CURRENCY THAT SLEEPS WITH EVERYONE

Standalone Chapter Preview— From Zyphar Chronicles I: The Becoming

The door opened into a city that felt like a stranger.
And before I could speak or question, I stepped through.
The teachers didn’t tell me what I was supposed to do.
No instructions. No direction of where the trial began.
So I walked.
Roamed the city like a ghost that hadn’t been told it had died.
It looked something like the world I had known, but it moved faster.
The people all seemed in motion, endlessly rushing forward but never looking up, like they were chasing something that had already forgotten their names.

They didn’t speak to one another, not unless transaction demanded it. No one noticed me.
And maybe that was the first mercy.
I wandered the streets, not knowing where to stop.
And then—they came.
Three men, dressed not in robes or armor, but in clean, sharp uniforms. Their posture was easy, but their eyes were trained.

They stepped in front of me, politely but with precision, and introduced themselves as “proud Enforcers of the System.”

I asked, with sincerity, “What is the System?”

They laughed.
Not cruelly—just with amusement.
Like someone watching a child ask what wind tastes like.
“You don’t seem from here, do you?” one of them said.
“We’ll forgive that question this once.”
They didn’t lower their voices.
They didn’t blink.
“The System,” they explained, “is not a thing you name.
Not a thing you question.

Not even with the words you just used—’What is the System?’”
They smiled, as if they were helping me.
“As simple as this—we work.”
“We give something meaningful.
And in return—the System, which is unseeable and unquestionable, grants you a roof to sleep under and food to match what you’ve earned.”
“That is balance. That is fairness. That is all.”

Then they asked, “What’s your name?”
I said, “I am Animas.”
They laughed again.
One of them shrugged.
“Seems everyone’s an Animas these days.”
Their tone wasn’t hostile.
It was just tired.
They had seen too many like me.
“You can’t roam like a ghost here,” they told me.
“This isn’t that kind of city.”
I asked, “Why?”
And without hesitation, they answered,
“Because this is the System.”

I told them I had no place.
They exchanged a look, and one of them nodded.
“We’ll take you to a place that might suit you—something small. Food, too. But not for free. You’ll need to work. Pay the dues. Earn your stay.”
I was surprised.
For a moment, I thought they were kind.
So I asked, “Why are you helping me?”
They looked at each other again—smiled, almost gently— and said, in perfect unison, “This is the System.”

The first morning I woke, I found myself alone.
The room was silent, stripped of presence, not even the echo of a shared breath. Only a gatekeeper sat outside the door, unmoved by my confusion.
I stepped out and asked him, “Where am I? What am I supposed to do?”
He didn’t speak much—just handed me a leaflet.
Thin paper, instructions typed without warmth: where to go, what train to take, what job to report to.
I looked around and asked, “Is there no one else here?”
He smiled, not with friendliness, but with routine.
“Everybody left before sunrise.”
“Why?” I asked.
And he answered the same way they always do.
“Because it is the System.”

A curse nearly slipped from my mouth. Just one word. But I swallowed it.
If this is the System, I told myself—then let it speak. So I moved.
Took the skytrain, just as the paper instructed.
I arrived at the workplace—another building, another crowd.
They assigned me a task.
It was hard, but not harder than what I’d already endured.
So I did the work, without protest, without pause.
I moved through the day like it belonged to someone else.
When evening came, everyone stood in line.

So I joined them. I turned to the man beside me and asked,
“What is the line for?”
He looked surprised.
“You don’t know?”
I shook my head.
“We’re getting paid,” he said, “for the work we did today.”
“Paid in what?”

He lowered his voice. Looked around. Then leaned closer.
“You’re new, and you worked hard, so I’ll tell you something most don’t say aloud. The currency… it’s not what you think.”

He glanced over his shoulder, then whispered—
“It’s a prostitute. One that sleeps with any man, any race, any face, even those who don’t deserve to be touched.”

“But that’s what we exchange. That’s how the System runs.
We use her to get food, to keep a roof, to stay alive. So keep that to yourself.”

I didn’t understand it fully.
But I understood enough to know it was part of the debt.
The Enforcers had said dues must be paid.
When my time came, I stepped forward.
They refused me.
I asked, “Why?”
They said,
“You came late today. No payment for lateness.”

I stayed calm.
“Then why,” I asked, “did you let me work? If you knew I would not be paid, why allow me to do the task at all?”

They laughed.
Not with humor. With the sharp, wet laughter I like the vultures.
And one of them, still grinning, said—

“Because this is the System.”

~ From Zyphar Chronicles I: The Becoming
This chapter is offered as a standalone reading experience from the upcoming literary saga, Zyphar Chronicles I: The Becoming. It speaks of no ordinary conflict — but of a man cast into a world ruled by unseen laws, faceless power, and systems that feed on silence.

Here, Zyphar walks into the nameless, into a city that demands worth before offering shelter. What follows is a confrontation not with enemies, but with the structure itself — a mirror of our world, sharpened by metaphor and truth.

This is only the beginning.
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The fire remembers. And so must we.