The streets of Redfern Hollow were beginning to stir. Morning light fell across damp cobblestones, still dark from last night's rain. Smoke rose from a few crooked chimneys, curling into the pale sky. Liam kept his hood low as he passed through the quieter lanes, walking back toward the inn.
He cut through a narrow alley behind the baker's shop. As his boot tapped a worn stone, something caught his eye. A dull glint—barely there, but enough to pause him.
A silver coin sat beside the edge of a drainage grate.
He looked around—once left, once right. Empty.
He crouched, picked it up, turned it in his fingers. Real. Worn, but usable.
He didn't say anything. Just slid it into his pouch.
Twenty steps later, another one. This time nestled in a shallow crack between bricks near the base of a crooked lamppost. He picked it up too. Then another, and another. By the time he crossed the main road near the smithy, he had collected over two gold and nine silver worth of scattered coin.
It was impossible to ignore.
Not because it happened once. But because it kept happening.
He pressed his hand to the pouch at his side, listening to the quiet jingle inside. He didn't smile and shake his head in disbelief. He already accepted it.
"[God-Given Luck]."
It worked in the background—subtle, steady. Not magic in the loud sense. More like coincidence stacked carefully in his favor.
When he turned the corner and saw the storefront—Thimble & Thread—he stopped walking.
The shop had clean windows and a modest sign swinging gently in the breeze. His eyes lingered on the display behind the glass. Neat rows of folded jackets, shirts, coats. The kind of thing a boy heading to an academy should be wearing.
He reached for the handle and stepped inside.
A small bell above the door gave a short chime. The smell of wood polish and faint lavender met him.
"Morning," said a man seated behind a wide counter. He was middle-aged, reading a clothbound book with spectacles low on his nose. "Looking for clothes? You'll find the youth sizes on that wall to the left."
Liam gave a nod. "Thank you."
He walked over. The clothes were clean, practical. Victorian cuts mostly—fitted collars, buttoned sleeves, sturdy trousers. All well-maintained. He ran a hand over a few coats, feeling the fabric weight. He picked four sets.
One charcoal grey with narrow cuffs. One forest green with reinforced stitching along the shoulders. A lighter tan set with strong seams. And a deep navy coat lined in soft wool.
He carried them back to the counter.
The shopkeeper adjusted his glasses and looked over the selection.
"Good taste. Better than what most lads your age pick out. When I was your age, my mother bought all my clothes. Nothing ever fit right."
Liam gave the smallest smile. "At least she cared enough to try."
That earned a chuckle.
The man folded the garments neatly. "Let's see... with the shop's discount for travelers, that'll be three gold, nine silver, and four copper. Another four copper if you want a proper cloth bag to carry it."
Liam reached into his pouch and counted the coins. No hesitation. He placed the amount down, copper last. The shopkeeper took it, tied the coins into a small leather wrap, then packed the clothes into a sturdy canvas bag.
"Appreciate the business," the man said, sliding the bag toward him.
"Thanks," Liam said. Then turned and walked back out into the street.
The town had become busier. People moved through the lanes now, voices rising above carts and stall shutters. A group of children raced past with a stick and cloth ball, laughing. The world moved on.
And just beside the edge of a stone planter—another coin.
Liam picked it up without pausing.
He didn't look around this time. He just kept walking.
By the time he reached the inn, he had gained another two gold and four silver. He stepped inside. The smell of herbs and bread met him.
Merra stood behind the counter drying a wooden spoon. Her sleeves were rolled, apron damp from kitchen work.
"You've been out early," she said, giving him a glance over the rim of her glasses. "Running errands?"
"Picked up some clothes," Liam said, lifting the cloth bag.
She eyed the bundle, then gave a small approving grunt.
"Good. Better to sort things out now than wait until you're packed up and rushing off. Did you find what you needed?"
He nodded. "Everything I need for now."
"Lucky you," she muttered, more to herself. "Most boys your age come in asking if they can pay with buttons or dried fruit."
Liam gave a short exhale through his nose—close enough to a laugh.
He carried the bundle upstairs, his boots creaking softly with each step. In his room, he placed the clothes on the bed and opened the drawstring. The colors caught the light—muted, utilitarian. Nothing extravagant.
He reached into his pouch and drew out a handful of coins. Laid them on the table. Gold, silver, copper. Stacked and sorted.
He poured the coins out in silence, watching them stack in uneven little piles. A result of nothing he did—just a strange advantage he barely understood.
He sat quietly, turning one of the silver coins between his fingers. "This skill really does have its own way of working," he muttered to himself. "No effort. No struggle. But it still delivers."
The thought lingered as he put the coins back into his pouch and leaned back in his chair, mind already thinking of what came next. The road, the academy, the unknown.