It was Sunday, and Sikakama decided to visit Pendralice since it was a day off. Corin had told her to stop by his office on the way.
He quietly placed an envelope on his desk, sliding it toward Sikakama. She blinked in surprise as she peeked inside—the sum was far larger than she had expected. She hadn't even completed her first month, yet here was her wage paid in advance.
"But… I haven't done anything worthy of this," she murmured.
Corin smiled gently. "Consider it a bonus for your efforts," he said.
She nodded in thanks and left his office, pondering to herself: Could one really become wealthy just by working as a knight?
Corin's gaze lingered on the envelope, noting that she had taken only what she needed. She hadn't joined for the money, he realized, and he allowed himself a quiet smile.
Outside, Sikakama stood at the train's doorway, gripping the handle as the breeze tousled her hair. She took a breath, leapt, and landed gracefully on the stone pavement below, heading toward Pendralice.
Sikakama made her way to the central square, where a crowd had gathered. Youngsters, wooden swords in hand, ran about, pretending to duel, while atop a makeshift stage, a story of a knight was being performed. By chance, Sikakama realized it was the annual wooden-stage performance—a tradition held once a year, bringing to life the tales of knights for children. Families had brought their little ones to watch, eager to see the legendary deeds that once shaped their world.
Among the throng, Sikakama pushed her way forward, lifting her head above shoulders to get a better view. Her gaze remained fixed on him, admiration clear on her face.
On the platform, the announcer's voice rang out, telling tales of the knight's lineage—a noble family that had fought in countless wars. The display recreated scenes of bravery, duels, and heroic deeds, every movement emphasizing the family's legacy. The crowd clapped, shouted, and cheered, fully immersed in the performance.
As the show concluded, people slowly dispersed, leaving behind scraps of food, trampled banners, and the faint smell of smoke from nearby stalls. Sikakama did not leave; she followed the knight behind the stage, weaving through the clutter of crates, ropes, and discarded props, until voices rose sharply a few meters ahead.
The knight, his tone harsh and furious, shouted at a small child and his mother:
"You've ruined my uniform! Do you even know how much it costs?"
The mother, her clothes worn and smudged with dirt, tears streaming down her face, pleaded:
"Please… forgive him! He didn't mean it! I'll pay, I swear… I'll ask my lady for an advance, I'll work day and night… my husband is sick, and no one else can help us!"
The knight laughed cruelly, his words slicing through the air:
"You? Even if you worked your entire life, you could never pay… even if you sold yourself!"
His words hit like a physical blow. Sikakama froze; a paper containing the knightly team emblems slipped from her hand and fluttered to the ground. Shock and disappointment shone clearly in her eyes.
The knight raised his hand to strike the child. Sikakama was about to intervene—but suddenly, a figure in a wide, hooded cloak darted forward. He moved with the precision of someone used to the shadows, his boots barely making a sound on the dusty ground. Swiftly and decisively, he scooped the child into his mother's arms.
The mother, horrified then relieved, clutched her son tightly:
"Thank you… thank you so much!"
But the stranger did not hesitate. In one fluid motion, he sent both guards sprawling to the ground as if they were mere puppets.
The knight took a step back, his face paling, his arrogance replaced by a creeping, silent fear.
Sikakama turned toward the mother and child, eyes wide, and searched for the mysterious figure—but he had vanished.
The word "knight" no longer carries the same weight in society as it once did. People now tell stories of their adventures, showing knights as legendary heroes waving wooden swords, as if it were just a game. The image of a knight is now linked to imagination and fun, rather than real authority or responsibility.
The children loved these performances most of all, their eyes sparkling with wonder as the actors brandished swords and acted out heroic tales, bringing history to life for one magical day each year.
A sharp, shrill voice rang out: "Thief! Thief!" Startled, Sikakama snapped out of her thoughts and dashed after the boy who had vanished into the throng. He leaned against a shadowed wall for a moment, grinning, then turned down a twisting alley. Suddenly, someone blocked his path. He stumbled backward, dropping his bag, and a few apples tumbled to the cobbled ground.
Sikakama advanced toward him, steps deliberate. She bent to pick up the bag.
"Alright, let's get this back to its owner."
"Sikakama?" a voice whispered, astonished.
She looked up, and her eyes met his. She noticed a small mole beneath his left eye.
"Milo?" she whispered, astonished. His cloak had slipped from his head, his hair had grown longer, and he had grown taller, though he was still younger than her
From the far end of the alley came the faint clatter of approaching city guards. "I saw him—he went down that alley!" one shouted.
Alert, Sikakama seized his hand and pulled him to his feet, dragging him through a twisting side street, away from the patrol.
They paused on a wide stone bridge that spanned the river dividing Pendralice in two, its arches reflecting in the dark water below. Lanterns hung along its sides, casting a warm glow on the worn stone. The river flowed steadily beneath, carrying with it the distant echoes of market noises and the hum of the city.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, breathless.
Milo gazed at the river, his expression somber. "The streets became dangerous… too many gangs, too many thieves. I had to find another place to survive. The southern half of the city is almost forgotten now."
"Forgotten?" she frowned.
"Yes," he replied, watching the ripples in the water. "South of the river, the poor struggle daily. A small thief like me can't compete with the bigger gangs there. If they catch you stealing in their territory, they'll hurt you."
He tossed a pebble into the river, causing ripples to disturb its glassy surface for a moment. His eyes flicked toward Sikakama. "You've become one of them now," he remarked, noticing the change in her appearance since they first met.
"Like who?" she asked.
"Those who care for no one," he said quietly, rising to his feet.
A moment of silence passed. Then Sikakama pulled some banknotes from her pocket—money from her wages that Corin had given her.
"Shall we have a little fun?" she asked Milo with a smile.
They made their way into the heart of the annual knights' festival in Pendralice, a cherished tradition. The streets were alive with color and sound—stalls bursting with sweets, toys, and curiosities, banners fluttering in the soft breeze, and the laughter of children mingling with the calls of stallkeepers.
Sikakama and Milo darted from one booth to another, trying their hands at tossing rings, aiming darts, and testing their strength with hammer swings. Cotton candy melted on their tongues as they ran together, their laughter echoing through the festive streets. Occasionally, they ducked behind a low wall to avoid the watchful eyes of the guards, grinning as they held their cotton candy.
Acrobats tumbled and flipped high above, drawing gasps from the crowd, while musicians played lively tunes that set their hearts racing.
They sat down again, exhausted from all the excitement. As they caught their breath, they noticed a happy family walking past with their young child, laughing and enjoying the day. Milo turned to her and said, "I want to be like my big sister."
"My big sister?"
"Mm… like you. I'll stop stealing and try to find meaning in my life, away from theft."
Sikakama smiled softly. "Then your big sister will always come to check that her little brother is becoming a good person." She placed one hand on his shoulder, drawing him closer, and gently ran the other hand through his hair.
Before he left, Milo tossed her a red apple. She caught it deftly. "You still like apples?" he asked with a fleeting smile, then disappeared into the winding alleys of Pendralice.
Sikakama stepped out of the hospital, her boots clinking against the cold stone steps. This was the third hospital she had visited today, and still, there was no sign—no trace of the past she sought. She sank onto the unforgiving steps, the weight of frustration pressing down on her.
She had been searching for any record of a child born under her name, a fragment of a clue that might lead her to her mother. It was the only way—since she possessed nothing, not even a family name—to uncover her origins, to connect to the family that might have once been hers. Her father's identity had always been shrouded in shadow.
Sikakama held her head in her hands, thinking. The lack of a father's name meant she had been denied his name, denied that recognition. And in that world, that meant her birth had been… illegitimate. The thought tightened her chest with fear and frustration.
The real fear quietly gnawed at her: the thought of being unwanted, a child born into the world in a senseless, meaningless way. A birth that might have been a mistake, a fleeting accident of fate.
And if that was true… then your existence never had any meaning to begin with.
Her father might still be alive, somewhere. But how could she reach him, if she didn't even know his name?
The city was vast, far too large to finish searching in a single day. Time had already grown late, and she knew she would have to return, leaving unanswered questions behind.
The night had settled over the estate, and the moon barely pierced the thick gray clouds. Inside the large barn, shadows pooled in every corner, stretching across the wooden beams and the stacks of hay. The air was heavy with the scent of straw, earth, and the faint musk of the animals.
Something moved silently in a far corner, where the moonlight barely reached. A low rustle drew closer to the row of sleeping cattle. The cow shifted uneasily, her ears twitching, as a dark shape inched forward. The wood beneath it creaked softly, deliberate and careful.
The cow's large brown eyes widened. She stepped back, lowing softly, her body tense and trembling. The small bell around her neck jingled sharply with each movement, echoing through the barn. The other cattle stirred, stamping their hooves and snorting in panic. The barn seemed to breathe with them, the silence broken only by the shuffle of hooves, the jingling of bells, and the rustling of straw. The cow froze, her gaze fixed on the shadowy corner, uncertain yet undeniably aware of the presence.
The sky was heavy and gray, clouds gathering thickly above the sprawling Percy estate, located on the northern outskirts of Pendralice. The grounds were well-kept, with carefully paved paths leading to the barns, surrounded by manicured gardens and sprawling green fields. Tall trees lined the road, forming a natural barrier around the farm; their nearly bare branches swayed in the cold breeze.
The estate itself was a grand home for large-scale agricultural operations, built from polished stone with meticulously crafted wooden barns and roofs covered in fine thatch with proper ventilation. The large barn windows were fitted with clear glass, offering a view of the surrounding fields, while a small pond in front of the estate reflected the trees and gray clouds above. The barns were designed to house strong, high-quality livestock, with massive doors and gleaming iron fittings. Inside, the spaces were tidy, the straw clean, and feeding and watering areas well-prepared.
An old man approached, wearing a straw hat and rustic farm clothes. Beside him, a young man with a straw hat and a stalk of wheat in his mouth crouched with one foot on the straw floor and his hand resting on his knee. They stopped in front of the barn, staring inside at a cow lying lifeless on the ground, its strong body showing the care it had received.
The old man spoke with a weary voice, "Alas… it's Violet… again."
The young man swallowed nervously. "This is strange… she seemed perfectly healthy yesterday."
The old man turned toward the young man, eyes filled with suspicion. "What should we do? Should we call a constable?"
The young man shrugged. "And who investigates a dead cow?"
The old man stepped forward, glancing at the gray sky. "What if it's a wolf? We must call the hunter before we lose all the livestock."
One bright morning, as Sikakama followed Corin through the quiet streets of the Pendralice suburbs. Corin paused near a small vegetable patch where an elderly man was kneeling in the soil. The man looked up and smiled warmly.
"Good harvest this year," he said, lifting a basket of vegetables. "I'd like to give you some—just a little something."
"No need for that," Corin replied kindly. "Your work is more than enough."
But the old man insisted, still smiling, clearly enjoying the brief exchange. Sikakama noticed the subtle deference in how the neighbors greeted Corin as they passed by, some tipping their hats, others nodding respectfully. It was evident that the people of these suburbs trusted him implicitly. With his background and demeanor, Corin truly embodied an ideal of virtue, Sikakama thought, watching him with a small smile.
A small hand tugged at her sleeve. Sikakama looked down to see a little girl with anxious eyes.
"Can you help me?" the child asked.
Kneeling slightly, Sikakama smiled gently. "Of course. What's wrong?"
"My Mr. Fur is missing… he hasn't come home since yesterday. I tried asking Sir Corin, but I felt too shy," the girl explained.
"Mr. Fur?" Sikakama echoed.
"Yes! My cat!" the girl exclaimed. "He's completely white, like snow, with green eyes, and wears a green collar with a small bell. He never misses dinner," she added, wringing her hands.
Sikakama gave a playful, exaggerated salute, her fingers just barely touching her forehead.
"Don't worry," she said. "I'll find Mr. Fur and bring him back home."
The girl's face lit up instantly, a bright smile spreading across her cheeks. Then a voice called from nearby—her mother. The little girl turned, waving cheerfully at Sikakama.
"Thank you!" she called over her shoulder, before running toward her mother.
Sikakama watched her go, a spark of excitement lighting her own face. She dashed toward Corin, who was speaking with the old man, her energy barely contained.
"I'll go find Mr. Fur and return once I do!" she exclaimed, hopping with enthusiasm as she spoke, offering a quick salute to the air before sprinting off.
Corin looked at her, the old man doing the same, both clearly puzzled.
"Mr. Fur?" Corin whispered.
Even in the calm of these suburban streets, Sikakama's heart beat with purpose. This small act was her first step into a new chapter, and it felt monumental.
Sikakama searched through the narrow alleys and quiet side streets of the suburb, calling out for Mr. Fur, but the little cat was nowhere to be found.
She approached several residents along the way, knocking on doors and asking about the little white cat, but each of them shook their heads, clearly not knowing where he could be.
As evening approached, the sky turned a warm orange. Finally, One man said he had seen a cat and taken it in, not knowing it belonged to anyone, and brought it outside—but it was orange, with golden eyes. "What? That's orange!" she exclaimed, her brief hope vanishing immediately.
Suddenly, a white tail flickered at the end of an alley. She sprinted after it, determination written across her face. "Wait, Mr. Fur!" she called.
The cat twisted away, and she grabbed gently at its back to stop it. As it turned, she noticed a black spot over one of its eyes. It hissed angrily and swiped at her hand before darting off. Sikakama stared at her hand, now streaked with blood, frozen for a moment.
Sikakama returned home and happened to meet Corin in the hallway. She greeted him with a polite "Good evening," and Corin smiled back, then gestured toward her hand.
"You should treat that cut before it gets worse," he said.
She looked at her hand and noticed the blood from a small scratch caused by the cat, placing her finger in her mouth to stop the bleeding. "It's just a stray cat, don't worry."
Corin carefully placed a bandage on Sikakama's finger.
"Thank you," she said.
Sikakama sat at her desk in her room, leaning her head back against the chair and folding her hands. She closed her eyes.
"Ah… where could he be? Think like a cat… think like a cat."
The idea had struck her, keeping her awake most of the night.