The plaza smelled like a bank vault that had swallowed a thunderstorm. White marble underfoot, sky without sun, air so still it counted heartbeats out loud. Dylan's boots clicked across the tiles, each step printing a silent invoice on the mirror-finish floor.
Ahead, the Fountain of Accrued Interest spat liquid gold in perfect metronome ticks—every droplet a compound charge on someone's future.
Ledger waited beside it, mask of Coin resting on her cheekbones, ink-veins pulsing beneath parchment skin. She smiled the way a calculator smiles: polite, absolute, already knowing the answer.
"Customer Thirteen," she greeted, voice arriving inside his skull like direct-deposit. "Your favor is due. Collateral accepted, receipt optional—unless you enjoy surprises."
Dylan stopped one pace short of the fountain's lip. The dragon scale in his inventory beat like a second heart—opal, warm, still owing interest. He palmed it, held it out.
"One thunder-clap, payable when Valerian calls. I'll need a receipt in storm-front, not fine print."
The scale melted the instant it touched her skin—liquid contract that poured into the fountain, mingling with molten gold. The fountain hiccupped, changed tempo, began to tick in thunder-time.
> [Favor bookmarked: one thunder-clap, payable when dragon calls]
[Interest accrues: 0.01 % per heartbeat – forever]
Ledger bowed, polite as a guillotine. "Class dismissed until the storm arrives. Try not to die interestingly before then—interesting deaths incur surcharges."
She dissolved into wind-blown filings, leaving only the echo of compound laughter.
---
The plaza exit was a plain oak door, no lock, no label—just a brass plaque that updated in real time:
Next invoice: variable – due when thunder forgets your name.
Dylan pushed through and stepped into a corridor that hadn't existed five minutes ago. Bone-white walls, ceiling low enough to invoice your posture, floor a conveyor of black glass that moved under him—slow, insistent, like a creditor who doesn't need to raise his voice.
Students ahead, thirty-eight living IOUs, all walking the same moving floor toward an archway that pulsed soft gold. No one spoke; conversation had a convenience fee.
Argent #017 caught up, mercury armor dulled to pewter, left eye glassed but smirk intact. "You paid with weather. Cute. Most of us paid with childhoods."
"Storm-fronts are cheaper," Dylan answered. "And they come with interest-free lightning if you know how to ride recoil."
She snorted. "Ride it straight into a dragon's gullet, maybe. Ledger's thunder won't be free when Valerian calls the note."
Clockwork-nun trailed behind, ticking louder than the conveyor. Her empty arm socket sparked every third step—interest compounding in real time. Noble-boy #022 followed, shadowless, eyes scanning crowds for a mother he no longer remembered.
The conveyor accelerated. Heartbeats synchronized. The archway grew, revealing a circular arena sunk three steps below floor level—white marble, no roof, sky a blank ledger waiting for ink.
A single banner floated above the center, letters crawling like stock tickers:
The Favor Exchange – Open Market, No Refunds, Prices Float.
In the middle stood a dais of black glass. On it, a scales—not the dragon kind, the justice kind, blades for pans, balance arm wired to a golden meter that ticked upward every heartbeat.
Students filed down into the pit, forming a loose ring around the dais. No teachers, no TA, no dragon—just the scale and the meter and the silent promise that someone would be weighed.
Dylan stepped into the ring. The meter hiccupped, then ticked faster—his heartbeat alone adding 0.01 % to the global interest rate. Great. I'm inflation.
A girl he didn't know—#028, freckles, trembling lip—approached the dais. She placed a copper coin on the left pan. The right pan rose, empty.
The banner updated:
Offer: 1 copper → Demand: ??? (open auction)
Silence. No one moved. The meter ticked.
Dylan sighed. Fine. I'll start the bidding. He stepped forward, placed the dragon receipt (the thunder-clap favor) on the right pan.
Banner flashed:
Bid: 1 thunder-clap → Exchange rate: 1 copper = 0.0003 thunder-claps.
The scale clicked, balanced, sealed. Copper coin melted into liquid contract, poured into Dylan's palm—1 copper of liquid mana, portable, tradeable, compoundable.
#028 received a micro-thunder-clap—a spark the size of a fingernail, crackling above her palm. She stared at it like it owed her money.
> [Favor Exchange – first transaction complete]
[Market liquidity: +0.0003 %]
[Your collateral now trades at market rate]
The arena erupted into silent bidding. Students rushed the dais, slamming favours, memories, fingers, true names onto pans. The meter spiked – global interest jumped 0.05 % in thirty seconds.
Dylan backed out, liquid copper sealed in a tiny vial on his belt. Asset acquired. Debt diversified.
Argent approached, mercury rippling. She placed a drop of liquid silver – offered: one future victory. Bidder unknown. Scale balanced. She received a micro-victory – a golden spark that danced like a firefly on caffeine.
Clockwork-nun offered one tick of her heart – bidder anonymous. Received a micro-faith – iron spark, cold, relentless.
Noble-boy had nothing left – shadow gone, true name spent. He placed his last heartbeat on the pan. Scale balanced. He received a micro-life – a single second of existence, portable, tradeable. He held it like a dying star, then swallowed it. +1.0 s added to his lifespan – interest compounded immediately.
The meter ticked faster, global interest climbing toward 1 %. Students traded futures like candy, debt becoming currency, currency becoming debt.
Dylan watched the market like a shark watching blood – calm, hungry, already counting the spread.
When the final bid closed, the banner flashed one last line:
Market closed – liquidity locked – interest frozen until next bell.
The dais sank into the floor, scales disappearing like a casino closing at dawn. Students dispersed, pockets full of micro-assets, heartbeats lighter, debts heavier.
Dylan walked away, vial of liquid copper warm against his hip, new asset trading at market rate, smiling the way lightning smiles – brief, bright, already counting the interest on tomorrow's storm.
Interest never sleeps.
But for now, he walks – portfolio diversified, debt liquid, thunder on layaway.