The Eternal Coin, Part 4: – The Pickpocket (Interwar Romania, 1930s → Dacian Times)

Bucharest, 1933. The city hummed with life between the wars—tram bells clanging, marketplaces bustling, and the scent of fresh bread mingling with the smoke of coal fires. Among the crowded streets moved an old thief named Ionuț, nimble-fingered and quick-witted. He survived by stealing from those too distracted to notice, never staying long enough to be caught.

One misty morning, his sharp eyes caught something glinting in the tin cup beside a sleeping beggar: a small, round coin, unlike anything he had seen. Its metal shimmered, not with the dullness of ordinary money, but as though it held a secret light within. At first, he thought it might be gold. Without hesitation, Ionuț snatched the cup, upturned it and slipped the coin into his pocket.

That night, exhausted after a day of narrow escapes, he fell asleep in an abandoned shoe factory. But his sleep was anything but ordinary. When he opened his eyes, he no longer saw the dim gas lamps of Bucharest. The air was thick with dust. Around him, the cries of battle rang out, strange words echoing across the valley.

Ionuț realised, with impending dread, that he was no longer himself. His body was younger, sturdier, and clothed in the rough tunic of a Dacian youth. The year was long before his time, and Roman soldiers marched through the lands of his ancestors, their Armour gleaming under a harsh sun.

He joined the defenders instinctively, feeling a surge of pride and fear. He watched as the Dacians fought bravely to protect their golden treasures, their villages, their very ancestral homes. He touched the glint of gold in the hands of his comrades and understood, in a way he never could as a petty thief, the value of loyalty, courage, and heritage.

But fate was merciless. The legionaries advanced with relentless iron discipline, cutting down the Dacians one by one with incredible ferocity. Ionuț fell among them, struck by swords and spears. As darkness crept over his vision, he felt the strange weight of the coin slip from his hand, rolling into the mud.

A Roman soldier, intrigued by its unusual shine, picked it up and tucked it into his pouch. To him, it was merely a curious keepsake, a glimmering bauble from a conquered land. He had no inkling of its power, nor of the lives it would claim in the millennia to come.

The coin, patient as always, waited. It had survived empires, wars, and the greed of men. And now, it would move again, to the next hand destined to carry it across time.