Xv's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Xv counted the coins on the bar top twice and still came up short for the week's water tax. His right arm throbbed under the sleeve, the cyan sign on his skin pulsing in time with his frustration. The warehouse he had turned into a bar sat quiet at the edge of Arcadia Newix, its crystal doorway humming a low blue note. He had crossed three realms to plant himself here. He had promised himself one thing on the way: a bar where any traveler could sit, and no one had to explain where they came from. The promise was costing more than he had. He shoved off the counter and walked outside to look at the damage. Last night a freight hauler had refused to share a table with a void walker, and Xv's temper had jumped ahead of him. The cyan had cracked out of his palm and scored a black, glowing brand into the metal siding above the door. The brand still pulsed. It looked like a warning, not a welcome. He pressed his hand flat to it and tried to pull the energy back. The mark only burned brighter. He went back inside and opened the locked crate behind the bar. The reforged blade lay on a bed of cloth, its star-metal edge catching the overhead light. A traveling smith had sold it to him for half the bar's monthly rent, swearing the metal would draw off stray power the way a lightning rod drew off a storm. Xv had not used it yet. He pulled it free and laid it across his knees. Beside the crate sat a smooth silver orb threaded with cyan veins. He set the orb in his left palm and gripped the blade in his right. He breathed until the tattoo on his arm stopped flickering. The orb dimmed. The blade did not. He could not afford to wait for mastery. He needed patrons tonight, and he needed them to stay. He carried both items to the front lot and set the orb at the foot of an old griffin statue he had hauled in from a market two realms back. The stone griffin had been gray when he bought it. Repeated rift crossings had washed it clean, and cyan light now ran through its carved feathers. He chained the orb to the base and scratched a single line into the stone with the blade's tip: NO COIN REQUIRED IF YOU SIT WITH A STRANGER. By dusk, six travelers stood at the crystal doorway, reading the stone. A woman with gills nodded at a man whose shadow moved on its own. They walked in together. A small reptile with hummingbird wings darted from one shoulder to the other, begging for crumbs. Xv kept the blade across his back and the tax notice in his pocket. The bar was full. The rent was not paid. The brand above the door still glowed.