The brass lanterns of Splintnose Bank flickered against the stone walls, casting quick, jumpy shadows—shadows that seemed a little too eager to leave with the customers.

Garrik Splintnose, Senior Vaultmaster of the Goblin Banking Guild, clambered atop a high stool so he could be roughly eye-level with his latest client. His green skin shone with a faint golden tint—not natural, but a side effect of working around so much wealth.

“Welcome, welcome, tallfolk friend,” he squeaked, baring a grin full of respectfully sharpened teeth. “You here for deposit? Very good choice. Splintnose Bank safest in whole valley! Maybe whole kingdom! Maybe whole—well, depends how big you measure.”

The human investor, a merchant named Aldren, held his ledger stiffly to his chest. “Yes… about your security system. You mentioned you don’t use locks?”

“Oh, no-no-no. Locks silly,” Garrik said, waving a clawed hand. “Locks break. Keys lose. Doors jam. But goblin eyes? VERY strong. VERY sharp. VERY distractible.”

Aldren blinked. “Distractible?”

“Yes! Best feature.” Garrik hopped off the stool and beckoned him toward a heavy archway leading down to the vault chambers. Two goblin guards stood there, perfectly motionless except for their pupils, which were dilated so wide Aldren could see his own reflection in them.

They did not blink.

They did not breathe, so far as he could tell.

They were staring, unbroken, at a pile of coins in a pedestal bowl.

Garrik puffed his chest. “Guard rotation very efficient. Every six hours, new goblin take staring-duty. Very intense. Very honorable. Sometimes must splash them with cold water so they remember to eat.”

Aldren frowned. “But… how does staring at coins keep thieves out?”

“Ah!” Garrik clapped loudly. The noise echoed. The guards did not react. “Come, come! I show.”

He led Aldren down a spiral corridor, the air growing cooler and thicker. A metallic scent hung in the air—old copper, polished gold, and something faintly sulfuric that Aldren suspected was goblin sweat.

They entered a narrow viewing hall. Behind iron latticework sat the first vault room.

Aldren’s jaw dropped.

The floor was NOTHING but treasure. Not stacked. Not categorized. Simply everywhere. Gems. Crowns. Loose silver. Elaborately carved statuettes. Chains. Rings. Buttons of hammered gold. The room wasn’t merely full—it was overflowing. It glittered like daybreak on water.

Garrik tapped the bars. “Behold! Primary deterrent.”

Aldren’s voice weakened. “Surely you don’t mean this is to distract thieves.”

“Oh yes!” the goblin banker said proudly. “Very proven method! See, thieves break in, they go, ‘Oooooh, shiny shiny,’ and then—” he made a little ‘pop’ sound with his mouth—“brain go empty. They stare. Maybe touch. Maybe roll around. But do they steal? NO! They forget purpose entirely!”

“That can’t be reliable.”

Garrik’s ears perked. “Reliable? Oh-ho-ho. Tallfolk think this amateur system? Splintnose family studied goblin attention for FIVE generations! We know exact number of shiny objects needed to incapacitate thief mind. And we add more, just in case. Very science.”

Aldren rubbed his forehead. “So your entire security system… is distraction?”

“Correct!”

“And you keep your actual valuables… where?”

Garrik blinked at him, confused. He pointed at the vault room. “There. In big pile.”

“But that is the distraction.”

“Yes! Very efficient!” He looked genuinely impressed that Aldren had grasped it so quickly. “Same pile, two jobs. Saving time AND money. True goblin brilliance.”

Aldren took a long breath, trying to steady his pulse. “What about your guards? Shouldn’t they be protecting the treasure? They stare at a bowl of coins to distract themselves… from the pile?”

“YES,” Garrik said, wagging a claw. “Because if guard look at big pile, guard get distracted, too. Very unsafe. Better to give guard own tiny distraction to keep gaze occupied. Plus, very fair system. Everybody gets shiny to stare at. Good for morale.”

Aldren pressed his palms over his eyes. “So let me restate. Thieves can’t steal because they’re too distracted by the gold.”

“Right!”

“And the guards can’t be distracted by the gold… because they’re already distracted by smaller gold.”

“Exactly!”

“And that keeps the treasure safe.”

“Perfect summary!” Garrik beamed. “Would you like brochure?”

Aldren stared back through the bars. The treasure pulsed with warm, reflected lamplight. For a moment—just a moment—he felt something tug at the edges of his mind. A fascination, a stillness. A wanting.

Garrik gently tugged his sleeve. “Careful, careful. You look too long, you start career in goblin banking. Very slippery slope.”

Aldren snapped his gaze away. “Right. Yes. I see.”

“So!” Garrik said, standing as tall as his two-foot-eight height allowed. “Shall we open your account?”

Aldren hesitated.

Then he nodded slowly.

“I suppose… if it works on thieves…”

Garrik slapped his back with surprising force. “THAT’S SPIRIT! Come, tallfolk! We fill paperwork! Many forms! All shiny!”

Aldren blinked. “Your paperwork is shiny?”

Garrik nodded solemnly. “Ink very glittery. Keeps goblins focused on reading.”

They walked back toward the teller hall as the two goblin guards continued staring—utterly unmoving, absolutely entranced—at their little bowl of coins.

The vault behind them gleamed quietly.

It was, Aldren realized with a sinking feeling, the most dangerously effective security system he had ever seen.