Castle Kingside

From a hillock beyond the city’s border, Ravenfall appeared to be at peace. Hulking outer walls strangled a blurry portrait of medieval society, only the lording towers of a grandiose cathedral and castle distinguishable in the distance. The constant foot traffic and toiling carthorses and clapping in the streets from vendors peddling goods no longer existed. Not here. Instead, scattered cottages, thinning as they withdrew further from Ravenfall, decorated the grassy land.

A place far from wandering eyes.

That was why Dimitry ventured to Ravenfall’s outskirts. There were no guards or civilians here to discover a homeless man dabbling in magic. Secrecy was vital. An invisibility spell’s applications and effectiveness grew the fewer people knew of Dimitry’s capacity to cast it.

There were also potential hazards. When Dimitry cast invisall in the dark hall, intense nausea made him lean over and retch. Although the symptoms lasted only a few seconds, conducting tests in a crowded city while ignorant of the aftereffects was hazardous.

However, despite countless concerns, a far more basic question remained: could Dimitry use magic?

His gaze fell to the five aquamarine pellets rolling in his palm. If the experiment failed, not only would Dimitry lose all his wealth, he would likely wither in the cold, crucial medical knowledge gone from this world forever. Many of his patients would die.

Dimitry had to make this work, he yearned to make this work, but the potential for failure made him hesitate.

The only proof of his wizardry was the pale imprint of a pawn on his wrist. Usually blue, the crimson light of a sinking sun gave it a purple hue. It signified that the dark hall was real. That really happened. He could cast spells. And yet, no one else in this world had a similar mark.

So why did he?

What was its purpose?

A croak like the amalgam of a raven’s caw and a toad’s grunt screeched above.

Dimitry’s eyes darted up the thick oak he leaned against but saw nothing. The leaves were still. Eager to finish while the otherworldly creature inside remained peaceful, he inhaled a deep breath of air green and fresh and hurried his attention back to the five crude vol pellets. He placed four back into his pouch, leaving one on his palm.

The first test would measure general magic aptitude with a market guard’s murderous chant. Anticipation bubbling within, Dimitry glared at the tree’s bark, the target of his fiery trial. He licked his cracked lips and clutched the vol.

“Incendia.”

Aside from a sudden gale rustling leaves, nothing changed. The pellet remained within Dimitry’s grasp, and the oak’s surface didn’t char.

“Incendia.”

“Incendia.”

The results were the same every time.

Dread ushered cold waves throughout Dimitry. What if he couldn’t use magic? No. That couldn’t be it. It was that merchant. They took advantage of Dimitry’s ignorance, scammed him with dysfunctional goods. Maybe pure vol pellets were the better choice.

He shook his head. Why would a merchant risk a long-term customer and a poor reputation for several copper coins? There had to be another explanation. What if incendia only burned people, or a conduit was necessary, akin to the short rod the market guard held? It might have been a wand.

With fragile hopes, he opted for another spell—one a cloaked woman chanted to coax incandescent light from a magic street lamp without tools. Imitating her, Dimitry hovered an empty palm over the bark.

“Illumina.”

Nothing happened.

“Illumina. Illumina, illumina, illumina. Illumina!”

“Illuminaaaaa!”

“Illumin-ah!”

“Aluminum!”

Although every attempt was more desperate than the last, Dimitry neither consumed the vol nor produced light. He had hoped the dark hall granted him magical expertise besides renewed youth and alien text decipherment, but like the wizard in Arnest’s story, perhaps one mastered magic only through study.

A devastating development. Without the ability to cast either illumina or incendia, access to other wealth-generating magic was unlikely. Was theft the only route to earning a medical certificate? A pointless question. There wasn’t time to explore other options. After purchasing vol, Dimitry had spent all but two remaining copper coins on nutritious, electrolyte-replenishing food to end his muscle spasms and prevent a plethora of deadlier medical issues. But the benefits wouldn’t last. He had to act soon.

Dimitry’s fist clenched around the misbehaving crude vol pellet. It had to grant him invisibility. Otherwise, the world would kill him through starvation, hypothermia, or chance encounters with guards.

He rolled his shoulders and inhaled a sharp breath.

“Invisall.”

Heat rushed into Dimitry’s arm and across his chest, legs, and head. Everything around him spun, but thankfully, the tree his shoulder rested against kept him from collapsing.

Catching his balance, Dimitry looked down. Although he could see the grass beneath his feet and a tree trunk behind his muddled abdomen, Dimitry’s legs were still visible. The prayers floundering through his gut dove into despair.

He was transparent.

But why? Grainy sand, gray and uncomfortable between Dimitry’s fingers, indicated that he consumed all the vol within the aquamarine pellet. Was it not enough? The merchant mentioned crude vol was weaker than purified vol, but Dimitry imagined that the difference would be shorter effect durations.

Not this.

This was useless. Transparency would only draw more attention.

However, the merchant also said that multiple crude pellets held more power than a single, refined alternative. Would consuming two pellets instead of one grant Dimitry full invisibility? It was a trial best conducted tomorrow, when he would determine if invisall concealed him amongst people. For now, collecting other data benefited him most.

Dimitry observed his rags become transparent along with his body, but not the grass he stood on. The ability ‘knew’ which objects he intended to affect. Also noteworthy were the side effects. Consuming pure vol in the dark hall left Dimitry nauseous, but crude vol only made him dizzy. Was that the feedback the merchant warned him about? Poorly planned magic use could leave Dimitry in a vulnerable state.

To finish, he measured how long the effects lasted. Without timekeeping equipment, mental counting was the only option. He combated meandering thoughts until a dull headache constricted Dimitry’s head. Neither the grass beneath his feet nor the tree behind him was visible any longer. Invisall’s boon ended.

A little less than five minutes.

That was all the time he would have to escape danger.

Dimitry trudged through Ravenfall, stepping around sharp stones reflecting green moonlight in search for a place to sleep.

When he shared an alley with Milli, she had quilts that insulated warmth and kept nighttime critters away. Unfortunately, things had changed. Dimitry returning to the alleyway doctor’s office—the scene of his ‘crime’—was dangerous without a barber’s certificate. An upset local could report him to the guards.

Dimitry looked for a temporary home instead. He traversed gloomy roads, homeless-ridden dead-ends, and rendezvous spots full of scowling scoundrels before crossing the river towards the city’s cleaner half.

The squealing of stressed bridge planks cut through a hesitant atmosphere that, vibrant this afternoon, was now devoid of life. As was the nearby port. Hundreds scampered across its docks midday, but now, patrolling its rough timber paths were only a dozen armored men. The light-emitting sticks they held combined with green moonlight gave the port the appearance of a lonely nighttime rave.

Overburdened timber beams croaked behind Dimitry.

Startled, his head shot back.

Two men’s silhouettes edged closer—one of which lacked an arm.

“Is that the kid or not?” an older man with a wrinkled face and thinning hair whispered. “I can’t see shit these days.”

A young man’s filth-encrusted beard came into view. “That’s what I’m tellin’ ya, Gramps. It’s the guy from the other day. The one who tricked priestess Josephine into letting him take food out of the church.”

“If you call me Gramps again, I’ll break my foot in your ass.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Recognizing both men as the thugs that robbed Dimitry, he froze. Did they know his real identity?

“It is him!” Arnest ran closer while chucking green-tinted silver chunks into a small pouch. The young man stuffed it under his tattered clothes. “Told ya I saw him earlier at the port, and now he’s back again!”

“Not so loud, moron,” Samuel whispered. “The kid is obviously trying to avoid attention.”

Icy dread sludged down Dimitry’s spine. How did they know he was at the port earlier? “Why would I be avoiding attention?”

Samuel frowned. “You think I’m stupid or something? Everyone’s heard about the pilgrim going around fixing people. Shit, until they started saying green eyes paler than mint, I wanted to come see you myself. Back’s been killing me for years.”

“Wait,” Arnest said. “Ya sayin’ this guy’s the holy cleric? The rumor ain’t real?”

“Real?” A vindictive laugh broke from the elder’s mouth. “Real? When has anything good about the Church ever been real? Those bitches only care about two things: control and fattening their robes with other people’s pain. Fuck ‘em.”

“But they give us food.”

“Oh, not that shit again.” Samuel shook his head and slapped Dimitry’s shoulder. “At least the kid gets it—using Zera’s divine horse crap against them to scam a bunch of gullible idiots. Couldn’t have done better myself.”

So they did know of Dimitry’s back alley clinic. Survival instinct urged him to run, to flee as far as sore legs could carry him, but calmer thoughts prevailed. There wasn’t danger yet. The thugs’ perceptiveness could prove useful. “You guys seem pretty good at gathering information.”

“Darn straight,” Arnest said.

“That’s what we do, kid.” Samuel massaged a bald spot that looked like a forest lake encircled by white hair birches. “Though I’m sure that’s impressive for someone who didn’t know about morning prayer ‘till a few days ago.”

“Do you know if there’s some kind of bounty on me?”

Arnest shrugged. “Something like that, but it’s probably no big deal.”

“Just don’t look a guard in the eye for a few weeks and you’ll be fine.” Samuel paused. “Also, take a break from scamming people. You’ll get your shit kicked in before you can say Celeste guide me.”

“What if I had a barber’s certificate?”

Overlooking a black river gleaming green, Samuel nodded. “I think I see where you’re going with this. You want the guild’s backing. Might work if you had the coin and stopped advertising yourself as a cleric.”

Dimitry’s gaze fell to the plank and timber bridge. Unfortunately, his predictions were accurate: guards were antagonistic, and practicing medicine without a guild membership was suicide. Two gold gadots. All he needed were two coins and both problems would vanish.

“Ya wanna be a barber?” Arnest asked with child-like wonder. “Why?”

Samuel’s eyes scrolled longingly past harbored boats. “Everyone wants something, though looking at the kid, I imagine he just wants to eat.”

“If ya wanna eat, ya gotta work.”

“Ain’t that the truth.”

The men who tried to mug Dimitry days before now acted affably. Were they setting a trap? Although plausible, it was unlikely. Samuel and Arnest could have alerted nearby guards to his presence. Instead, they greeted him and divulged information. Perhaps they wanted to recruit Dimitry into their schemes like last time—three homeless men struggling to survive in the world.

Dimitry couldn’t trust them then, and he didn’t trust them now. However, when stealing gold from a slaver was his best plan, having alternatives only helped. “You said before that you know a way to make quick money. Is that true?”

“Of course,” the elder said. “If you’re capable and know the right people.”

“If ya can even call them people.” Arnest turned his head to spit.

“Sure, our employers might not be the nicest bunch, but they’ve given people like Arnest and me more than enough coin to survive. Can’t ask for much more than that. Hell, if it wasn’t for them, you’d find a lot more dead bodies on the streets. I probably would’ve died long ago.”

Samuel’s crooked smile hinted that whatever they did wasn’t legal, but Dimitry prioritized preserving life over obeying laws. “What do they make you do?”

“That’s a tough question, kid. It depends. Most times, they just want you to keep an eye out. Other times, the job is… a little more complicated.”

Arnest groaned. “What he’s tryna to say is, sometimes they ask ya to risk your life for a handful of gadots.”

“Just keep your wits about you, and you’ll be fine. We can always use a third. What do you say? Want to give it a try?”

Empty consolation didn’t convince Dimitry. He needed facts. “My question is, what kind of work will be doing? Will we have to hurt anyone?”

“If anyone’s gettin’ hurt,” Arnest said, “it’s us.”

“Take a good look at us, kid.” Samuel slowly turned, holding out a single, scrawny arm. “Do you think we’re in a position to be attacking anybody? Tenebrae isn’t stupid. They’ll put people where they’re used best.”

While invisall might save Dimitry in a pinch, the spell’s countless unknowns made it unreliable. The prospect of competent employers offered a shred of relief. No sustainable organization pointlessly squandered useful workers. Still, the name ‘Tenebrae’ didn’t exactly ooze dependability. “I can’t help but wonder who exactly we’ll be working for.”

“You and me both, kid. The bigwigs in Tenebrae don’t like to make themselves known. All that matters is that they have plenty of money to throw around.”

“How about Agatha?” Arnest asked.

“She’s a pawn in the grand scheme of things, just like us.”

Arnest waved as if swatting at flies only he could see. “For a pawn, she sure likes to throw her weight around.”

“Anyway, feel free to join us,” Samuel said. “From what I’ve heard, there’s going to be a big job soon, so the pay’s bound to be good as well.”

Signing his life away to a secretive criminal organization didn’t thrill Dimitry, but dire circumstances didn’t allow him to disregard the option altogether. “I’ll think on it.”

“Are we done here yet?” Arnest’s legs shivered in the frigid wind. “C’mon, let’s go back already!”

“You think you’re cold? Try being old.” Samuel sighed. “Kid, we have a fire back at the alley. You coming?”

With freezing planks irritating Dimitry’s soles, the old man’s hospitality was welcoming. Perhaps too welcoming. “I’m grateful, but since you know I’m wanted by the authorities, how can I be sure you won’t sell me off to the guards when we get there?”

Arnest’s gaze darted towards Samuel’s.

Both men stood silent as if waiting for a punchline to a joke before laughing hysterically.

“What’s so funny?” Dimitry asked.

Side-splitting hilarity thwarted Arnest’s attempts at speech. “He’s… he’s serious!”

“Ah, man.” Samuel wiped away joyful tears with his sleeve. “Kid, even if we ratted you out, think the guards will throw us a single copper? Shit, they’d probably beat the crap out of us before we even get a word out.”

Sympathizing with Samuel and Arnest’s distrust for Ravenfall’s authorities, Dimitry was unsure if he was relieved or upset to have so much in common with two thugs. Hell, he was already considering crime as a solution to his destitution. Perhaps Dimitry hadn’t changed as much as he thought. “Alright, lead the way.”

“Are ya sure we can trust him?” Arnest asked. “He lied to Josephine and didn’t even tell us his name.”

Samuel watched Dimitry expectantly.

“It’s Dimitry,” he said, wondering if Josephine was the priestess he met at the church several days prior.

“What kinda name is that? Ya from Sundock or somethin’?”

Dimitry sighed. “From somewhere far from here, I fear.”

“What does it matter where he’s from?” Samuel said. “We’re all here now. Not to mention we have bigger things to worry about.”

Arnest looked up at the moon, its green light illuminating his dirt-smeared face. “Should be any day now.”

“That’s all the more reason for us to get this job done right. The cold and the night of repentance make for a nasty combination.”

With four emergency aquamarine pellets in hand, Dimitry accompanied the two men.

Dimitry’s eyes opened to reveal the blurry image of a dead-end alley.

Samuel’s grimy gray hair swayed in the wind as he blew out the flames enveloping scorched wood fragments.

Beside a soot-stained wall crouched Arnest. The young man tossed a dented silver cube into the air before rushing to pluck another four from the ash and dirt-layered floor. “C’mon, done yet?”

“Almost.” Samuel groaned. “Maybe I would’ve finished already if you weren’t preoccupied with those fucking knucklebones.”

“Gotta practice for after we get paid.”

“You know you’re just gonna lose it all anyway. Damn gambling addict.”

Ignoring their bickering, Dimitry unraveled his fist. The four aquamarine vol pellets he clutched all night left indentations in his palm. He felt relief. Relief that neither Arnest nor Samuel mugged or sold Dimitry out to authorities while he slept, and gratitude for the opportunity to sleep beside a toasty fire. For the first time, oppressive cold didn’t sap all sensation from his toes.

“Just ya wait.” Arnest flung a silver gaming piece and crawled forward to catch it midair. “When I get good enough, I won’t have to work for Agatha or anyone anymore, and you’ll be begging me for money.”

“To be young and stupid.” Samuel shook his head. “I don’t miss it.”

“Doncha worry. I’ll be nice and buy you a walking stick.”

“And I’ll shove it up your ass.”

Dimitry exhaled a feeble laugh through his nostrils.

“Hey, look who finally woke up!” Arnest half-complained. “We were waitin’ on ya.”

Samuel lifted his tired eyes to meet Dimitry’s gaze. “Oh, good. Maybe I won’t have to listen to a moron’s babbling all day. You coming, kid? We’re off to visit the assholes at the church for some grub.”

“You call them that,” Arnest said, “but you’re lucky they’re even feeding your ass.”

“Lucky? If it wasn’t for them, I would’ve been a wealthy merchant sipping wine instead of running around cleaning up after you!”

“If ya say so.” Arnest lightly punched Dimitry’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s go. We ain’t got all day. Missus Josephine is waiting for us, and she’s the kindest priestess in all of Ravenfall.”

Though the promise of free pottage from the Church was tempting, especially with Dimitry’s limited funds, rationality prevailed. He was a medical criminal who abused Zera’s authority without permission from the Church. With how many patrons the priestess greeted daily, rumors of his ‘sin’ had definitely reached her. Josephine was doubtless wary of the man with pale green eyes. More so since she had met Dimitry before. Not even the most intricate lie could integrate who he introduced himself as and who he became.

The risk and time investment wasn’t worth a half-bowl of pottage containing less than a thousand calories, and the nutritious meal he bought yesterday evening would keep him going long enough to find more efficient means of survival. “I’m not sure I’ll be so welcome. I’ll pass for now.”

“Whaddya mean, you’ll pass?” Arnest’s love-struck guise became one of confusion.

“Kid’s got a point,” Samuel said. “There’s no telling what those bitches will do when they see him.”

“Don’t call missus Josephine a bitch!”

“I’ll call ‘em as they are. Just cause someone’s pretty and gives out food doesn’t make them good. One day, they'll ask for a favor in return. They always do.” Samuel’s stub arm protruded from under assorted rags. “That’s speaking from personal experience.”

“That’s what ya always say. Fine, whatever.” Arnest waved Dimitry away. “Just leave then.”

Samuel sighed. “Go on, kid. Arnest’s pissy, but you don’t have to worry about him blabbering about the ‘holy cleric’ to the Church. He knows how to keep his mouth shut.”

“That’s good to know.” Dimitry turned to exit onto main street only to glance back. “Just a quick question, but do either of you know anything about invisibility magic?”

Arnest frowned. “Huh?”

“What’s that?” Samuel asked.

“For example, spells that make people unseen.”

The two men shared confused glances.

Wondering if magic awareness was rare amongst commoners or if invisall was simply ineffective, Dimitry shrugged. “Just something I overheard in passing. It’s probably no big deal.”

A gloomy morning sky beamed scattered sunlight into a deserted alley, whose contents were only three: a rotting pig carcass, moldy crates, and a former surgeon whose shaky hand gripped a shriveled pouch.

Dimitry emptied it into his palm—two copper gadots and four aquamarine pellets.

Yesterday, one piece of crude vol turned him transparent, but in the dark hall, a single pure vol shard made him invisible. Would two crudes do the same? How long would the effect last? Was invisall even useful? Neither Arnest nor Samuel heard of similar magic despite vast street knowledge, and when Dimitry experienced invisibility in the dark hall, the omniscient man saw him regardless. If the spell affected solely the user’s perception of themselves, Dimitry was screwed.

Dread pumped ice under his skin and down his spine. This was Dimitry’s only chance to get this right. Invisall’s unknowns were countless, and without vol for additional attempts, he had to drain every ounce of data before employing the spell under hazardous conditions.

Duration, efficacy, reliability, and adverse effects.

A single test had to ascertain them all.

His laboratory was around the corner and two buildings away—Ravenfall’s market square. No larger than a football field and more packed than a rush-hour train, there were two, perhaps three, times as many people as yesterday. They shuffled through the narrow spaces between stalls, each searching for some otherworldly product. Their shouts sang to the tune of rattling chains played by downcast slaves.

The morally bankrupt sight was one Dimitry wished to do without, but the gradually increasing population density towards the center allowed him to confirm not only if invisall hid his figure but also if it muted smell, touch, and sound along an elevating population gradient.

Blood pounded in Dimitry’s ears. What if the magic faltered, allowing someone to discover him? Was there a ‘revealall’ that nullified ‘invisall’? Could Dimitry escape? He was too weak to wrestle out of a market guard’s grasp.

Before thrusting himself into danger, he would conduct a precursory trial in an area with no guards and accessible escape routes—a less populated road leading to the market.

Dimitry scurried down the narrow alley before crouching behind a mildew-coated crate. He returned half of the crude vol pellets to the pouch, then stared at the two that remained on his palm. A sharp breath rushed cold air into his nostrils as he braced himself for pain.

“Invisall.”

Scorching heat coursed through Dimitry, burning every organ as it surged across his body. He staggered when a vertigo episode, like one would experience when spinning in an office chair, disrupted his balance. Sweat mixed with the remnants of the aquamarine pellets to create a gel-like mixture in the palm of his hand.

He glanced down.

Only a dirt floor, a crate, and a jagged ceramic cup lay in view. Dimitry and his rags were invisible. Grateful that two crude vol pellets achieved the desired effect, some of his anxiety teetered into hopeful anticipation. But the experiment had only just begun.

He stumbled onto main street and stood in traffic. Right before a woman bumped into Dimitry, he stepped aside to avoid a collision.

She didn’t see him.

A desperate thrill, like that of a stranded man spotting a distant ship from an island, stole Dimitry’s breath. But it was still too early to celebrate. To collect data under more erratic conditions, he performed jumping jacks on the side of the road.

One passerby glanced at the dust rising from the road seemingly of its own volition but soon lost interest. A second pinched her nose when walking beside Dimitry. Another turned his head to an unseen tap on his shoulder, while a sourceless clap startled his friend.

Invisall did exactly as the name implied: it erased the user’s visuals without affecting sound, smell, and tactile impulses. That was fine. No, it was great! Although imperfect, the spell did exactly what Dimitry hoped it would do!

Assuming the duration was five minutes as it was with one crude vol pellet, there was ample time to experiment. Eagerness pushed Dimitry into the market to conduct further tests.

As the crowd’s density increased, so did obscure sights. Among them was a counter upholding five stubby rods. They were just like the wands the murderous market guard from yesterday held. A small, rectangular piece of wood decorated with teal lines entrenched itself in each device’s handle.

While intriguing, the rattling of chains attracted Dimitry’s attention to a stall at the market’s center.

Slaves.

They lined up beside a podium as wealthy perusers observed their complexions, held their limbs, and squeezed their muscles in a repugnant display.

Dimitry wondered if invisall could help free them, maybe at night while their owners slept, yet he lacked the tools to sever thick iron shackles. And releasing binds alone was short-sighted. There was also the issue of feeding and sheltering slaves while transporting them to distant cities where anonymity allowed them to reintegrate into society as free citizens.

Rash action now would endanger everyone involved. Perhaps one day Dimitry could muster the resources to emancipate others, but currently, he couldn’t help his patients or even himself.

For that, Dimitry needed money.

His eyes locked onto a slaver’s counter upholding only a gray-glowing statue and a pile of coins of which six were gold. Six golden gadots! How many surgical needles, hemostats, and forceps could that purchase? How many medical innovations could be developed?

Dimitry stumbled closer.

A flowing crowd of shoppers and onlookers blocked the path.

He tried another.

A hand-holding couple obstructed that one too, so he opted for another. And another. Then another. Regardless of route, the gaps between shoppers narrowed until the risk of bumping into pedestrians before reaching the slaver’s stall became insurmountable.

Fearful of invisall’s effects fading while trapped among a sea of observers, Dimitry grit his teeth and backed away. But it was fine. Although he hoped to use invisall most efficiently while it lasted, he accomplished the primary goal—measuring the spell’s parameters.

Two pellets remained in his pouch. With limits identified, they would suffice to escape poverty. However, to further increase the odds of success for when the time came, he would conduct one last experiment. Dimitry dodged and ducked past a liquid horde, thinning by the moment, until he reached one of many exits.

Near the edge of the market square stood a stall with many display racks, each laden with straw baskets bearing familiar and alien vegetation. Grain, exotic yellow beans, and other produce.

At the end of the counter lay a crate of flat melons.

The perfect practice target for the real heist.

Transporting gold coins while invisible would require experience, and now was Dimitry’s only chance to adapt. If he could steal a giant fruit, he could easily escape with a handful of gadots. The proximity to many escape routes almost guaranteed his safety, and the sugar-rich contents were a bonus.

He crept closer.

Three people stood under the produce stall’s canvas roof. One was an older woman with beads of sweat trickling down her plump cheeks. She waved her hands passionately while speaking to a customer across the counter. The third was a girl with tangled vermilion hair and a glowing metal collar around her neck. Sitting in silence, she watched the crowd move around her.

“This is the freshest samul you’ll find in all of Remora! Four and a half coppers a bundle is the lowest I’ll go!”

“The local grocer sells it for four. Are you trying to rip me off?”

“Ha! That’s a steep price to pay for trash.”

Neither of the three heard Dimitry as he slid beside the stall. His palm grasped the melon’s thick, leathery skin, but no matter how much he willed it to, the fruit didn’t turn invisible. An expected yet disappointing outcome.

Dimitry moved onto the next step: stealing.

But he hesitated.

Although theft would save him money, the merchant wasn’t a slaver or rich. She was struggling to survive just like him. Dimitry retrieved an invisible copper coin from his pouch and gently lowered it onto the counter.

None were the wiser.

Transaction complete, he nudged the crate, and the topmost melon fell to the ground with a condensed thunk.

The vermilion-haired girl locked her gaze onto the fruit.

Dimitry froze. Did she notice him? His instincts screamed at him to flee, yet the girl’s irreverence told otherwise. She stared at the melon with half-closed eyes, not taking the initiative to retrieve it. Did she not care?

He gave the fruit a gentle kick.

With raised eyebrows, the girl watched a melon roll through a market exit and onto the streets.