ELISHA POV
"Stop, thief!"
The guards' voices cut through the marketplace like the clash of steel.
Elisha ran. His bare feet pounded against uneven cobblestones, his lungs screaming for air as he pushed past startled vendors. A basket of apples toppled in his wake, fruit rolling underfoot. Someone cursed at him, another shouted, but Elisha didn't slow.
He turned sharply, slipping into an alley so narrow his shoulder scraped the wall. His heart thundered. He pressed his back against the cool stone, holding his breath as the guards' shouts thundered past. A moment later, the noise faded. They hadn't seen him duck inside.
Only then did he loosen his death-grip on the purse.
Hands still shaking, he pulled open the drawstring. Two coins slid into his palm. Just two.
Elisha let out a bitter laugh. "Perfect. I nearly got my head chopped off for this."
He flicked the silver between his fingers. "Yesterday it was rotten bread, last week an empty purse. Today, two coins. If there's a goddess out there, she must really enjoy watching me crawl."
His stomach growled. Hunger had been his shadow for weeks, maybe months—it was hard to keep count anymore. Ever since he'd been cast out of the raiders, this was his world: running, stealing, scraping by.
Once, things had been different. He'd been an orphan, yes, but the raiders had given him something that almost looked like family. He had trained, bled, and clawed his way to Green rank. But the day they ordered him to enter the temple, his stomach had dropped. He wasn't suicidal. He refused.
For that, they'd spat on him, called him coward, misopportuned, cursed.
Maybe they were right. But at least he was still breathing.
A ripple of clapping drifted from the main street. Curious despite himself, Elisha crept closer and peered out of the alley.
A girl stood in the center of a small circle of onlookers. No older than twelve, she twirled twin wooden swords with startling grace. The blades whirled like extensions of her arms, catching the sun as she leapt, spun, and struck imaginary foes. Her movements weren't just random tricks—there was training in them. Discipline. Legacy.
The crowd tossed coins into a bowl at her feet, murmuring admiration. Elisha found himself watching, lips tugging into the faintest smile. She was good. Too good for someone her age.
Then a shadow cut across the performance.
An imperial guard shoved his way forward, scattering the crowd. He sneered at the girl, boot crushing one of the coins. Without warning, he kicked over the bowl. Metal clattered across the dirt, rolling into the gutter.
The girl gasped, dropping her swords as she scrambled to gather what she could. The guard bent, scooped up the coins, and let out a cruel laugh.
"Entertaining, aren't you?" He tossed three coins back at her as though in mock payment. "That's all your little show is worth."
Elisha's blood boiled. His jaw clenched so tight it hurt. He knew that look in the girl's eyes—the helpless fury of the weak beneath the boot of the strong.
Something snapped.
"Hey!" His voice rang out before his mind had time to stop it. "Why don't you try bullying someone who fights back?"
The guard's head whipped toward him, sneer widening. "Another rat."
Elisha was already moving. He'd been fighting long before he learned to steal, long before hunger hollowed his belly. The fight was quick, brutal, and over within moments. The guard sprawled in the dirt, groaning, his arrogance bleeding out with every cough.
The crowd scattered nervously, afraid of imperial reprisal. Only the girl remained, staring up at Elisha with wide eyes.
He crouched down, picking up her fallen swords and handing them back. "You've got skill," he said, softer than his usual sharp tone. "Where'd you learn that?"
She hugged the wooden blades to her chest. "My grandfather. He was a Red Raider… before he died."
Elisha stilled. Red Raider. The words stirred something bitter in his chest. That was a rank he'd never touch. A world he'd been cast out from.
"You honor him well," he said finally, flicking one of the scattered coins into her bowl. "Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."
Her lip trembled, but she smiled faintly. She reached into her pocket and pressed four silver coins into his hand.
"For you," she whispered. "Thank you for helping me."
He blinked at the coins. He wanted to tell her to keep them, but the hollow ache in his belly spoke louder. He closed his fist around the silver and watched her vanish into the crowd.
By late afternoon, he was slumped against the west wall of a small restaurant, staring at the coins as though they might disappear. The smell of frying meat tormented him, rich and heavy in the air.
"Figures I'd pick the one place she'd find me," he muttered.
The door banged open.
"You again?" The woman stormed out, hands on hips. She had caught him stealing once before, and he hadn't forgotten the fury in her eyes. "Lurking by my restaurant now?"
Elisha tilted his head back and gave her his laziest grin. "Relax. I didn't steal from you today."
"Not yet," she snapped.
He rolled the coins between his fingers. "These weren't stolen. A girl gave them to me. Out of goodwill. Believe it or not."
Her gaze narrowed, suspicion written on every line of her face. Then she sighed. "If you want food and a roof, you'll work. My storage room's empty. Chop wood, fetch water, sweep. Do that, and you'll eat."
Elisha groaned, dragging himself upright. "Chop wood? The gods really do hate me."
"You mean the goddess," she said with a smirk.
Every swing of the axe rattled his arms, every crack of splitting wood dug the bitterness deeper. Sweat trickled into his eyes as he glared up at the fading sky.
"I was wrong about you, Mei," he muttered to the heavens. "You're not good. You're the worst."