His stomach churns violently, and cold sweat slicks his skin. His legs feel like lead, unsteady beneath him.

  Theo is about to puke his guts out. He really will, because goddamn, he feels like collapsing right here and dying.

  "You look like you've been through a storm."

  Dan's voice is steady, even—like those hardened men you see in the streets. Unlike his appearance of an old-timer thick with the scent of oak

  Dan leads him into his shop—a once signless cube. Now, a small board hangs over the door, flanked by a few plants. Is that why he can’t warp here anymore? That... actually makes sense.

  A bell chimes as the door creaks open.

  "... Didn't think you were that reckless."

  Hermes’ voice rings in his ear after a prolonged silence.

  The shop is small, similar to the size of a cheap studio apartment. The space is lined with books, lacquered cabinets, and trinkets too old to remember their purpose, all seeming to hum with something ancient.

  It feels like a relic of another time.

  Everything here is brown and deep gold. All worn and dusted with time. The air is thick—metal, wood, earth — the kind of smell that lingers on the skin.

  "Thank you."

  "Not really a compliment, but sure, buddy. But please be careful —I don’t want to get stuck in a coin again. Not being able to move sucks."

  The object in his pocket glows softly, unnoticed by Dan, busy with making tea.

  "What?" Theo blinks. That is new to him.

  "What? I told you before, yeah? When a hero dies, their god loses divinity. In my case, I'd be too weak to move."

  "No? You didn't?"

  "Nuh uh, I did." ... Maybe he should sell the coin so that he and sister can live comfortably forever.

  But if Hermes' words were true:

  "A Hero—a Chosen One—is a rare kind of proxy. A one-in-a-million phenomenon, .... And the god? Their influence over Chaos increases exponentially."

  "... Hermes, does this mean only Hero can awaken you?"

  "Hmm. I think so yeah."

  "And since they are really rare. That means I am basically your one-in-a-millions chance?"

  "Weird way to put that, buddy."

  "So… I’m basically keeping you alive?"

  "... Did the winds scramble you brain likes eggs or something? You okay, buddy?"

  Theo exhales, a bit of the weight on his shoulders lifting. But it also means he’s stuck with Hermes—at least until his debt is repaid.

  ... Oh well. His power is useful.

  "So," Dan places a cup of tea in front of him with a soft clang.

  He takes a seat in front of him, nursing one of his own "I assume you here for dealing."

  His lips curve into a soft smile—unsuited for a black market dealer. Even after years of working with Dan, Theo still doesn’t understand him

  The tea is bitter and warm. He wraps his hand around it, hoping it would last.

  "Yeah." Theo reaches inside his hoodie's pocket and places the pocket watch on the table.

  A soft clink as the small chain unravels, slipping through his fingers and settling onto the counter.

  Dan leans forward, weathered hands reaching for it with the kind of care reserved for old things with stories. He lifts the watch, tilting it under the dim shop light, the silver catching in the glow.

  His thumb traces over the cover’s faint, time-worn engravings. The metal shifts in his grip, hinge barely visible.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  "Haven’t seen one of these in a while."

  The watch is a good size—not too big, not too small. It fits neatly in his palm, just shy of his fingertips.

  He tugs the chain lightly, then twists the knob on top.

  Click.

  The watch face pops open.

  A hidden compartment.

  Dan raises an eyebrow. "Victorian era. Pristine condition."

  Theo leans in.

  Huh. Last night wasn’t a bust after all.

  Dan tilts the watch, inspecting the compartment. "These were for businessmen back then—those who had things to hide. Cash. Jewelry. Secret notes. And in your case…"

  He plucks something out.

  "Drugs."

  Excuse me?

  Dan holds up a small plastic bag filled with white powder.

  "Woah~" Hermes "helpfully" informed

  Dan barely reacts, casually turning the bag between his fingers. "Nowadays, these watches are treated as rare antiques. Usually go for a couple thousand on the market."

  Okay. Good. At least there’s that.

  Dan studies the bag for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a small sigh, he slides it across the counter toward Theo.

  "I hope you are not planning on selling here. But, given your ... situation. I didn't see anything in the watch."

  Theo stares at the bag.

  Looks like coke.

  "This smells… familiar," Hermes hums. "Divinity. But dust. Huh. That’s new."

  ... He has heard of some kind of new drug that has been circulating recently.

  When Theo heard about it, he quickly dismissed it as bullshit.

  "... Bullet hit you? You won't feel a thing. In fact can throw that same bullet and kill the bastard trying to shoot you ..." is what he overheard from a guy in the alley, giving out some insane prices for a mere 10g of it.

  The bag of drugs he was waving around is enough to pays of Ellie's school tuition and have some left to buy new furniture.

  It sounds so laughable backs then. But now?

  If Hermes' words were true—if this was Divinity in drug form—then the rumors weren’t as far-fetched as he thought.

  Theo had seen what just a sliver of divinity had done to his own body.

  His grip tightens around the warm cup, fingertips pressing into the ceramic.

  "Do they even know what this is?" he said, under his breath. "Are they just snorting it blindly?"

  From what he knows about thugs, cartels members, and rich no-life bastard who throw money at the undergrounds market—

  Yeah. That sounds about right.

  And that means… he didn’t just rob some ‘rich boy.’

  The guy he hit yesterday wasn’t some trust fund brat flashing cash—he was a dealer. Maybe even a supplier.

  Expensive suit. The arrogant strut among the lowest of the low.

  The kind of confidence that only comes from knowing you own people.

  A cold weight settles in his stomach. He’s on their list now.

  Fuck.

  Stealing at the market is no longer an option. By now, they'll have goons scattered across the streets, at every corner, waiting for him. Watching. Catching any slip-up.

  He’s been there once already—standing at the corner of death. And even now, with a god on his side, he's not keen on doing that again.

  But what should he do now?

  The market was easy pickings. If he has to move to another district… the security will be tighter. More risks. More rivals.

  Ellie.

  The thought slams into him like a punch to the gut.

  How the hell is he supposed to pay for her school now?

  His gut twists violently—he’s going to puke.

  "Maybe I will try some?" Hermes, the bastard, casually suggests it.

  "Not. The. Time." Theo grinds out, barely restraining himself from crushing the cup in his hand.

  "Jeez, I know, I know, calm your tits. I don't even enjoy the high anyway — just curious... How the hell could they even make these stuff?"

  "Divinity isn’t a thing you can grind up. It’s not physical. Not like that."

  Theo rubs his temple. "And yet, here we are."

  "Yeah. Which means someone found a way. Normally, the only sources would be Divine Beasts or Fruit—both locked away where only gods can reach."

  Theo shifts in his seat. His gut tightens.

  "Or..." Hermes’ voice turns, drawn out.

  He lifts the cup to his lips—the tea’s gone lukewarm, but he swallows anyway.

  "They got a god’s body. And crushed it into powder."

  A beat of silence.

  The cup in Theo’s hand suddenly feels too warm.

  His thumb presses into the ceramic. "That’s stupid."

  "Is it?"

  "You said it yourself. Gods don’t work like that. So how the hell do you break something that technically doesn't exist?"

  Hermes hums. "That’s the question, isn’t it?"

  Theo sets his cup down. Carefully. The tension in his shoulders doesn’t ease.

  "Great," he mutters. "Powdered god-dust on the market. Love that for us"

  "I can give you about three thousand for the watch." Dan’s voice cuts through Theo’s spiraling thoughts.

  ... That’s enough to feed him and his sister for a few weeks.

  At least food won’t be a problem for time being.

  He leaves the shop with ding of the bells, money in hand.

  He wants to retire already. Every muscle in his body aches, his mind foggy from exhaustion.

  ... Maybe he should work for them?

  .... Absolutely not. Theo is a lowlife, he knows that. But he won't even dare to stoop that low, he still have to be there for Ellie.

  In addition, If he ruined other people’s lives, how could he ever face Ellie after that? Maybe he’d just kill himself.

  ... Shit. The winds brushing against him is chilling despite the glaring sun at him.

  Putting all that aside.

  He still has to figure out what to do with the drugs he snatch.

  ... The ledge of the building looks very tempting right now.

  Selling is out of the question. Might as well put up a neon sign saying: "I’M RIGHT HERE, COME GET ME."

  He’s already had more than three near-death experiences lately—he really doesn’t need another one.

  … He’ll think about this later.

  It’s best if he doesn’t go out stealing for at least a week. The wound he left on the cartel is still fresh, and their goons will be all over the streets looking for him. He’s also carrying a lot of money right now. Damn him if he loses it all today.

  Let’s go home first.

  Theo extends his hand. Grabs.

  Stars swirl—light bends—the circle rushes past him.

  And he’s standing in front of his house.

  … Woozy.

  Not as bad as before. His stomach doesn’t flip inside out this time.

  Maybe because he hasn’t been warping as much today.

  A breath. He shifts his weight, steadying himself.

  Then—

  He notices.

  Someone is near the door.

  Fuck.

  His body locks up before his brain can catch up. His vision sharpens, the world narrowing around the figure.

  Big guy. Broad shoulders. Thick arms.

  Wearing a black two-piece suit.

  The guy glances at his watch.

  Stomps his foot.

  Impatient.

  That’s not good. That’s really, really not good.