The Gate Traveler

New York had no shortage of places to find hidden or not-so-hidden treasures. A quick online search netted me an unbelievable number of pawnshops, over thirty flea markets, and endless thrift stores packed with everything from antique furniture to last season's designer castoffs. My Storage wasn't full yet, but just in case, I expanded it to 4,096 cubic meters—big enough to park a fleet of trucks inside.

Then came the workshops. Scrolling through listings, I found classes for everything under the moon and stars: podcasting and audio production, urban gardening, event planning and management… The sheer variety was incredible. I signed up for 43 before I stopped myself. There were plenty more, but 50 skill points had a nice ring to it, and I had to draw the line at some point.

Digital Marketing Strategies

Financial Planning for Beginners

Stand-Up Comedy Workshop

DIY Electronics and Robotics

Self-Publishing Your Book

Astrology and Birth Charts

…and over thirty more, covering everything from virtual reality development to ethical hacking.

A late-night scroll through financial forums led me to an interesting discovery: bearer bonds had no registration or ownership records. Just a slip of paper worth a fortune to whoever held it. There were even semi-legit agencies where you could sell them without an ID, for a percentage of the price. I made a few calls and scheduled an appointment for the next day.

The office was about what I expected. A brass plaque on the door read Merrick & Associates, Financial Consultants. Inside, the receptionist barely glanced up before nodding toward a frosted glass door.

A man in his fifties sat behind a simple walnut desk, his tailored suit and gold-rimmed glasses the only signs of wealth. He gestured to the chair opposite him. "Mr. Carter?"

I nodded and sat, setting an envelope between us. He reached for it and glanced at me without opening it. "Denominations?"

"Ten thousand."

He finally opened the envelope, slid the sheets halfway out, and picked up the phone. "Verification," he said, reading off a serial number to whoever was on the other end. A pause. Then another. He read all the serial numbers, waited a bit, and said, "Continue." In this fashion, he checked the bonds against some unseen database one by one.

I kept my breathing even. My research showed this was normal; bearer bonds lacked owner tracking, but serial numbers could still undergo fraud checks. If they were clean, they were as good as cash.

Minutes passed before he finally put the phone down. "Acceptable," he said, pulling a slim ledger from a drawer and flipping it open. "Terms are standard," he continued, picking up a pen. "Sixty cents on the dollar. Cash. No receipts. No questions."

"And if I say no?"

"You walk out with the bonds." He lifted his finger. "But bear in mind, not many doors open for paper like this anymore."

I nodded.

He tapped a key on his desk phone. "Prepare the disbursement."

The assistant walked in, carrying a thick envelope. He placed it on the desk and stepped back. The broker slid it toward me without a word. I picked it up, feeling the weight of the cash inside. Peeling back the flap, I saw neatly stacked hundred-dollar bills.

"Pleasure doing business," he said, offering his hand.

I shook his hand, then picked up the envelope. Without another word, I stood and walked out, keeping my pace steady and unhurried.

Only when I stepped onto the sidewalk, city noise washing over me, did I let out a slow breath. The bonds were gone. The money was mine. And best of all, there wasn't a trace of the transaction.

On my third day in New York, my phone rang.

I glanced at the screen, then answered. "Hello?"

"Is this Dr. John Rue?" The voice was calm but serious.

"Yes, this is Dr. Rue. Who's calling?"

"Good morning. This is Detective Marcus Hanigen with the Chicago PD. Is now a good time to talk? I have a few questions regarding last night."

I straightened in my seat. "How do I know you're really a police officer?"

"My badge number is 3489217. You can call the station to verify. I'll call you back once you've confirmed."

There was a short pause. "No, it's okay," I said finally. "What did you need to know?"

"Where were you last night?"

"Last night?" I echoed, working to keep my voice steady. "I was here in New York. What's this about?"

"I'm afraid I can't disclose that right now. Can you give me more details about your whereabouts?"

"I've been in New York for the past three days," I said, rubbing a hand over my face. "I flew in on Monday. I have my plane ticket and hotel registration if you need proof."

"Yes, please. Can you share that information with me?" He still sounded all business, but there was a slight shift in his tone, a little less tension than before.

"Sure," I said, already pulling up my email. "I flew in on American Airlines, flight AA123, and I've been staying at the Midtown Hotel. I checked in right after I landed. Do you need anything else?"

"That should be enough for now. Thank you, Dr. Rue."

"Okay, but can you at least tell me why you're asking?"

"I'm afraid I can't discuss it at this time. We'll be in touch if we need more information. Have a good day."

The line clicked, and the call ended.

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Of course, my in-laws accused me. That they were right this time was beside the point.

For two months, I learned new skills while raiding pawnshops, thrift stores, and flea markets. New York turned out to be a playground for my Merchant skills, and I learned to appreciate them. Skills differed from spells. While spells involved "flexing" my mana to cast them, skills didn't, even though they used mana too, just a lot less. The more accurate way to describe skills would be that I had to "flex" my intention. It was still intuitive, like I had always known how to do it, but using them repeatedly made them sharper in a way.

That understanding came in handy one afternoon when I walked into yet another shop.

The bell over the door let out a cheerful jingle as I stepped into another pawnshop in Queens. Dim lighting, scuffed tile, and a counter lined with fingerprint-smudged glass. Behind it, a wall of cheap guitars and old TVs. I wandered over to the glass case and leaned down to browse. There was a busted gold chain, a pair of diamond studs that I knew immediately were fake, and some junk with tangled price tags. Then I spotted a dull-looking ring near the back.

I tapped the glass. "Mind pulling that one out?"

The guy behind the counter, a heavyset dude with a Yankees cap, gave me a quick once-over. He grunted softly, unlocked the case, and reached inside.

"How much?"

"Ninety-five." He pointed at the fake diamond studs. "I can offer you a good deal on the diamonds."

"No thanks." I slid out a hundred-dollar bill and held it out. "Keep the five."

He looked at the bill, then at me, squinting. "You a reseller?"

"Something like that."

Walking through a flea market with Nose for Business activated, my attention kept snagging on things. First, a stall selling carpets—two of them stood out right away. At another stall, a set of glass bowls with a leaf motif caught my eye. Further down, cast-iron pots and boxed silverware sets also drew my attention. Every time the skill kicked in, it drew me toward high-quality items that were priced lower than they should have been. I had to admit, I really liked my merchant skills.

I stocked up on hot food and added more fighting staves, bows, and arrows, all packed neatly into plastic buckets in my Storage. And, of course, I got more coffee. You can never have enough coffee. A thrift store run for resale clothes sparked an idea, and I cleaned out two wholesalers of sewing and knitting supplies, respectively. Sunglasses, hats, and office supplies followed, along with all the best pawnshop finds. At a medical supplier, I picked up gloves, scalpels, resuscitation bags, and anything else I might need. Magic was great, but those were the familiar tools of my trade, and I trusted them. And, naturally, I bought a ridiculous amount of bug repellent.

With only $20,000 left, it was time to fly to Europe. I planned to cross to Shimoor from Frankfurt. Gate-hopping to raise my Gate Traveler level no longer felt worth the effort. It would rise on its own as I moved around. At this point, I didn't care. The waiting had dragged on long enough. All I wanted was to leave and finally get started.

After formatting my laptop and canceling my phone plan, I sold both in a pawnshop. As a last step in the U.S., I withdrew all my funds, converted them to euros, and purchased a ticket to Germany.

During the flight, I checked my Storage and immediately felt dizzy from the mess. Even though I knew exactly what I had and where it was, looking at the massive pile of stuff all stacked on top of itself made me feel like a total slob. Wanting to sort it out before crossing over, I found a big empty warehouse in Frankfurt to rent for the day. After emptying my Storage, I stood there and gawked. Buying a lot was one thing, but seeing it all laid out in front of me really drove home just how much I'd accumulated.

Wow!

Immediately, I put the food back and started organizing everything logically. Thank God I'd bought extra shelving units from IKEA, along with chests and baskets from the flea markets. I ended up having to rent the warehouse for an additional four days, but it was finally done. Everything was arranged, and I knew exactly what I had and where it was. The amount of jewelry caught me off guard. Knowing I'd bought a lot and actually seeing it were two very different things. There was a surprising amount of gold and platinum jewelry, some with gems, some without, and an extensive collection of silver pieces, with or without semi-precious stones. Thinking back, between the life insurance, trust fund, house sale, my savings, the cars, and my in-laws' "gift," I had spent over a million dollars in the past year. Yeah, that explained it—but it still made me wonder if I should be nominated for Hoarders Anonymous.

I used the last of my money to buy German lager in wooden barrels, some more interesting foods, cooked and raw, a lot of German sausages, and more copper coins from the gaming stores.

On my last day on Earth, I wrote a detailed description of Earth in the Archive. It included geography, the political landscape, and a warning that the U.S. knows about the Gates and has them locked down on army bases. I covered travel methods, money and all its complexity, television, how to use the internet, and where to sell jewelry—pawnshops, not official precious coin exchanges. I explained how to find good deals at flea markets and marked every useful store on the Map, along with detailed notes on all the Gates I had visited. I stressed the importance of understanding local customs and laws, especially in regions suspicious of foreigners. Trade regulations, common scams, and tips on how to avoid drawing unwanted attention. Practical advice on blending in came next, including how to dress, what to avoid, and why a world atlas from a bookstore and local maps from gas stations were essential for keeping the Travelers' Map updated. I recommend picking up an abridged encyclopedia that provides solid general knowledge in a single volume. The list kept growing, a mix of essentials and useful things to know from the get-go

The following day, I changed into comfortable hiking clothes, checked out of the hotel, verified the taxi fare to the Gate, and spent my last 157 euros at a bakery. That was it. Everything was taken care of. Time to travel. A taxi dropped me off at the gas station near the Gate, and I walked the rest of the way.

I stood in front of the Gate for a few minutes. Two unassuming boulders that led somewhere far beyond Earth. Just stones. And yet, one step through and everything would change. I had done everything I could to prepare. Stocked supplies, trained skills, and learned as much as possible. But no amount of planning could erase the sparks of uncertainty that kept flaring up. This was it. No more hotels, no more flights, no more pawnshops or workshops. No more Earth. Staying wasn't an option. There was nothing left for me here. And yet, my chest felt tight, a tangle of relief and hesitation. Not doubt or regret, but the weight of stepping into something unknown, something no one else had done before.

I slid down to sit on the ground, my back leaning against one anchor. It wasn't exactly hesitation, just an unwillingness to let go of my family, despite both of them being dead. I thought of my mom, as little as I remembered of her. To my surprise, I remembered more than before. Her face was sharp in my memory now, not the washed-out, faded picture I used to have. Her smile, how she used to lightly punch my arm and call me "champ," the way she looked at me every time I came home with torn or dirty clothes, and the negotiations we used to have about dessert. The memories made me smile and feel lighter. As long as I remembered, I wasn't leaving her behind, but taking her with me.

Next, I thought of Sophie and the years we had together. My grief was better now, less suffocating. Between the effects of the mana and the year and a half that had passed since her death, it was easier to deal with. But it still hurt. I still missed her so much.

"I hope you're not pissed over what I did to your parents," I said. "In my defense, they deserved it and much more."

A soft breeze caressed my face.

"Yeah, I love you too, baby, and still miss you every day."

It was time to get up and go. Heaving a deep sigh, I got back up and looked back one last time. Although all I could see were bushes, trees, and glimpses of the highway, I thought of everything this world represented—and let go.

A persistent feeling nagged at me, an irritating itch in the back of my mind that I had forgotten something. But what? I ran through everything again: the Storage, the preparations, the Archive. No matter how much I thought about it, nothing came to mind. Whatever it was, it couldn't have been important.

I exhaled slowly, steadied myself, and took a step forward, crossing the Gate.