Pain bloomed first—sharp, hot, unforgettable.
Kenji Aisaka remembered it all. The alley. The cold rain slicked the pavement. The trembling hand of the man who had begged him for help. Kenji clutched his briefcase tighter and stepped away. He had already given so much that day—his coat to another stranger, his wallet to a fundraiser. Wasn't that enough?
Apparently not.
The knife slid between his ribs with frightening ease. His last thought had been one of bitter irony: So this is what giving gets you.
Then… silence.
Now, he stood at the edge of a mountain ridge, surrounded by skies of fire-orange and crimson, as though the sun had frozen mid-dusk. Below him stretched forests veined with rivers of gold, and in the distance, mountains floated lazily in the sky, tethered to the earth by strands of light.
He staggered forward, barefoot on sun-warmed stone, his breath catching in his throat.
His body—this body—felt powerful. Clean. Streamlined.
He moved with a grace he never had before, and when he glanced down at the water pooled in a crystal basin nearby, his reflection made his breath still.
His black hair now had streaks of metallic silver running through it, swept back and bound with a golden clasp. His eyes had shifted from brown to a piercing gold—bright, calculating. His frame was leaner, more refined, dressed in a layered black and crimson coat threaded with runes that shimmered when he moved. Gold lines traced from the corners of his eyes down to his jaw, like delicate circuitry etched into his skin.
His ears were faintly pointed, his fingers long and deft. He was now a Duskborn, a race known for their silver tongues, mastery over shadow and light magic, and deep understanding of contracts and exchanges.
Of course. It made sense.
Power through balance. Wealth through negotiation.
Greed and charity in one vessel.
He heard footsteps behind him. A woman approached—an herbalist, by the look of her robes. She eyed him with a mixture of awe and uncertainty.
"You arrived at the Shrine of Equinox," she said softly. "That only happens when the gods mark someone."
He said nothing, nodding with a faint, gracious smile.
She offered him a woven satchel with dried fruit and a skin of water. "You'll need this. The wilds don't take kindly to newcomers, even blessed ones."
Kenji accepted the gift. "Thank you."
As she turned away, he tried to speak about the chessboard, the divine voice, the truth of the Proxy Game.
His mouth moved—but no sound emerged.
A hum of divine energy tightened in his throat, silencing him. He felt it. The command is embedded in his soul. No one outside the proxies would ever hear the truth.
Fine.
He adjusted the satchel on his shoulder and looked out at the horizon.
He still remembered the board. The moment the gods named him "Greed and Charity." The sneer that had pulled at his mouth. The laughter echoed in his chest when he realized the absurdity of it.
And yet… he understood now.
His ability—Ledger of Balance—allowed him to bestow or strip wealth, influence, or magical energy from others based on the contracts he formed. Acts of generosity empowered him. Acts of greed… well, they fed him in other ways.
He was no fool. This world was rich in opportunity, and he would master it just as he had mastered business.
But this time, he wouldn't just chase power.
He would own it.
Not through war or brute force.
Through control. Influence. Leverage.
He would build an empire in Auron—one favour, one promise, one carefully weighted gift at a time.
And in the end?
The gods would see just how much he was worth.