Zeph woke to the unfamiliar sensation of morning sunlight on his face and the absence of imdiate threats.
The apartnt was still small, still basic, still had ceilings that his 6’9" fra could touch without fully extending his arms. But it was his, and more importantly, it was safe.
He rolled out of bed—literally rolled, since the mattress was too short for his legs and sitting up ant hitting his knees on the wall—and stretched as much as the confined space allowed.
’Day two of civilization. Let’s see if I can manage not to fuck this up.’
The kitchenette beckoned with possibility. He had actual food. Ingredients he’d purchased with credits, not scavenged from ruins or stolen from the dead. The novelty hadn’t worn off yet.
Zeph pulled out the rice he’d bought yesterday, the dried beans, so vegetables that were probably intended for more sophisticated als than he knew how to make. He stared at them for a long mont, his survival-focused brain trying to map "ingredient" to "edible al" and coming up frustratingly short.
’I’ve killed B-rank awakened. I’ve survived three years alone in the ruins. I can figure out how to cook rice.’
Famous last words.
-----
Twenty minutes later, the apartnt slled like burnt offerings to a god that didn’t want them.
The rice was sohow both crunchy and mushy simultaneously—an achievent Zeph hadn’t known was possible. The vegetables were charred on the outside and raw in the middle.
The beans were... well, he wasn’t entirely sure what had happened to the beans, but they’d transford into sothing with the texture of rubber and the taste of regret.
He sat at the tiny fold-down table, staring at his culinary disaster, and felt sothing unexpected bubble up in his chest.
Laughter.
Actual, genuine laughter that made his shoulders shake and his storm-gray eyes crinkle at the corners.
’This is the worst al I’ve ever made. And I once ate a rat that had been dead for three days.’
But he’d made it. Not scavenged, not stolen, not eaten raw because cooking ant smoke that attracted enemies. He’d stood in his own kitchen, in his own apartnt, and created sothing edible through legitimate effort and spectacular failure.
The rice crunched between his teeth. The vegetables tasted like charcoal. The beans had the consistency of bouncy balls.
Zeph ate every single bite and enjoyed the hell out of it.
Not because it was good—it objectively wasn’t—but because it was normal. Because normal people cooked terrible als sotis. Because this was what life looked like when you weren’t just surviving, when you had the luxury of failing at mundane tasks without it aning death.
’I should probably learn how to cook properly,’ he thought, chewing sothing that might have once been a carrot. ’But later. Right now, I have more important things to do.’
He finished his disaster breakfast, cleaned the pan with water that ca from a tap that just worked, and grabbed his citizen ID and credit chip.
Ti to get stronger.
-----
The hover-taxi arrived within minutes of his call—another piece of casual magic that civilization took for granted. The driver was different from yesterday’s but had the sa slightly bemused reaction to Zeph’s height folding into the back seat.
"Where to, kid?"
"Union branch. Closest one to F-District."
The driver’s eyebrows rose. "Shopping for skills? Got so credits saved up?"
"Sothing like that."
"Well, you picked the right place. Union’s got the best selection in the sanctuary—probably in all seven Sanctuaries, honestly." The cab pulled into traffic with smooth efficiency. "Fair warning though: prices aren’t cheap. Those skill tos don’t co free."
Zeph grunted acknowledgnt, watching the city pass through the window. F-District was waking up around them—workers heading to morning shifts, street vendors setting up stalls, children being herded toward schools by parents who expected them to survive the day.
Normal life, continuing because people believed tomorrow would co.
’And I’m about to spend almost all my money on ways to kill people more efficiently. Because that’s still what I am, under the cheap secondhand clothes and the legal ID. A weapon that learned how to pretend to be human.’
The thought should have bothered him more than it did.
The Union building announced itself from three blocks away.
It was sleek, modern, a ten-story monunt to comrce and power that glead with embedded formation arrays and architectural ambition. The exterior was all glass and steel—or whatever mana-reinforced materials passed for glass and steel in this world—creating a facade that managed to be both welcoming and intimidating.
Massive letters above the entrance spelled out [UNION - Avalon City Branch] in glowing script that shifted between blue and silver.
"Here we are," the driver said, pulling up to the main entrance. "That’ll be twenty credits."
Zeph paid and extracted himself from the cab with the awkward grace of soone whose limbs were too long for standard-sized spaces. He stood on the sidewalk, hood pulled low despite the morning warmth, and just looked at the building.
The Union.
He’d heard about them even in the ruins—scraps of information traded between scavengers, stories about the organization that had risen from the chaos of the Descent to beco one of the most powerful entities on the planet.
They’d been founded during those first catastrophic years when the dinsional rifts tore open and humanity scrambled to adapt or die. While governnts collapsed and societies fractured, the Union had done sothing simple but brilliant: they’d focused on selling the tools of survival.
Mana-based equipnt. System-compatible technology. Skills, techniques, manuals—anything and everything an awakened human needed to get stronger, fight better, survive longer.
They didn’t care about politics or ideology. They sold to anyone with credits, established branches in every major population center, and built an empire on the foundation of humanity’s desperate need for power.
Now, 197 years later, they had branches in almost every city in the Northern Bastion and major locations in all seven Sanctuaries. If you needed to buy sothing related to the System, you went to the Union. They had the selection, the quality control, the reputation.
And the prices to match.
Zeph walked through the entrance, trying not to look like soone who’d never been inside a proper store before.
The interior made his breath catch despite himself.
The ground floor was vast—easily the size of a football field, with ceilings that rose thirty feet overhead. But it wasn’t the space that impressed him. It was what filled it.
Aisles upon aisles of carefully organized displays. Skill tos glowing faintly with embedded System energy. Technique manuals bound in materials he didn’t recognize.
Equipnt ranging from basic training weapons to artifacts that humd with visible power. Runes, formations, crystals, consumables—an entire marketplace dedicated to making awakened humans more dangerous.
And the people. Dozens of them, maybe hundreds, browsing with the casual confidence of shoppers who knew exactly what they wanted and had the credits to afford it.
Adventuring parties discussing which skills would complent their builds. Solo hunters examining weapon displays with professional scrutiny. Academy students probably shopping with family money, their gear marking them as privileged even among the awakened.
Zeph felt simultaneously out of place and exactly where he needed to be.
A holographic directory floated near the entrance, displaying the building’s organization:
[UNION - AVALON CITY BRANCH]
[GROUND FLOOR:
- Skills (Offensive, Defensive, Utility)
- Techniques & Manuals
- Weapons & Armor
- Consumables]
[FLOORS 2-4:
- Artifacts & Equipnt
- Runes & Formations
- Crafting Materials]
[FLOORS 5-7:
- Premium Section (Rank C and Above)
- Restricted Sales
- Private Consultation]
[FLOORS 8-10:
- Administration
- Appraisal Services
- Guild Coordination]
A young woman in Union uniform—crisp blue with silver trim—approached with a professional smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
"Welco to the Union. First ti shopping with us?"
Zeph nodded, his voice coming out rougher than intended. "Yeah."
"Wonderful! Let get you set up with a shopping interface." She pulled a tablet from seemingly nowhere, fingers dancing across the screen. "I’ll need your citizen ID for account creation."
He handed over the card. She scanned it, her expression remaining neutral as his information populated her screen.
"Kai rcer, Level 35, recently registered. No previous purchase history with Union." She looked up at him, and for just a mont, her professional mask slipped into sothing more genuine—sympathy? Recognition?
"Welco to Avalon City, then. I hope you find what you’re looking for." She handed him a small tablet device. "This is your shopping cart. Scan the codes on any items you’re interested in, and they’ll be added to your cart. When you’re ready to check out, just bring the tablet to any register. We’ll retrieve your purchases from our storage and have them ready for pickup within fifteen minutes."
She gestured to the various sections. "Skills and techniques are organized by category and rank. Union policy requires all skill tos to be D-rank or lower for general purchase—higher ranks require special authorization or Academy sponsorship. If you need help finding anything specific, there are staff mbers throughout the floor wearing these uniforms. Any questions?"
"I’m good."
"Then happy shopping, Citizen rcer. And welco to civilization."
She moved on to the next custor, leaving Zeph standing with a digital tablet and the sudden awareness of exactly how much money he was about to spend.
Marcus had given him 50,000 credits as part of their deal. The citizenship, the housing, and fifty thousand credits to "get started."
He’d spent 1,540 credits in the last day and a half. Food, supplies, manga, public bath, laundry, taxi rides—small purchases that added up with alarming speed.
That left him 48,460 credits.
It sounded like a lot until he rembered that a single skill to could cost anywhere from 5,000 to 5,000,000 credits depending on rank and rarity.
’Ti to see how broke I can make myself in one shopping trip.
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