We left the café and stepped into the bustle of the inner dome. The streets here were nothing like the dusty lanes back home. Everything was polished stone and glowing crystal lamps, wide walkways lined with shops whose signs gleamed with enchanted letters. Merchants called out with confident voices, hawking goods that looked too fine to touch. Carriages drawn by tamed skybeasts rattled down the road, carrying people dressed in colors and fabrics I couldn't even name.
It felt like I had stepped into another world, one I had never been meant to see, yet here I was.
Our first stop was the local banking hall, a white-marble building whose archways glittered with faint magical wards. I carried the small pouch of coins close to my chest, though in truth it weighed more than my family had ever seen in a lifetime.
Inside, the air was cool and sharp, smelling faintly of ink and wax. Clerks in stiff uniforms scratched at ledgers behind glass partitions.
I walked to the counter and explained what I wanted: to have money held in escrow for my parents, and for a message to be sent so they could collect it. My voice was steady, but inside I felt the weight of each word.
Paying them back for raising me, even if they had shown me little warmth, was the last rope tying me to that life. Once the money was in their hands, I could cut ties with a clean conscience. I would owe them nothing. And maybe, for the first time, I could live for myself.
The teller slid a stack of forms across the counter. My eyes flicked over the rows of symbols, and I froze. I couldn't read a word.
"Lira," I murmured, trying to keep my voice low. "I'll need your help with this."
When she looked at me, her golden eyes softened with pity. I knew the expression instantly; it was one I'd seen countless times from nobles when they realized just how small farm boys were in their world.
For a moment, I hated it. Then, as quickly as it appeared, she forced the pity down, her expression smoothing into calm neutrality. She understood. She knew pity was the last thing I wanted.
I wasn't stupid. I could count, write numbers, do sums in my head; years of selling produce had drilled that into me. But letters? Sentences? That had been beyond my reach.
The teller, unfortunately, wasn't so tactful. His mouth curled in condescension when he realized I couldn't fill the forms. "A grown man who can't even—"
He didn't finish the sentence. Lira's eyes flashed, her voice slicing through the hall. "Enough." She slammed one of my gems onto the counter, its surface gleaming with captured light. "Exchange this for coin. Now."
The clerk paled, his condescension vanishing as fast as breath in the cold. He scrambled to obey.
I hid a smile. That was Lira—swift, merciless, and unashamed to wield authority on my behalf.
With the banking done, we moved on to a men's clothing store. It was a place of polished mirrors and rows of garments displayed like treasures. I felt like a trespasser among all that fabric and polish.
But Lira? She was in her element.
She practically dragged me from rack to rack, her fingers darting over fabrics, pulling shirts and trousers and jackets into her arms. "This one will match your coat. These trousers are durable but tailored. And these boots—you'll need proper boots."
Before I knew it, I was being shoved into a fitting room, forced to change into outfit after outfit while she and the attendant appraised me like I was a mannequin.
I had never thought much about clothes. At home, if they weren't torn and they kept the rain out, they were good enough. Yet here I was, wearing soft linen, leather that bent instead of pinched, and boots so comfortable I didn't want to take them off.
I wasn't fashionable, not by a long shot. But seeing Lira's eyes light up every time I stepped out in a new outfit made the embarrassment worthwhile. The way her gaze lingered on me, me, a nobody farm boy, was worth more than the cost of every shirt in the shop.
We left with a wardrobe carefully chosen to mix and match. I even had new socks and undergarments that felt like clouds compared to the rough cloth I was used to.
Next was a general goods store. Lira guided me through shelves of neatly arranged bottles and boxes.
"Soap. Always use it. This—" she held up a small vial, "—for your hair. And this keeps you from smelling foul on hot days."
I stared at the pile of items growing in my basket. "People really use all this every day?"
"People who live in cities, yes," she replied with a smirk. "If you want to stand beside me in lecture halls and noble courts, you won't reek like a farmhand."
Fair enough.
I handed over coin without hesitation. After selling her all the books I'd collected and exchanging gems at the bank, the expense was nothing. A drop in the bucket.
Lira had been right: I was wealthy now. Wealthy enough that, as she confidently informed me, I could buy a fully equipped personal airship if I wanted. The thought made my head spin.
From farmhand to ruin delver to potential airship owner, all in a week.
Our final stop was a bookstore.
We walked in arm-in-arm, Lira exuding confidence. The shop smelled of old parchment and dust, its shelves stretching high overhead.
"Good day," she greeted the keeper. "I'm looking for materials that give a crash course in reading and writing."
The man raised a brow. "For a child, or an adult?"
"An adult," Lira said smoothly. "My companion here recently cleared a ruin. Now that he has the chance, he wishes to begin an education worthy of such an accomplishment."
The shopkeeper's eyes widened. He looked at me with newfound respect. "Incredible. My grandfather did the same, cleared a ruin, earned his place. Our family has prospered ever since. I'll fetch what you need immediately."
He vanished into the aisles.
Lira tugged on my arm, pulling me down so her lips were close to my ear. Her voice was low, almost shy. "I apologize."
I knew what for. Her pity, back at the bank.
I smiled, nodding once.
"When I realized you couldn't read or write," she continued, her cheeks faintly pink, "my first thought was pity. But that was wrong. Your whole reason for entering the ruin was to make a better life for yourself. Instead of pity, I should congratulate you. You've already taken your first major step toward that goal."
Her eyes, fierce and sincere, held mine.
What an incredible woman.
She had seen her own failing, reconsidered, and changed, for my sake.
I lifted a hand, brushing her cheek, my thumb wiping away the beginnings of a tear. "I won't trample your resolve to change. Instead, I'll accept your apology and make a request."
She closed her eyes, pressing her hand over mine, leaning into my touch. "What request would you make?"
"Lira… teach me to read and write. So I can be useful to you in the future."
Her smile bloomed like dawn. "I will honor this request, my student… and my assistant."