Chapter 14: The Street Child
The market district sprawled across Oxenfurt's eastern quarter, a maze of stalls and permanent shops competing for attention. I navigated through the morning crowd, mind still on warehouse logistics.
[DANGER SENSE: ALERT]
[Threat Level: Minimal]
[Distance: 2 meters, approaching from right]
Not combat danger. Something else. I let the alert wash over me without reacting, tracking the threat peripherally.
A small hand slipped toward my coin purse.
I caught the wrist before the fingers could close on the leather ties. Didn't look. Didn't stop walking. Just gripped and kept moving, pulling the would-be thief along with me into a side alley.
"Let go!" The voice was young, female, terrified. "Let go or I'll scream!"
"Scream and the guards come. They'll take your hand for attempted theft." I finally looked down at her. "Is that what you want?"
She was maybe twelve. Dirty face, matted hair, clothes that were more patches than original fabric. Sharp eyes that held too much desperation for someone so young. Her teeth bared like a cornered animal, ready to bite.
"You going to turn me in?"
"That depends." I released her wrist. She rubbed it, watching me with wary intensity. "Are you hungry?"
The question caught her off-guard. Her mouth opened, closed, opened again.
"What?"
"Hungry. When did you last eat?"
"I..." She looked at me like I'd asked something in a foreign language. "Yesterday. Maybe. Why?"
"Because I'm going to buy you food. Then we're going to talk."
"Why would you—"
"Because you're talented. That approach was good—distraction timing, angle of entry, exit route planned. You've done this before, probably successfully." I started walking toward a bread stall. "And because I need people who can move through crowds without being noticed."
She followed. I could feel her confusion like heat radiating off her small frame. Marks didn't buy food for pickpockets. Marks called guards, or beat you, or worse.
I bought bread, cheese, dried sausage, and a skin of watered wine. Found a quiet spot behind a farrier's shop where the noise of hammering covered conversation. Handed her the food.
She ate like a starving animal. Tearing chunks, barely chewing, inhaling sustenance with the desperate efficiency of someone who'd learned that food could be taken away at any moment.
I waited.
When the edge had been taken off her hunger, she slowed down. Looked at me with something other than pure survival instinct.
"What do you want?"
"What's your name?"
"Why?"
"Because I'm going to offer you a job, and I prefer to know who I'm talking to."
She chewed slowly. Evaluating. "Kira."
"Finn. I run a guild—small, but growing. We take contracts, help people, build toward something larger." I watched her face for reactions. "I need scouts. Eyes and ears in places I can't go. Street networks, beggar communities, the invisible population that sees everything because nobody watches them back."
"You want me to spy for you."
"I want you to observe. Report. Tell me about threats before they become problems, opportunities before others notice them." I kept my voice level. "In exchange: regular meals, safe sleeping space, protection from guards and worse. Eventually, training—whatever skills you want to develop."
"What's the catch?"
"Loyalty. You become part of the guild. That means the guild helps you, and you help the guild. Break trust, there are consequences. Keep faith, you get a home."
She'd stopped eating entirely. Her hands trembled slightly—not fear, something else. Hope, maybe. The kind that hurt because it had been disappointed too many times before.
"I've heard offers before. From people who wanted... things. From me."
"Of course she has. Street children learn early that kindness usually has a price."
"I'm not offering that. I'm offering work. Honest work that uses the skills you already have, instead of risking your hands every time you're hungry."
Silence stretched. The farrier's hammer rang in steady rhythm. Kira looked at the remaining food, then at me, then at the alley exit where freedom and starvation both waited.
"Okay."
"Okay?"
"I'll try it. If you're lying—if this is some kind of trap—I'll run. I'm good at running."
"I'm not lying. But if you want to run later, the door's always open." I stood, offered my hand to help her up. "There's a process. An oath that binds us together—me to you, you to me. It's magical, so don't be scared when you see light."
"I'm not scared."
She was terrified. But she took my hand anyway.
The oath-binding happened in the shadow of the farrier's shop, hidden from passing eyes. Golden light bloomed between our clasped hands, settling into the familiar warmth of connection.
[OATH BINDING COMPLETE]
[New Member: Kira]
[Role: Scout/Intelligence Specialist (Developing)]
[Guild Membership: 3/5]
[Phase 1 Progression: 75%]
Kira's eyes went wide. "That was—what was—"
"Magic. The guild kind." I released her hands. "You'll feel a connection now. To me, to the other members. It's not control—I can't make you do anything. But I'll know if you're in danger, and you'll know you're part of something larger."
She touched her chest, where the binding had settled. "It's warm."
"That's belonging. Maybe the first time you've felt it."
Her jaw tightened. Vulnerable emotions quickly buried under street-hardened defenses.
"Don't get sentimental about me. I'm not some... some project."
"You're a guild member. Same as anyone else." I started walking toward the tavern. "Come on. Let's get you introduced to the others."
Mira's Perspective
The child looked like a feral cat someone had tried to domesticate.
She stood in the corner of our rented room, watching everything with predator alertness. Finn had introduced her as Kira, our new scout. Tom had grunted acknowledgment and gone back to his papers. I'd been left to handle the actual integration.
"There's a bed here," I said, gesturing to the pallet we'd prepared. "Clean blankets. The washbasin is in the corner—water's fresh every morning."
Kira didn't move toward any of it. "Where do you sleep?"
"Next room. Tom has the space above his smithy. Finn's at the tavern down the street."
"So I'm alone here."
"You have privacy here. There's a difference."
She considered this. Moved cautiously toward the washbasin, touched the water like she expected it to burn. When it didn't, something in her shoulders loosened slightly.
"The other one—the old man—he doesn't like me."
"Tom doesn't like anyone at first. He'll warm up when you prove yourself useful."
"And you?"
I thought about the question honestly. Aretuza had rejected me for insufficient power. This girl had been rejected by society itself for the crime of being born poor.
"I think we have more in common than you'd expect."
Kira looked at me sharply. "You're not a street kid."
"No. But I know what it feels like to be told you're not good enough. To be discarded because someone decided your potential wasn't worth developing." I sat on the room's only chair, giving her space. "Finn doesn't do that. He collects people others have overlooked."
"Collects."
"Offers opportunities to. It's the same thing, really, just depends on perspective."
She was quiet for a long moment. Then, slowly, she moved to the bed. Sat on it. Touched the clean blankets like they were made of spun gold.
"I haven't slept inside in two years," she said. "Since my mother died."
"Then sleep. You're safe here."
I left her alone, closing the door quietly. Finn was waiting in the hall, leaning against the wall with an expression I couldn't quite read.
"She'll be okay," I said.
"I know."
"Do you? She's twelve, Finn. Traumatized, malnourished, and suspicious of everyone."
"And she has more survival instinct than most soldiers I've met." He pushed off the wall. "She'll adapt. Give her purpose, and she'll thrive."
"You sound very certain."
"I'm certain that she deserves a chance. The rest..." He smiled, just slightly. "The rest we figure out together."
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