█. Out of the Light

█████ is hungry. Hungrier than they’ve ever been before. It gnaws at their stomach, adds a weight to their limbs and a sluggishness to their movements. Even the dawning warmth of a San Aria spring isn’t enough to thaw the cold dread in their heart.

When they’re brave enough, they leave the safety of the cramped hole they’ve been hiding in - nothing more than a narrow crawlspace above a tavern that they had to fight some pigeons and a nest of mice to claim. They slink along the edges of streets, glancing wistfully into the bakeries and taverns, the people inside drinking and feasting. Without a copper piece to their name, they’re reduced to window shopping, following their nose to anywhere that might toss a few scraps to a particularly pathetic scavenger.

Sometimes, when the hunger cuts deep enough to strip away caution, they’ve been desperate enough to steal - snagging a roll of bread from the edge of a market stall, or a piece of fruit from an over-laden basket. But it’s only rarely that they get the courage to do so, and they know they have to pick their targets carefully. Merchants might whip a thief, but stealing from a guild or a House can mean losing more than just your pride.

For now, they drift unnoticed through the throng, a small figure swallowed by the teeming crowd. From the harbour to the city’s centre, bodies press past in every direction. The smell and noise is overwhelming, and █████ hunches ever smaller, ducking out of the way of those who stride uncaring through the streets.

Nobles in their silks of bright colours, merchants bearing their wares - none seem to notice the ragged figure practically under their nose. More often than not, heavy boots trample █████’s feet, or broad shoulders send them stumbling.

Slipping out of the crush, they take refuge in the lee of a vegetable stall, seizing just a moment before they’re shooed away. Even here it’s loud - the barks of the traders, each trying to outdo each other, and the constant haggling for a lower, better price. Right next to the grocer, a baker’s table creaks under the weight of loaves and pastries. The smell of warm bread is almost too much to bear.

They know better than to linger. But hunger dulls reason.

As quickly as the thought is formed, their hand reaches out. A loaf of bread, easy enough to seize and hold close to their chest, hunching their shoulders to hide it from view as they turn and walk away. Don’t run, never run, they might not even notice if you don’t run-

“Thief!” The accusing voice cuts through the crowd like a whip. “You there- stop!”

The world lurches around them. Heads turn as the bodies that were their shelter begin to move away, leaving them exposed- then, the sound of boots. A guard, alerted by the commotion, pushes through the mob, armour clanking like chains.

They bolt.

Clutching the bread like a lifeline, they shove through the bustling market, ignoring shouts and curses from vendors and pedestrians alike. Behind them, the heavy footsteps of the guard follow, slow and relentless.

Panic drowns out their surroundings, narrowing their vision to a dread focus. They spin around one corner, then another, their path becoming more erratic as they try to leave their pursuer in the dust. It’s so easy to get lost in the narrow streets of San Aria. Surely, surely-

The footsteps still follow.

Glancing back, they trip - over a stray crate, the edge of the gutter, it hardly matters. The stolen bread tumbles from their grasp, landing in the dirt. They curse, but can’t afford a second’s pause to regret it.

Heart pounding, each ragged breath tearing at their chest, they race down another twisting alleyway, hearing the thundering pursuit behind them gaining with every step. Their worn boots slide over the cobblestones. Left turn, right turn, right again - █████ stumbles, losing precious seconds as the grim realisation hits them. This side street, plunged into darkness by the looming buildings overhead, ends not in another junction but a wall of rough brick.

Dead end.

Panicked, they stumble forward, scanning desperately for a way out. No gaps between the houses. Doors shut firm and barred against them. Nowhere to go-

“Up here!”

A voice, rough and hurried, but as welcome to █████’s ears as a choir of angels. They look up. Silhouetted against the still-bright evening sky, a figure leans down from a balcony, holding out a hand.

Desperation overtakes doubt. █████ reaches for it, straining every muscle. Their fingers just brush the stranger’s - so close, but infinitely far. They leap, almost falling, and find their hand firmly caught.

The grip tightens around their wrist like iron, and in one swift motion, █████ is yanked from the ground with a force that seems like it might tear their arm from its socket. They scramble for a leg up on the walls, manage to find purchase on the balcony, and haul with all their insignificant strength.

At last, they tumble over the railing - more dragged by the scruff of their neck than climbing it of their own volition - and slam straight into the stranger, who grunts, bracing them both with a steady grip on their aching shoulders.

“Gods, you’re heavier than you look.” Their - his? - voice is strained - clearly lifting them was no easy task - but confident. “Keep moving. You’re not out of it yet, pischello.”

Below, the guard clatters into the alleyway, cursing as he catches sight of the pair on the balcony. The angry determination in his eyes hasn’t faded, and █████ realises the chase is far from over.

Still frantic with adrenaline, they look up again, searching for the way out. The door onto the balcony where they stand is shuttered and barred, but above, only a few feet out of their reach, is a windowsill…

“I’ll boost you.” The stranger drops to one knee, linking his fingers into a foothold. “Just move fast, for fuck’s sake-”

They don’t need to be told twice. Leaping into his hands - the stranger lets out a grunt and nearly drops them - they strain for the windowsill. With a sudden launch, it’s within their reach, and they grab hold, pulling themself up with the kind of hysterical strength that only catches up with you after the adrenaline fades.

Glancing down, they see the stranger follow, hopping up onto the rail of the balcony and from there scrambling to the same windowsill. The edges of the old stone crumble worryingly beneath his boots, but he moves too quickly to let it take his weight for long.

An angry voice comes through the window, mingling with the increasingly irate voice of the guard, but it’s easily left behind. Together, they climb - up shutters and barred windows, over a gutter, and onto the slanted roof.

The tiles are warm under their palms, and the street below feels impossibly distant. There’s no way the guard, huge and lumbering in his armour, can follow the same route they did, and the buildings lean close enough together that they can hop from roof to roof and be miles away by the time he finds a way up.

They made it.

Their pulse gradually slowing, █████ sits up and takes a good look at their rescuer for the first time.

Just as breathless as they are, he’s at least doing a better job of feigning insouciance, leaning against a chimney breast and examining his nails as if he does this sort of thing all the time. Maybe he does. He certainly didn’t think twice before hauling a scruffy stranger out of the grip of the law.

Disregard for the guards aside, he doesn’t look like a dangerous criminal. Though, admittedly, █████ isn’t sure they’d know a dangerous criminal if they saw one. He could be any one of a thousand faces you’d pass on a crowded San Arian street, really. Tanned skin, dark hair, brown eyes. Or, wait -

Something about the way he looks at them, slightly side-on, clicks into place. Mostly hidden by his hair is a patch over his right eye. That seems dangerous - the product of a backroom brawl, perhaps, or maybe even the punishment earned by getting caught for something far worse than stealing some bread.

From the mildly amused smile on the stranger’s lips, █████’s nervous train of thought must show on their face. He takes a slow, deliberate step forward, reaching out to help them up.

“Done staring yet?”

Feeling their face flush, they take his hand, feeling the rough leather of his gloves against their scraped palms as he pulls them to their feet.

Standing up doesn’t help much - he’s still taller, bigger, though not exactly muscular. There’s an easy balance to the way he moves that makes █████ think it wouldn’t be wise to underestimate him in a fight.

His clothes are drab - faded black, greys, browns. No House colours. But, of course, he wouldn’t be wearing them - most people out in the city don’t fall under the banner of a House, beheld to its rules and sheltered within its walls.

Standing before him, feeling young and weak and vulnerable, █████ longs for that shelter again. Every step they take away from home stretches the world wider, colder, crueller. Without home, without their family, they’re nothing more than another rat scrabbling to survive on the streets. But there’s no going back. Showing weakness will only make them an easier target.

They scowl back at him instead, hoping a threadbare mask of aggression will make up for their small frame. Not for the first time, they wish they had something to hand - a knife, a club, even one of those brick-in-a-sock tricks favoured by so many on the streets. Instead, their only weapons are a glare and the faint hope that a hint of defiance might cover for their lack of strength.

It doesn’t. The way the stranger’s smile widens makes that painfully clear.

“Feisty little thing, aren’t you? Where did you come from?”

“…Somewhere.” Stay vague, stay guarded. He doesn’t need to know the details. “It’s none of your business.”

He shrugs, unconcerned. “I don’t mean to judge your business, ragazzo. I just don’t think it’s a particularly profitable one. Stealing with no eye on the guards, no plan, no clean getaway.” His head tilts, sizing them up in one glance. “Stealing bread, of all things. You hungry? Got nowhere else to go?”

█████ tenses, trying to force their face to blankness, trying not to give anything away. He’s just poking for a reaction. They feel pinned under his attention, his words seeming to pick them apart without even trying. Is this a game for him? Drag some unlucky soul out of danger, only to dismantle them piece by piece?

Their silence seems to confirm whatever suspicions he already had. “Nowhere to go. Nobody to watch your back. You don’t even - Hells, how old even are you?”

They grapple for a believable overestimate. “Eighteen.”

He nods. “You look younger.” They feel their skin burn, certain he’s seen through their ruse immediately, but he continues. “You’re small, you walk quietly. You can pass below notice. That’s good.”

The knowing smirk has returned, a considering glint in his eye as he stares down at them. “You’ve got potential, kid. I can work with that.”

Too caught up in their humiliation, expecting another backhanded comment, it takes █████ a while to process his words. Now the adrenaline has worn off and the hunger has returned, it feels like they’re thinking through soft cotton. They feel the words swirl in their brain, catch in their throat. “What… what do you mean?”

“Try to keep up. I’m making you an offer, pischello.” He cocks his head to one side. “How would you like to live better - do something more than scavenge for scraps and run from the guards? A roof over your head, actual food in your belly?”

█████ blinks, taken off-guard by this sudden turn in the conversation. It feels as if they’ve skipped ahead a page in the story. From desperately trying to outrun their fate, they’re now being presented a chance to change it.

They can barely imagine what it means if this offer is real. If there’s a chance - even a slim one - that they could finally escape this scraped-together life of hunger and fear, finally feel safe again. Is it dangerously naïve to consider it, even for a moment?

The stranger holds his hand out, and █████ flinches. Even as their hope is rekindled, they’re still halfway expecting a blow or a blade. But his hand is empty, open.

“I’ll teach you everything you need to know. Just stick close to me.” Something appears to occur to him, and he smirks. “Be my shadow.”

█████ thinks about it. This man is a stranger - a thief and a criminal, definitely, and like as not a liar as well. They don’t even know his name. No doubt there’s a story he’s not telling behind his confident smile.

But he did save them.

And they can’t keep doing this alone.

“Okay,” says Shadow. “I will.”

21. Head in the Clouds >>