To find a hidden path when all roads seem closed is called luck. To encounter a glimmering coin in the dust is called luck. To discover a kind soul in the middle of a storm is called luck. To encounter a rare bloom in winter is called luck. To experience a guiding star when lost is called luck. But when one encounters a bell, we simply call it... fate.
***
Savin sat motionless at the table, his gaze fixed on the small golden bell resting before him. Its polished surface shimmered faintly in the dim light, delicate yet weighty—as if it carried far more than its modest size suggested. He had found it only moments ago, but already, everything had shifted. The course of his life, once steady, was now irrevocably altered.
For the better… and for the worse.
An unsettling awareness hit him that with the bell's appearance came unseen consequences. New possibilities, yes—but also new chains.
'This is trouble.' He thought.
He tipped the bell onto its side and peered into its hollow head. There was neither chain nor clapper within—just empty space. But the moment his fingers wrapped around the slender handle, both appeared as if summoned from thin air, trailing tendrils of ethereal white light that shimmered faintly in the still air.
A Bell of Transcendence.
And not just any—A golden one.
He sat back, the weight of it settling in his palm, heavier now than before. It would fetch a high price in the market, no questions asked. He could sell it, walk away, pretend nothing had ever happened.
His gaze slid toward the bed tucked in the far corner of the room. Its wooden frame creaked faintly as the young woman lying there shifted under the thin, faded blue blanket. Her face, once full of life, was drawn and pale, her dark hair clinging damp to her forehead from sweat and water. On any other day, she might have been mistaken for a girl just stepping into adulthood. But her illness had stolen the days from her face, hollowing her before her time.
Savin's grip tightened around the bell's handle.
'The money's almost gone too.'
That thought alone felt heavier than gold. He decided to sell it.
'A Silver Bell would sell for a hundred thousand Ekrom, what about Gold? It would be at least twice its price.'
Two hundred thousand Ekrom wasn't just a number—it was the kind of money that could change his life. No, their life. And so, Savin made his choice. He'd sell the Bell of Transcendence.
'Better safe than sorry.'
He liked to believe he was old enough to tell left from right, right from wrong. Any sixteen-year-old should know that much. But somewhere deeper, beneath all the practical thoughts and imagined luxuries, he recognized what he was really doing. Running. Running from a fate that had already taken notice of him. Sooner or later, it would catch up—he knew that.
For now, though?
He couldn't care less.
If fate wanted to use him like some pawn on a board, then fine. But he'd take a cut for himself.
'Hit me, I hit you, no grudges held.'
His gaze wandered around the small, dim studio apartment they called home. The place felt more like a storage room than a living space. Two rickety chairs. A small table stained with years of use. A few basic kitchen utensils, mismatched plastic dishes, spoons dulled by time, and a sink too close to the bed. To the furthest corner was the closet that kept their clothes and shoes and then there was the machine—humble but essential—sitting beside her bed. Its flickering lights displayed her heart rate and pulse, while thin tubes delivered a special liquid into her veins. The bed itself, was a narrow slab barely big enough for one person. Normally, she'd argue, insisting he took it, stubborn as always. But now, sick and quiet, she had no strength to resist. No strength to fight him over who got to cook—except that he couldn't given her condition, or who handled the laundry, or who bore the weight of the day.
And in that silence, something in him twisted.
'Snap out of it, Savin. Let's go get that money.'
Two hundred thousand Ekrom. That thought gave him a bit of happiness and a sense of accomplishment. He let the figure roll over in his mind, tempting him. He pictured a bigger apartment. One with proper walls and a real kitchen. A bed soft enough she wouldn't wake up aching. Maybe even better equipment—machines that didn't hum like they'd break down at any moment.
That thought made something flutter faintly in his chest.
It felt like happiness.
It felt like hope.
And, for a brief moment, it almost felt like enough.
Savin grabbed his jacket from the second chair and threw it over his shoulders, tugging at the collar to make sure it sat right. He adjusted his clothes, making himself presentable in the way she always insisted. There was something about the way she wanted him to look—clean, sharp—something he could never quite master without her reminding him. With a final glance at the room, he opened the door and stepped out, heading for the apartment next door.
He knocked, waiting for what felt like an eternity. It was nearly a full minute before the door creaked open, revealing a woman in her mid-thirties. Mrs. Lundy. She was so stunning in a way Savin didn't want to imagine. She stood there in a red velvet nightgown, the kind with a high slit that exposed more of her thigh than Savin cared to acknowledge. But it didn't matter. Not anymore.
Savin wouldn't even flinch if her whole dress fell to the ground right now. He had enough experience to strengthen his mental wall for a lifetime. Not even her appearance, nor any of the temptations the world offered could break it.
"Hello, Mrs. Lundy," he greeted, his voice steady, though his pulse beat a little faster in the coolness of the hallway.
She stared at him for a long moment, her eyes narrowing, before responding with a lazy smile, "Hello, Savin..." She paused, eyeing him with a calculating glance, then added, "You going to play ball again?" She made sure to emphasize that word.
"No, Mrs. Lundy. That was a one-time thing." His voice was firm this time, the memory of that night still lingering like a shadow he wasn't eager to revisit.
She raised an eyebrow, giving him a skeptical side-eye. "One time?"
Savin hesitated, looking away for a brief second before continuing, "Well, it wasn't exactly. But this time, it's different. It's serious. I swear. It could change everything for us."
Her expression shifted, a flicker of something—suspicion or curiosity—passing across her face. The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy, like a conversation waiting to be had but never spoken aloud. Just when Savin's heart felt like it might burst from the tension, Mrs. Lundy sighed deeply "Fine. Just go."
His hand was already in his pocket, ready to pull out the payment, but he froze. A sudden realization hit him, and he blinked, wide-eyed. "Aren't you going to charge me?"
Mrs. Lundy gave a casual shake of her head. "Your sister's a good girl. And I only did it 'cause you always left for foolish reasons. But..." She paused, leaning against the doorframe, "You better bring me proof of your outing."
Savin's chest lightened, and for a moment, his heart felt strangely warm. He'd been wasting money, all this time—just throwing it away, and he never even knew it. He could've been smarter. Could've been more careful. But now, this... now, he knew better. He wouldn't make that mistake again. His lips curled into a small smile, his first real smile in what felt like days.
"Thank you. I will."
With that, Savin turned and made his way toward the stairs at the end of the corridor, his pace quickening with each step, his mind racing with what lay ahead. Mrs. Lundy watched him as he walked away, a slight, knowing smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
'Silly boy.' She shook her head softly, a gentle sigh escaping her. Then, as if reminding herself of something important, she turned back to the studio apartment. 'I should check on her.'
***
Savin hurried down the dim, narrow, metallic staircase. Pushing open the only metal door that gave access to the outside, he stepped into the daylight and the cool, almost crisp air of early summer brushing against his face.
He frowned, staring at the futuristic not-so-futuristic scene before him. The streets were a mess of murky water from the previous night's rain, the edges of the metal road swallowed up in a soggy embrace. The gutters, clogged with refuse, struggled to drain the filth away. It was the sort of place where the usual sounds of the city were drowned out by the constant rhythm of survival—the shouts of hawkers, the rustle of clothing, the shuffle of worn-out shoes against grimy streets.
This was the slum of K City.
Anyone who heard the word futuristic might have been eager to see the place, envisioning sleek, gleaming towers and bustling neon streets. But not Savin. Not anyone who lived here. To them, it was like trying to present an expensive shirt with its fabric caked in mud. Simply repulsive.
The streets were clogged with the residue of neglect—puddles of murky water, refuse scattered in every corner, the air thick with the stench of decay. The high-tech, gleaming dream of the city was nowhere to be found here. Instead, there was only the grim reality of survival, where the scent of garbage was as familiar as the sound of shouting vendors. The gleaming promise of a futuristic city had long faded here, replaced by the suffocating weight of poverty and decay.
He could see some men going around, a few with guns on them for sure. These were the ones he had to avoid the most.
Savin's fingers brushed the cold metal tucked in his pocket. The Bell of Transcendence, its weight solid and comforting. It was the key to his escape, the one thing that could change everything. With this bell, he could leave this miserable place, pull his sister out of the dirt, and maybe even offer Mrs. Lundy something better. A life that didn't revolve around scraping for survival day after day.
His grip tightened on the bell, the cool surface pressing against his palm like a promise. He didn't care what it cost, what it meant. He just wanted a future that wasn't buried in the filth of this place.
The market around him hummed with life—vendors shouting their wares, children playing in the muck, their faces thin and dirt-streaked. It was a scene he knew all too well. Survival was the only thing that mattered here. Hopes and dreams were luxuries no one could afford.
But Savin wasn't willing to settle for this life. Not anymore.
On the better side of the city, beyond the slums and the decay, there was a life waiting for him—a real life. One with clean streets, warm beds, and a future that didn't smell of desperation. He could picture it clearly in his mind: a place where his sister wouldn't have to suffer, where they could both breathe freely without the weight of survival pressing down on them at every turn. His fingers clenched tighter around it. He could already see the apartment—clean, spacious, with real furniture. His sister laughing, her face free of the worry that constantly shadowed her.
The Bell of Transcendence in his pocket was his ticket there. It was more than just a trinket; it was the key to a life beyond the grime and the struggle. Two hundred thousand Ekrom could open doors, and make things happen. For once, he didn't have to scrape by or dream about the impossible. With the bell, everything changed.
He pushed forward through the mess of the street, stepping over puddles and past the shouting vendors. The chaos around him felt distant now, as if he were already halfway to that better life. It was no longer a dream—it was something he could reach, something real, something within his grasp.
His eyes lifted to the skyline in the distance, where the towers gleamed in the sunlight. That was where he was going. That was where his future lay.
And nothing—absolutely nothing—would stop him from getting there.