They didn't go far.
That was the first lesson.
Aiden expected a palace. A criminal den. A battlefield. Something dramatic enough to prepare to survive.
Instead—
They ended up in a district that smelled like steam, metal, and desperation.
Industry.
Not glamorous.
Not horrific.
Just… human.
Inkaris didn't talk at first. He never explained while walking. He preferred letting silence stretch long enough to make people listen harder when he finally spoke.
They stopped near a factory.
People moved in waves.
Workers leaving shifts with tired hands.
Workers arriving with resigned shoulders.
Faces that functioned instead of lived.
Aiden watched.
Then he felt it.
That strange, soft pull in his chest—the subtle gravity of want. It tugged gently, like someone whispering for help without knowing they'd spoken aloud.
He turned.
There.
Inkaris followed his gaze.
"Good," he said softly. "You're beginning to hear it."
Sitting against the side of the factory was a man in his thirties. Not broken. Not furious. Just worn. Grease-stained clothing. Calloused hands. Shoulders bent like he'd learned how to carry too much because dropping anything hurt worse.
He held a ring in his hands.
Not a wedding ring.
A small iron band that had clearly once been part of something else. His thumb kept tracing it, like it was the last echo of something warm.
He whispered without meaning to.
"…just one break. Just once. Just… once."
Aiden swallowed.
"He's not asking for riches."
"No," Inkaris agreed. "He's asking not to lose."
Aiden approached slowly and sat beside him.
The man didn't look at him right away.
Most people don't look at pain when it speaks.
"My daughter's medicine is going up next week," the man said quietly. "Shift hours were cut. Overtime suspended. Management says it's temporary."
He laughed softly.
The kind of laugh that hurt to hear.
"Everything bad is always temporary until it stays forever."
Aiden didn't speak.
He didn't need to.
"I don't want a miracle," the man whispered. "I just want… a fair chance. Enough to stand. Just once."
That was the wish.
Not power.
Not vengeance.
Just a chance.
Aiden looked at Inkaris.
"Can I?"
"Yes," Inkaris said. "But listen carefully. This isn't salvation. It isn't a solution. If you lift him forever, you choose his path for him. If you give him nothing, he collapses. Wishes are not gifts. They are… interventions."
Aiden closed his eyes.
It wasn't like casting magic.
It wasn't shaping power.
It was… listening back.
Something responded.
Something vast.
Something cold.
Something deeply fair in a way that hurt.
The world shifted, just slightly.
Paperwork got lost.
A new contract got reassigned.
A hiring error corrected itself in a way that happened to benefit exactly one desperate man in exactly the right week.
Tomorrow morning, someone would "accidentally" discover a gap in scheduling.
The day after tomorrow, the man would be offered hours.
Not charity.
Not pity.
Opportunity.
The man didn't burst into tears.
He didn't glow.
He just—
Breathed.
Like his ribcage finally remembered how.
He looked at Aiden now.
Really looked.
"…thank you."
Aiden smiled.
Then—
He felt it.
Something else moving.
Like a string pulled somewhere far away.
"…what was that?" he whispered.
Inkaris' expression didn't change.
"Balance," he said quietly. "Nothing catastrophic. No punishment. But something adjusted. Perhaps a different worker loses a slight edge in performance. Perhaps a supervisor's career advancement shifts by months. Perhaps the factory records go under review."
"Nothing awful?"
"Not today."
Aiden looked at the man again.
He wasn't a hero now.
He wasn't blessed.
He wasn't chosen.
He was… able.
That was enough.
They walked away.
Aiden didn't speak for a while.
When he did—
"I feel good," he admitted. "I shouldn't, right? People think wish granting should hurt. That it should feel heavy. But this feels… right."
"It should," Inkaris said. "If you cannot be proud of what you do, you become something else."
Aiden nodded.
Then he paused.
"…someone else paid something for that, didn't they?"
"Yes," Inkaris said gently. "That is also true."
Aiden's smile faded a fraction.
He didn't regret it.
But now he understood.
Being good wasn't clean.
It was complicated.
And complicated things always had a cost.
"Ready for the next lesson?" Inkaris asked.
"No," Aiden sighed.
He stepped forward anyway.