The rain began to fall on the eighth day.
By the time Elvira dragged her feverish, unconscious younger sister into an abandoned boiler room on Rustwater Street, the rising water had already reached her ankles. Eleven-year-old Elvia was gaunt, her burning forehead pressed against her sister’s cold neck. Every breath she drew was a raspy hiss, like a pair of broken bellows.
“Hold on,” Elvira whispered to the empty air, though it was more for herself than anyone else.
Three days ago, the debt collectors had kicked in their door. She remembered the muffled grunt of her father as he was dragged away in chains and the way the blood bloomed like a flower when her mother’s forehead struck the stone steps.
She had searched every corner of the boiler room, finding only half a can of expired alchemical solvent and a few old newspapers stuck to the walls. Outside, the rain pounded against the rusted tin roof with the relentless rhythm of a drum.
Then, she heard footsteps—approaching from a distance, unhurried and steady, carrying the composure of a predator certain that its prey had nowhere left to run. The shadows of three men preceded them into the gaping mouth of the boiler room, stretched and distorted by the rain until they looked like three crouching monsters.
“Found you,” the man in the lead said, grinning to reveal a gold-plated front tooth. He was called “Iron Hook.” It wasn’t just a nickname; his right hand had been modified from the wrist down into a barbed steel hook that glinted with a greasy, cold light in the dimness.
Elvira shielded her sister behind her, her back pressed against the cold, damp brick wall. In her fourteen years of life, she had learned to accept her fate, to lower her head, and to curl her body to protect her internal organs before the first punch landed.
But this time, she didn’t want to learn.
“Don’t be scared, little girl,” Iron Hook said as he drew closer, tracing a circle in the air with his steel hook. “The money your old man owes isn’t much. Including interest… only five hundred Miller. If you two spend three to five years at the Nightingale Pavilion, you might even save up enough for a dowry.”
The two men behind him let out stifled laughs. One of them, a tall and lanky man, had already pulled out a hemp rope, his fingers tying a clever slipknot with the professional ease of a seasoned kidnapper.
Elvira stared at the rope. She remembered the last look her mother had given her—a bottomless well of apology, as if giving birth to them had been a sin. She remembered her father’s suppressed groans when his ribs were broken, like an injured animal too afraid to cry out loud.
She slowly stood up straight.
“Stay away from my sister,” her voice was calm, so calm it felt foreign even to her.
Iron Hook blinked in surprise, then laughed even louder. “Oho, she’s got a bit of spirit. I like that—”
Before he could finish his sentence, the lanky man lashed out with the rope. The loop unfurled in the air, aiming with precision for Elvira’s neck. This was a standard technique taught at the Nightingale Pavilion—designed to subdue the prey without leaving visible marks that would lower their market value.
Elvira instinctively raised her hand to block it, but her movements were too slow. The moment the rope touched her skin—
*Ding.*
A crisp sound, like a gold coin falling onto a stone floor, echoed unnaturally through the boiler room.
In the next second, at the center of the boiler room about two meters above the ground, the air rippled. Then, a silhouette made of pure golden dust appeared.
“What—what the hell is that…” the lanky man’s voice trembled. He instinctively reached for the dagger at his waist, but as soon as the blade left its sheath, it was covered in the same golden dust.
Then the dagger dissolved, flowing through his fingers and turning into a pile of fine metallic powder on the floor.
“A Beyonder?” Iron Hook’s voice was dry. “No… this doesn’t feel like…”
The golden silhouette tilted its head slightly.
“My apologies for the interruption.”
The voice was gender-neutral and smooth.
“I am merely a passing Merchant, and I happened to witness a deal of excellent value.”
The golden silhouette raised a hand. The dust forming the outline of its arm accelerated its flow, pointing toward Iron Hook.
“You use violent coercion and debt bondage, attempting to exchange the entire future of two young girls for a mere five hundred Miller. From a commercial perspective, that offer is laughably low.”
It turned toward Elvira.
“And you, child. You are willing to trade everything you own to ensure your sister’s survival. That offer is so high… it is lamentable.”
A movement that could be interpreted as a shake of the head appeared within the flowing dust.
“Unbalanced. Far too unbalanced.”
Iron Hook’s expression shifted rapidly through fear, confusion, and greed. Finally, perhaps driven by the habit of running rampant in the Lower City for years, or perhaps because the golden silhouette was so bizarre it felt unreal, he gritted his teeth and pointed his hook at the figure.
“I don’t care what path you walk, this is Blood Finger Gang business. If you know what’s good for you—”
He didn’t finish.
The golden silhouette snapped its fingers.
In the next instant, the three men froze in place, as motionless as three statues.
“I have no interest in those without value. So, please, be quiet.”
The golden silhouette turned back to Elvira.
“Now, child, let us discuss our business.”
Elvira held her sister tighter, her red eyes locked onto the golden outline. Was she afraid? Of course. But stronger than her fear was a clarity that bordered on despair.
Regardless of what this entity was, it had just dealt with Iron Hook’s group in a way she couldn’t comprehend. That meant it possessed power she could never resist.
And when a powerful being seeks you out, there are usually only two possibilities: it wants you to do something, or it wants you to pay for something.
“What do you want?” she asked, her voice hoarse.
The golden silhouette emitted a soft laugh that sounded like gold coins clinking together.
“Direct. Excellent.”
It walked a few steps closer. As it approached, Elvira felt the world around her begin to fade.
Then, she saw a tree.
It wasn’t a tree growing from the soil, but a tree growing from within herself.
Pale gold, translucent light radiated from her chest, spreading into countless slender branches in the air. Each branch was slowly growing and bifurcating, their tips adorned with a blurry halo. Within those halos were flowing images—
On one branch, an adult version of her stood before an easel, her brush stroking colors onto a canvas.
On another branch, she was deep within a library, her fingertips tracing the text of ancient tomes.
There were scenes of her teaching in a classroom, holding a sword on a battlefield, looking out from a traveling carriage…
Every branch was a possible future, a version of the person Elvira could become. Tens of thousands of branches stretched through the air, forming a massive, brilliant Tree of Possibilities rooted in her present self.
At the source of all the branches, at the base of the trunk connected to her chest, another thinner, dimmer root system extended—those roots were entwined around the Elvia in her arms. Each one represented a future shared with her sister.
But right now, those roots were withering.
Because of Elvia’s high fever, because her life was fading. If the sister died, the entire Tree of Possibilities would collapse—because no branch of the future began from the moment she lost her sister.
“Look,” the golden silhouette said. “What a beautiful investment portfolio. Tens of thousands of unfulfilled possibilities, each with its own potential value, each capable of being redeemed into reality in the future.”
It extended a finger, lightly touching one of the bright branches.
The halo on that branch magnified and cleared, showing the complete life of Painter Elvira: how she was discovered by a passing art teacher, how she completed her studies while working to support her sister, how she held her first solo exhibition at thirty, and how she lived to seventy-eight. Though Elvia was physically weak, she lived to sixty-five, always remaining her sister’s most faithful model and confidant.
Then, it touched another branch.
Scholar Elvira. She was adopted by an old professor from the Dome of Knowledge. With incredible perseverance and talent, she made a breakthrough in the field of ancient text decipherment. She never married, and Elvia became her assistant, using her extraordinary memory to help her sister complete translations that would go down in history.
Branch after branch was evaluated.
Warrior Elvira, Traveler Elvira, Hermit Elvira…
Each was a complete life, a complete mode of existence. The golden silhouette commented on their value as if it were an antique dealer cataloging a warehouse of treasures.
Then, it withdrew its finger and turned to Elvira.
“But all of this is built upon a single premise.” It pointed to the roots wrapped around Elvia. “That she lives.”
The roots were darkening and shriveling at a visible rate. Elvia’s breathing in Elvira’s arms grew weaker.
“She is dying. At the current rate, in approximately twenty-three minutes, these roots will snap completely. At that point, the entire Tree of Possibilities will crumble.”
The golden silhouette paused, its dust shifting into a form that suggested regret.
“Such a waste.”
“Can you save her?” Elvira asked. She no longer cared about those possibilities or any value assessment. She only saw her sister’s pale face and heard that increasingly faint breath.
The golden silhouette was right. If her sister died, she would likely find a way to end her own life as well.
“I can do much more than that,” the golden silhouette said. “I can give you the power to cut through the status quo.”
It raised its hand, palm upward.
A particularly bright speck of golden dust rose from its palm, hovering in the air. It began to shift, stretch, and reorganize. A few seconds later, the speck transformed into a miniature model of a pair of scissors.
“The Scissors of Severance,” the golden silhouette said. “It is not a weapon—at least, not primarily. It is a conceptual tool capable of cutting the connections between things.”
“It can cut the connection between the past and the present, the connection between oaths and bonds, and even…” The golden silhouette’s voice lowered. “The connection between death and existence, before it occurs.”
“Of course, the premise is that you must be strong enough.”
Elvira’s heart pounded violently.
“And the price?” she asked the most critical question.
The golden silhouette smiled. “I like trading with smart people.”
It pointed to the massive Tree of Possibilities.
“I want this. The whole tree. The collection of everything you could have become.”
Elvira froze.
“What… what will I become?”
“You will become a ‘Cleaner’,” the golden silhouette said. “A pruner walking the edge of destiny. You will no longer have infinite possibilities; your future will be anchored to a single track until the day your scissors can no longer cut anything.”
“And Elvia?”
The golden silhouette’s form softened slightly.
“She will become your Scissors.”
The model scissors decomposed in the air, turning back into that speck of dust, which then flew toward Elvia and vanished into her chest.
The unconscious girl’s body began to glow. Immediately after, her form became blurry and transparent, then gradually elongated and transformed. Her limbs retracted, her torso condensed, and finally, she solidified into a pair of massive, strangely designed scissors.
The scissors fell by Elvira’s feet, their blades shimmering with a dark luster.
“Her consciousness will be perfectly preserved; only her vessel has changed from fragile flesh and blood into a more resilient conceptual creation,” the golden silhouette explained.
“At the same time, your Soul Source ‘Severance’ will awaken.”
“I also grant you my blessing, Twin. When you meet someone worthy of trust, you can possess them, and that person will gain access to your Soul Source and magic power.”
Elvira knelt, her trembling hand touching the scissors.
She had no choice. For her sister, this might be the best possible outcome.
The handle felt warm to the touch, as if a living pulse beat within it. The moment her fingertips made contact, a familiar yet faint voice spoke directly in her mind:
“Sister…?”
It was Elvia. The voice was confused and a bit scared, but it was definitely her.
“I’m here,” Elvira responded in her mind, her tears finally falling. “I’m here. I’ll always be here.”
She looked up at the golden silhouette.
“If I give you the Tree of Possibilities, what happens to me now? Will I forget how to paint? Will I forget how to read?”
“No,” the golden silhouette shook its head. “But you will forever renounce a peaceful life.”
“You will fight within the tides of fate, or you will forever be on the road charging against destiny.”
“Until death takes you away.”
Elvira looked at the scissors in her arms, then at the Tree of Possibilities.
Finally, she looked at the three men in the corner who had already been dealt with.
“Deal,” Elvira said.
Those two words drained her of all her strength.
The golden silhouette bowed slightly—a standard, merchant-like gesture.
“The trade is struck.”
It reached out, fingers splayed, pointing at the Tree of Possibilities in front of Elvira’s chest.
The tree began to glow, brighter and brighter. Every branch and every leaf turned into a stream of pure light, detaching from her body and flowing into the golden silhouette’s hand. Those streams of light converged and compressed in its palm, finally solidifying into a crystal-clear heart. Inside the heart, countless tiny sparks of light circulated—each spark a segment of an unchosen life.
When the last ray of light left her body, the golden silhouette examined the crystal heart in its palm with satisfaction. It held it up to its eyes, as if admiring a perfect work of art.
“A beautiful investment,” it whispered. “I shall keep it safe.”
Then, the golden silhouette began to dissipate. The golden dust began to peel away and scatter from the edges of its outline, like a sandcastle collapsing in the tide.