Later that morning. Cold wind greeted us as we stepped out of the house, the sounds of weeping sealed behind the heavy door.

  Thomas adjusted the knapsack on his back; his “new” armour was still damp with Fiorella’s tears and snot. We crossed the porch, our boots clacking against the compacted dirt. He paused, gazing up at the clear blue sky in silence, while I pulled the wooden gate shut behind us.

  “If someone had told me a few days ago I’d be an apprentice hunter, I wouldn’t have believed them,” he said, his eyes clouding with solemnity.

  I smacked his shoulder with a grin. “I thought that’s exactly what you prayed for at the shrine,” I teased, scanning the street.

  We were in the North Gate district—a jagged sprawl of leaning roofs and mismatched stone. Shops and inns drew visitors, though the district lacked the bazaar’s frantic energy. Our new home—a former warehouse—sat among houses rather than stalls, tucked at the head of the street. Not convenient for merchants, which was why Yarissa hadn’t hesitated to give it away.

  Thomas chuckled, recalling the day we’d dropped Xanthia off at the shrine. “I hope His blessing holds up,” he muttered, swallowing hard. We set off down the street, beginning the trek toward the docks.

  We needed to find Big O’ Scar—the dockmaster of Delmar—to apologize for our disappearance days ago. Thomas was finished with manual labour, but I still needed the work—and we both needed to mend that bridge of trust.

  Between the new home, the unfamiliar district, and the encroaching winter, we couldn’t afford carelessness. I wasn’t sure how Ol’ Lucia’s negotiations with the Merchant Guild were progressing, but we weren’t about to let our guard down.

  “This way.” I turned into an alley beside Madam Opal’s pie shop. It was faster—cutting through the crowded main road near the North Gate. Local townsfolk used these alleyways during the day, though at night they became another world entirely.

  The alleys shifted in width—some broad enough for me to stretch my arms, others narrowing to gaps fit only for rats. We sidestepped crates and junk piled along the path, weaving between damp stone walls as we pressed on.

  We exchanged greetings with the locals as we wound our way through the alleys. I lifted my head. The sky narrowed to a thin slit between the leaning buildings. My eyes followed the alley’s end, where it opened toward the main road of the commerce district near the central square.

  My world felt confined, hemmed in by walls and shadows. Thomas, with the Hunter Guild’s recognition, would see and learn far more than I. He tilted his head and grinned when he caught me glancing at him.

  Echoes of merchants carried down the alley. Horses snorted, mules brayed, and carts rattled over cobblestones. Even from a hundred paces away, the bustle pressed against us—a wide, energetic world waiting beyond the alley's end.

  I almost bumped into Thomas as he stopped in his tracks. “Did the bazaar expand?” he exclaimed. “The stalls have poured into the streets!”

  He raised his hand to shield his eyes from the sun, his gaze sweeping across the busy square. Colourful banners fluttered between rooftops, and the crowd surged like a tide.

  I nodded. It was far busier than just days ago — perhaps because of Leviafest, the Coming?of?Age Ceremony, or even the moss?hopper outbreak.

  If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  We threaded our way through the bazaar toward the East District, slipping into gaps between the press of bodies.

  “Move now, Thomas,” I groaned, pushing him forward as he lingered near a broth?seller. "Before trouble finds us."

  “The spices tickle my nose,” he said, resisting my shove, eyes gleaming as he licked his lips. Several people crowded the stall, gulping down steaming broth with relish.

  Then a harsh voice split the din. “Move your feet, you filthy scoundrel!”

  Two town guards shoved a hooded man ahead of them, his wrists bound in chains. We watched as they passed, heading toward the watch post on the main street.

  More travellers meant more crimes. I noticed extra guards on patrol, yet thieves, cheats, and sticky?fingers kept them busy. I clutched my new satchel—Ol’ Lucia’s gift—tight against my chest.

  Thomas tapped my shoulder. “Let’s go before trouble finds us,” he muttered.

  We pressed through the crowd until we reached the centre of the square, where sweat and street food aromas mingled.

  “Wow, they polished that head—it’s so shiny,” Thomas strode toward the grand conduit: the Great Leviathan’s head, a massive block of sea?foam green marble whose carved jaws spilled a constant, rhythmic stream into the stone basin below. People gathered around it, filling jugs and pitchers with water.

  I leaned closer at his words. The head was spotless, free of grime or algae even in the smallest grooves of its detailed carvings. The priests of the Shrine of Levia had tended it carefully as the festival drew near.

  It was the only dignified thing in the square; everything else was chaos. Merchants shrieked like gulls fighting over scraps, each cry sharper than the last, drowning our voices.

  Beside the conduit, several stalls displayed moss?hoppers the size of dogs and sheep. The crowd surged toward them like a rising tide. The nightmare that had haunted us now lay under the butcher’s cleaver, no different from chickens or goats.

  They had become part of Leviafest, drawing more visitors—no doubt Yarissa was laughing all the way back to her coffers.

  I wondered where they'd taken the giant beast.

  I stole a glance at Thomas. He wore a smug look—the look of someone who knew exactly how many of those creatures he had already put in the ground.

  I only hoped that same quiet arrogance would carry him through the gates of the Hunter Guild. He would need every bit of it.

  We continued eastward, leaving the central square for the port road.

  Inns, taverns, and warehouses lined the way, serving travelers and merchants arriving from the docks. Shrieks of winged thieves—seagulls perched on beams and rooftops—cut through the air. The stench of the sea drifted toward us even here.

  I glanced at Thomas. His shoulders slumped, his pace slowing. “What’s the matter?” I asked.

  “W…well, you know…” he stammered, his brow furrowed.

  I slapped his arm with a sharp crack. “Are you scared?” I jeered. “We’d face Death himself, Thomas!” I grabbed his arm and dragged him forward.

  “All right, I can walk by myself, Allen,” he protested, pulling free.

  “That man was different…Big O’ Scar…” he muttered, eyes darting around as if the fearsome dockmaster might be listening nearby.

  As we approached the grand arch that marked the way to the docks, a hooded child in an oversized, mismatched tunic slipped out from an alley on the left. He darted toward us—a classic sticky?finger.

  Thomas, still rambling about the fearsome Big O’ Scar, didn’t notice. I nudged him with my elbow to snap him out of his daydream, then fixed the child with a sharp look and lunged forward. I raised my satchel in my left hand as a shield, my right hand clenched into a fist, ready to strike.

  The child whimpered softly, then dove into the crowd, vanishing in an instant. An experienced one, for sure.

  I slung my satchel back into place and returned to a petrified Thomas. Pinching his cheeks hard, I scolded, “Eyes up, Master Hunter Thomas. Don’t get robbed right after you join the guild!”

  “Yes, yes! I’m sorry!” he squealed, begging for mercy from my “caring” reminder.

  Looking at his piteous face, a sudden lump formed in my throat. I reached out to straighten his armor, brushing away dust and stray breadcrumbs.

  “You look great, Thomas,” I said softly as he rubbed his sore cheeks. “You’re going to shine brighter than the stars.”

  I turned and kept walking before he could see my expression. He followed in silence.

  “Don’t worry about the orphanage,” I added quietly. “We’ll stand strong.”

  He let out a sharp, wet snort behind me, but I didn’t look back.