In four hours and twenty-one minutes on the thirteenth of September, Grethon touched twenty-nine coins and sold not one. The archivist has watched hoarders before but few so swift about it, feeding 21.47 ETH into $DRAGONS, $ASIANHOOD, $MISTR, $ASI, $NINA, $SOUP and their kin, each purchase a small vow, none yet broken. The biggest of these vows, 2.68 ETH into $DRAGONS, sits still where it was placed, untouched, unflinching.
Call it conviction if the word still means anything after so many false believers. Every coin he entered remains entered; nothing has come back out. But he does not linger to watch what he has bought; he moves on within minutes, a wanderer who plants flags and walks off before the wind can test them.
He does not walk alone. Five other figures, among them the one called Hoarder, cross his path in seventeen of the same coins, a pattern too neat for coincidence and too quiet for proof. The archivist does not say they are one hand. The archivist only notes how often their footprints fall together.