Still heads.
The crowd leaned closer, murmuring.
The bearded man's expression changed from mockery to suspicion, then to something like curiosity.
Klein held his gaze. "Give me a chance. One round. You win, we split. You lose, you lose nothing—you're already broke."
The man's hand tightened on Klein's collar again… then relaxed completely. He dropped him onto the ground and grunted.
"Fine," he said at last. "You get one round, kid. But if you're playing me for a fool—"
"I wouldn't dare," Klein interrupted, brushing dust off his shirt. 'See, Paros?' he thought. 'He's hooked.'
Paros' laughter rang softly in his head. "Of course he is. Desperation is the purest form of belief."
The other gamblers made room reluctantly as Klein sat down on the bench beside the old man. The table was covered in scuffs, dried ale, and the remains of broken hopes.
The dealer eyed him suspiciously. "You sure about this, old timer?"
The bearded man grunted. "Let the kid play."
Klein took a breath. He could feel the weight of the coin in his palm, warm and familiar. The runes shimmered faintly—alive, waiting.
'You ready, Paros?' he thought.
"Always," came the smooth reply. "Let's see how fortune greets her newest gambler."
Klein smiled faintly, leaning back as the other men watched. The tavern's noise seemed to fade, the world shrinking to the small, gleaming coin between his fingers.
He flicked his thumb, sending it spinning into the air. The coin rose, turned, and fell—light catching every curve.
It landed softly in his hand, motionless. Heads.
Exactly as promised.
He stared at it for a long moment, then set it on the table. His reflection in its polished surface smirked back at him—a boy, small and ragged, but with eyes full of daring.
'This is where it starts,' he thought.
Paros' voice echoed in his mind, calm and amused. "Then make it count, master. After all… luck only favors those willing to risk everything."
Klein's fingers tightened around the coin as he prepared for the first true gamble of his new life.