Chapter 1 - A Reunion of Sorts Chapter 1.1:

“Wake up, dear.” A gentle voice whispered.

I slowly opened my eyes and felt an unfamiliar warmth throughout my body.

A fireplace in front of me crackled with life.

Soft hands slowly caressed my hair.

I looked up at the woman whose lap I had been resting on. I couldn’t make out her face but her smile eased my heart. The tips of her long flowing black hair tickled my nose.

“What’s the matter? Still half-asleep? Wake up, son.” A deep voice chuckled.

I glanced over and saw a man looking in our direction. He was sitting on an armchair by the fire some distance away and held a book. His face was a blur but something in me told me he had kind eyes.

I turned to my side and felt the rug sprawled under us.

Soft and itchy but slightly warm from the heat of the flames.

“Is this... real?” I asked. I could hear my voice trembling.

“Why wouldn’t it be dear?” The woman asked, visibly startled by the cracking of my voice.

“It’s just that I’ve wanted to meet you for so long. Please, what are your names?” I sat up.

“Son, what are you saying? We’re your parents, __________ and __________.” The man replied.

My heart sank.

I couldn’t hear their names. It’s as if all the sound in the room disappeared during those precious seconds.

“Please... one more time. What are your names?”

The man stood up and walked towards us. He placed his hands on my forehead. I could feel the callouses and scars on them.

“Are you sick? What’s gotten into you?”

I grabbed his hand, holding on as tight as I could.

“Please. Just tell me. Slowly... what are your names?”

They exchanged looks.

“Dear, we’re _________ and _________”. She spoke softly and I could feel her put her arm around my shoulder.

I knew it.

I carefully stood up and slowly backed away from them. I held my hand out to stop them from approaching. I could feel my legs getting heavier. Inch by inch, I willed myself towards the direction of the flames, never letting my stare drop. I tried to imprint in my mind every detail, every noticeable feature of the two strangers in front of me. Anything at all that could help me recall them.

Remember. You have to remember.

But the more I tried to recall, the more the two faces in front of me blurred. Everything seemed to lose focus, their expressions, the color of their hair, the clothes they wore.

After what felt like an eternity, my other hand found the handle of the stoker by the fire.

The man and woman leapt towards me. I gathered my courage, brandished the stoker from behind me and stabbed myself through the heart.

Chapter 1.2:

I bolted straight up, gasping for air, my left hand clutching my chest.

I closed my eyes and took deep breaths.

As my heartbeat began to slow down, I looked at my hands.

No blood. Just grime. Another dream.

I looked around the damp wooden walls of the old crate I called home.

I reached out to the side of my crate, and with my right hand began tracing the grooves and indents I made with my small knife, counting.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5. This is real. I’m awake.

I let out a sigh of relief, letting go of my chest.

I reached for the small knife I kept under the bundle of rugs I used as a pillow.

Still here.

I unsheathed it and started carving out another bar on the left side of my crate wall.

Day 206. My wall is almost full.

It’s been 206 days since I left the orphanage. I began saying a small prayer to the Creator just like the matrons taught us.

Please. Let this be the day I find them. Anything at all. Give me some sort of sign. Let me find them.

Afterwards, I donned my small belt where I tied the sheath of my knife. I made sure to tie the string with several knots to make sure I didn’t accidentally lose it. It was my one treasure in the world.

As if catching on to the fact that I was finally awake, my stomach began grumbling. I patted it sympathetically.

“Yup, you’re right. Time to find some breakfast”.

I opened my crate home’s door flaps to brave the new day.

Chapter 1.3:

According to the matrons, when I was just a toddler, I grabbed the knife from among the donation boxes delivered to the orphanage. Without intending to, I was able to bind the knife to myself and activate sparks of fire magic.

Since magic artifacts could only be wielded by blood-relations of the original creator, the knife was my one clue as to who my parents were. By the time I turned seven years old, I resolved to track down my real family.

But orphans couldn’t leave the orphanage unless they were adopted or turned sixteen. So, in the dead of night, I took several loaves of bread from the kitchen, left a note, and snuck out through my room’s window to begin my search.

Luckily, the orphanage was near the King’s Road. It was only a kilometer away from the forked path which led to one of the major cities, North Haven.

I had camped behind one of the big trees that that lined up the stretch of the King’s Road all night. At the break of dawn, I heard a horse-drawn carriage coming from the direction of the Capital. It eventually came to a stop at the fork of the road. I quickly became a stowaway, making sure not to alert the driver who was double-checking the map in his hand and the road sign in front of him. I spent the journey keeping as quiet as possible while clutching my small bag tightly.

It had taken several hours, but eventually I ended up hearing more foot traffic and horses nearby, as well as the distinct sounds of a steel gate being raised. The air felt a bit colder and thinner too.

I knew I had arrived at a major city because it was exactly as the delivery men used to describe to us: loud, smelly, with many grown men shouting at each other.

Finally here.

I whispered a small prayer of gratitude and leapt out of the carriage as soon as I heard the merchant dismount. I bolted and turned towards the first alley I saw.

I kept running until I felt I was safe.

After catching my breath, I remember being overwhelmed by all the sights. Stores and merchants as far as the eyes could see. Clothing, food, trinkets, and toys, everything that made delivery days in the orphanage so exciting.

I would soon learn, however, that I wasn’t prepared for the adventure I undertook. I lacked the one thing necessary to survive in the real world: money.

I ran out of bread quickly. Out of desperation, I began pilfering bits and pieces of food from the food stalls along the main road and scavenging the trash cans around the city for any edible scrap I could get my hands on.

Before long, the city guards were out on the prowl for a child thief. I could barely show my face anywhere before a guard started chasing me.

I knew I couldn’t let them catch me. They’d just send me back to the orphanage. After what I did, I knew the matrons would put me under lock and key for years on end, not to mention I’d get a spanking until my bottom turned raw.

In my search for a place to lie low, I came across an abandoned storage house missing a roof. I think it used to hold livestock because the crates inside were huge and had stacks of hay covering the bottoms.

Eventually, I found one that was just large enough that I could walk into it without bumping my head and could completely cover me from head to toe when I lay on my back.

I grabbed an old tarpaulin from around the storage house and fashioned a door flap to give my new crate-home some privacy. I made sure to not cover the cracks on the side so that light could still seep through.

I made myself a home. A small and cramped one, but at the very least I had somewhere to run to without anyone recognizing my face.

I decided to stay there for the next few months while I scoured the city for some clue on my parents.

More than 200 days later, I was no closer than when I began.

Chapter 1.4:

Although I felt bad stealing food to get by, I didn’t have the courage to give up. Something in me felt like I would find my family soon.

I will pay them all back some day.

After firming my resolve, I started heading to the path leading to the Baker’s Store. The air started getting heavy with the wafts of freshly baked bread - the most intoxicating smell in the world to me.

The baker is really amazing. Maybe I could ask him to teach me to make bread.

As I rounded the corner I could see the open window sill on the side of the Baker’s Store where he keeps his freshly baked bread to cool off before putting it in the display up front. I could see all the aromatic pastries that were still steaming from the oven.

The window was pretty high up, almost twice my height. But after weeks of trial and error, I realized that if I could nick the side of one of the baking tins with my knife, it could topple some of the bread stacked on top. With some luck, it could fall towards the alleyway. I also know from experience though that this causes a lot of noise. I only had two or three chances before the Baker catches on and starts throwing things at me.

Steeling myself, I hugged the wall until I was right below the window sill.

Alright. Just a flick of the wrist. Not too strong.

But as I was readying to throw the knife, a head popped out of the window and enormous brown eyes glared straight down at me.

“Oy. Kid. Not today alright. I have a huge order to fill and I don’t have time to clean up the bread you’ll scatter on the floor banging my baking tins. Shoo!”

I froze and started feeling smaller. It was one thing to know I was stealing, to having a grown-up call me out on it. I crouched to the ground as the Baker continued to glare at me.

I started to back away, not keeping my eyes off the Baker. I know if he wanted to, he could throw a wooden spoon at me the size of my arm. After slinking back a few meters from the window sill, he went back inside and I was finally able to breathe.

Suddenly, he popped out again and my heart seized up.

“Oy!”

I saw he was clutching something in his big hands and my whole body tensed, getting ready to dodge the projectile, whatever it was.

“It’s one of yesterday’s bread that I heated up. My kids are sick of eating day-olds so take this and go.”

He chucked the brown bread towards me. I was so stunned by this act of mercy I couldn’t move to catch it.

The warm loaf of rye hit me right in the face and I fell on my butt.

“Ah shit. Sorry kid! Why didntcha catch it though?”

The Baker shaked his head and retreated into his store.

As I lay on the ground, I could still feel the warmth of the bread over my face and I started feeling something wet trickle down the side of my eyes.

Quietly, I reached out to the rye bread that was sitting to my side, and started tearing chunks out and stuffing my face with as much of it as I could.

“It’s really good.”

Chapter 1.5:

After my eventful breakfast, I headed towards the business district. I figured that my parents would be merchants or business owners since most commoners would never own magical artifacts much less an ornate one like my knife. The hilt had a crest of two birds in flight carrying a small sword in their beaks. I was sure that if I hung out long enough I would spot someone that had the same crest on their cloak or their wagon.

I nestled into a small crevice hidden behind some shrubbery that gave me a clear view of the passing traffic.

Slowly, I started humming a little hymn. I had already forgotten the words that the matrons taught us, but I remember it was a prayer for guidance.

Please let me find them today. I want my family. Please.

Several hours passed, and even more merchants and trading wagons plowed the streets.

Giant cat… Thin dog… Coiled worms… Ball… Man… No birds…

The anxiety and disappointment in me starts to well up with each passing insignia.

I had no idea bird crests were so rare. Not a single one all this time.

As I was about to give up for the day, I noticed a blue insignia from a caravan rounding the corner of the street. Painted on the side was a large bird of prey taking flight with its talons outstretched.

A bird crest!

I jumped straight up and prepared to follow the caravan. To my surprise, it stopped directly across the street from where I was hiding, right by the brick house with glass-stained windows.

A tall, tanned, burly man with a short moustache and sharp eyes dismounted. My immediate thought was that he looked a lot like his crest with his sharp features.

I circled around to cross the street a block away from the caravan. The burly man had proceeded to enter the small building.

Drawing courage from his absence, I slowly approached the caravan’s rear to get some clues.

As I pulled myself up, however, I came face to face with another kid crouched behind the back rest. He was eyeing me angrily with a club raised.

“You’ve got five seconds to get out of here before I hit you, thief,” the older boy warned.

I immediately let go and fell butt-first on the cobblestone street.