THE AETHERBORN

8 years ago

Thorne dashed through the bustling fish market, weaving between pedestrians as he fought to hold his breath against the overpowering stench of old fish. The air was thick with the smell of salt and rot, making his stomach churn, but he pressed on, forcing himself through the crowded street.

Sundown’s coming, he thought bitterly, glancing up at the sky. The sun was already sinking below the horizon, casting long shadows across the city. I’ve got to hurry.

His sharp eyes caught sight of a bulging coin pouch swaying temptingly from a man’s belt. The man was too engrossed in an argument with a flustered merchant to notice anything else. Perfect.

With the ease of someone who had done it a hundred times, Thorne moved toward the man, his hand slipping into the folds of the pouch. His fingers closed around the coins, and with a swift motion, he relieved the man of his money without so much as a glance in his direction. He crouched low, blending into the mass of people before anyone could spot him.

Satisfied that no one had seen him, Thorne straightened and began running again, his boots slapping against the cobblestones as he navigated the labyrinth of alleyways that crisscrossed Alvar. His heart pounded in his chest, more from urgency than fear. I wasted too much time. He cursed himself for getting greedy, knowing that the delay could cost him a bigger prize.

Vaulting over a stack of crates, he picked up speed, his legs burning as he ran. He stopped only for a moment to duck his hands into a nearby barrel of coal outside a smithy, rubbing the black dust over his face and clothes to dirty his appearance.

"Hey! Get out of here, you filthy brat!" the blacksmith shouted, but Thorne ignored him, already moving on. The grime would help complete the image of a pitiful, desperate orphan—an image that worked to his advantage more times than he could count.

Cutting through the merchant district, Thorne ducked into side alleys, his stamina plummeting with every step. His breaths came fast and shallow, but he pushed through, driven by the promise of a larger reward. I can’t stop now.

When he finally reached the noble district, crawling with guards, Thorne forced himself to slow down. He pressed his back against the cool stone of a building, letting the shadows swallow him as he waited. His eyes darted to the passing guards, and his pulse quickened. He had done this enough times to know when to act, but one mistake could cost him dearly.

As soon as the guards moved past, Thorne darted across the street, his small figure a blur as he ducked into the shadows again. The disgusted looks from the noblemen and women he passed only added to his disguise. Good. Let them think I’m worthless.

He slipped into a familiar shop without slowing, calling over his shoulder, “Hi, Aunty!” to the heavyset woman behind the counter.

"Go away, you little rat!" she yelled, brandishing a broom at him. "You're going to dirty my shop!"

“Love you too!” Thorne shouted, leaping through a window at the back, landing softly on the other side, closer to his target.

From there, it was a well-practiced routine. He waited for the guards or an important noble to pass, then sprinted across the street and used every shortcut he knew to stay out of sight. His heart raced, but his steps were light, deliberate. He couldn’t afford any mistakes now.

At last, the grand building came into view—a magnificent structure with a domed ceiling and four towers, one at each corner. It was the most breathtaking building in the city, its opulence and elegance unmatched by anything Thorne had ever seen. But he didn’t care about the building itself. What drew him here were the people inside.

The nobles.

It was well-known that after their lavish parties, when the alcohol flowed freely and the laughter grew loud, the nobles would stumble out, drunk and in high spirits. That was when Thorne could work. A poor, pitiful orphan could beg for a few coins, and the nobles—feeling generous—would often oblige, tossing him enough silver to last him days.

Thorne scanned the streets carefully, looking not only for guards but for any of his cousins. If Bulk had heard about this party, Thorne would have to flee. The last thing he needed was competition.

But there was no sign of Bulk or any of his gang. For once, he’s kept his mouth shut. A rare smile touched Thorne’s lips. Maybe I’ll share a copper or two if I’m feeling generous.

He positioned himself in the perfect spot—a shadowy corner where he could avoid the wandering eyes of guards but still be visible enough to the passing nobles. His senses were on high alert, his body tense. His heart raced every time a guard came near, memories he tried to bury bubbling to the surface.

Then, he heard it. Laughter—merry, high-pitched—and the soft rustle of expensive clothing. The first guests were leaving.

Thorne rushed to the corner he had scouted earlier, throwing himself to his knees. He hunched over, clutching his belly as if in pain. When he heard the giggles of a woman approaching, he lifted his head. Time to perform.

His Acting and Deception skills kicked in as he widened his eyes, blinking dramatically. His voice trembled as he raised his hands, palms up. “My good lady, please... a copper...” His voice cracked, broken and pitiful. If only I could cry on command. That would seal the deal.

The woman recoiled at the sight of him, her face twisting in distaste. Her companion, a young man who clearly fancied himself a protector, raised his arm gallantly, as though Thorne were some dangerous threat.

Thorne lowered his gaze, letting his lip tremble, playing the part of the humiliated, starving orphan. “Sorry,” he muttered, his voice barely audible but loud enough to be heard. “I haven’t eaten in days...”

The woman’s face softened immediately. Her cold demeanor melted as she took in his dirty face, his wide, innocent eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You poor thing!” she gasped, clutching her hand to her chest. “Gertrude, give him a coin! This child must eat tonight, like a king!”

Thorne fought the urge to roll his eyes. Like a king? A single coin doesn’t make me royalty, lady. Still, he forced a grateful smile to his face, his eyes lighting up with what the woman mistook for genuine gratitude.

Her maid, a stern-looking woman, produced a silver coin from her purse, holding it out for him. Finally. Thorne’s fingers twitched in anticipation as he reached for the coin.

But before he could grab it, the young escort interrupted. “Beatrice, please!” he scoffed. “Don’t waste your kindness on street rats like this! For all we know, the boy is lying!”

Thorne gritted his teeth in annoyance. So close. The coin was practically his, but he wasn’t about to let it slip away. He felt his Acting skill activate again, giving him the push he needed to sell his story. "My lord... if only I was lying..." His voice quivered, the words dripping with desperation that even he wasn’t sure was entirely fake. "I’m all alone in this world. Both my ma and pa are long dead..." His voice wavered, his eyes distant and hollow as he clutched his stomach, feigning hunger. "I just want enough coins to eat something... it's been so long..."

At that moment, a notification appeared, almost breaking his concentration.

Skill Level Up: Acting!

You Have Reached Level 6 in Acting!

As his skill leveled up, Thorne felt real, fat tears track down his cheeks, his face contorting into a mask of sorrow. The woman gasped, horrified by the sight, and shot a furious glare at her companion. The once-arrogant man shrunk under her gaze, all his bravado fading as he realized he had made a poor child cry in the middle of the street.

"Here, take this," the man muttered quickly, pulling out a silver coin—this one larger than the one the woman had offered. It bore the emblem of the royal sun, a coin far more valuable than the average silver.

Thorne’s eyes widened as he spotted the royal insignia. A royal coin! He had never seen one up close, but before he could grab it, the man grimaced, clearly unwilling to touch Thorne’s dirty hands. With a sneer, the noble tossed the coin into the air.

Thorne’s Sleight of Hand skill kicked in. His fingers moved like lightning, snatching the coin midair before it could hit the ground. The nobles barely registered the motion, but the coin was already tucked away in Thorne’s back pocket.

The nobleman scowled, but the woman smiled warmly at him. She patted her companion’s arm before turning to leave, her servant trailing behind. Just before she disappeared from view, the woman gave Thorne a wink and flicked the original coin his way.

Grinning, Thorne scurried forward to scoop up the coin, flashing her a big smile as she vanished into the crowd.

Two silvers—one royal. Not a bad start to the night.

He repeated the scam three more times, charming a few more coins from unsuspecting nobles before the guards started noticing. As soon as he saw them whispering and looking in his direction, Thorne knew it was time to disappear. He ducked into a nearby alley and slipped into the shadows, running as fast as his legs could carry him.

By the time he reached the safety of the darker alleys, he had a small handful of coins—enough to last him two, maybe three weeks if he was careful. The royal coin would stretch that even further, buying him more than just food. Maybe even a knife.

Thorne let out a long breath, his heart still racing from the close calls. His uncle had given him a place to stay—an attic above a raucous tavern. It wasn’t much, but it was better than sleeping on the streets. The barmaids had taken a liking to him, always slipping him extra food when he asked. Still, he needed money for things like clothes, better food, and, most importantly... a weapon.

Lately, the other gangs of orphans had grown more aggressive. Whenever they saw one of Uncle’s "special" nephews or nieces, they attacked without hesitation. Thorne had managed to escape a few times, thanks to his Stealth skill, but it was only a matter of time before he got cornered. He needed a dagger, something to defend himself.

But even a simple dagger cost dozens of silvers. If he wanted to save up for one, he’d have to give up his beloved blueberry pies for a while.

With a sigh, Thorne fished out the royal coin and inspected it under the faint moonlight. The gleam of the silver was mesmerizing, but the smell of the nearby fish market snapped him out of his daze. Wrinkling his nose, he turned down an alley, hoping to get away from the stench.

The streets were quieting down. Most shops had already closed, and the last few shoppers had gone home, leaving the roads to sailors, fishermen, and women offering various forms of entertainment to the rowdy men. Thorne moved quickly, his mind still focused on the coin in his hand.

He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn’t hear the footsteps behind him until it was too late.

A hard shove from behind sent Thorne sprawling to the ground, his face slamming into the dirt with a sickening thud. The impact jarred his teeth, and his jaw ached as his mouth filled with the coppery taste of blood. His tongue stung from where he’d bitten it, but the pain barely registered.

Laughter rang out around him, sharp and cruel. Thorne blinked away the dizziness and looked up, his heart sinking.

Jonah and his crew.

Relief washed over him for a split second—It’s just Jonah, not one of the other gangs—but that relief quickly soured. Jonah was bad news on a good day, and Thorne knew he was in for a beating.

“Well, well, well,” Jonah sneered, bending down to snatch the royal coin from the dirt. “What do we have here?” He turned the coin over in his hand, inspecting it with a mocking grin. “Where’d you get this, huh? Pickpocketing nobles now, are we?”

Thorne spat out a mouthful of blood and bit back the urge to snap back. His mind raced, trying to gauge how bad the situation would get. If I stay quiet, maybe they’ll just take the coin and leave.

“Tell us, your lordship,” Jonah continued, his voice dripping with mockery. “Did you really steal from a noble? Or are you just lucky enough to have one toss you a royal coin out of pity?”

Thorne forced himself to stay calm. “No,” he muttered through gritted teeth, his voice tight. “A noble gave it to me.” His head throbbed from the fall, and the taste of blood in his mouth made it hard to speak, but he knew if he showed weakness, Jonah would take it as an invitation.

Jonah arched an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “A noble, huh? Just gave you a coin out of the kindness of his heart?” His voice was mocking, but there was a gleam in his eye. “I guess you really are Uncle’s special boy, aren’t you?”

And there it was. The reason Thorne had no friends among his uncle’s "family." Everyone was jealous of his preferential treatment. For reasons Thorne didn’t understand, his uncle had taken a liking to him, treating him more like real family than the other orphans. He visited Thorne almost every night, sharing meals, talking for hours, making sure he was fed and clothed. Meanwhile, the rest of Uncle’s nieces and nephews scraped by, barely getting enough to survive.

The resentment ran deep.

Thorne’s eyes darted to the side, searching for an escape route. I’ve got to get out of here.

But before he could move, Jonah’s boot pressed down hard on his chest, pinning him to the ground.

"Tell me, Thorne," Jonah whispered, leaning down close enough for Thorne to smell the stench of sweat and cheap ale on his breath. "What makes you so special, huh?"

Jonah’s words dripped with malice, the kind that only grew from jealousy and resentment. The moment the older boy spoke, Thorne knew this wasn’t going to end with just a bruise or a black eye. Jonah intended to make sure Thorne remembered this night for a long time.

With a smirk, Jonah slipped the royal coin into the pocket of his tattered pants and balled his fists, stepping closer. “Uncle said not to hurt you, but Uncle’s not here, is he? You’ve got all those coins hidden away, and you don’t share with the family. I reckon you need a good beating, don’t you?”

Thorne met Jonah’s gaze without flinching, his expression unreadable. I’m not afraid of you. Jonah could land as many punches and kicks as he wanted, but Thorne knew they couldn’t do any real damage. His stats were already higher than most adults thanks to his core. If I wanted to, I could take all six of them.

But his mother’s warning rang in his ears, like a ghostly whisper every time he craved to show the world how powerful he really was. “Be strong, my son, and never reveal to anyone what you truly are!”

Her voice played in his mind again as Jonah’s foul breath washed over his face, the boy’s eyes gleaming with satisfaction. Thorne could feel the motes of aether swirling around him, begging to be used. The temptation to unleash his strength gnawed at him, but he clenched his fists, holding back.

“Don’t you, little princeling?” Jonah sneered, leaning closer. “Don’t you deserve some punishment?”

Thorne’s resolve wavered for a fraction of a second, and the aether flickered in his vision. He swallowed hard and gave a small nod despite himself. Jonah’s grin widened, a wolfish smile spreading across his face.

“Have at it, boys!” Jonah declared, stepping back with a flourish of his hand, like a conductor signaling the start of a performance.

The kicks came first, sharp and brutal, landing in his sides and back. Thorne gritted his teeth, biting down on the pain. Punches followed, rough and savage, raining down on him like a storm. His arms flew up to protect his head, his body curling in on itself as he tried to minimize the damage. Every blow sent a jolt of agony through him, but he kept his mouth shut, refusing to give them the satisfaction of hearing him cry out.

Through the chaos of fists and feet, Thorne stole a glance at Jonah, who stood watching like a king surveying his battlefield. The boy looked smug, relishing the sight of his rival being beaten into the dirt. Behind him stood Ben, smaller and more hesitant, his round face twisted with guilt. Ben’s eyes darted between Thorne and Jonah, but he didn’t dare step in or speak up. He was just another puppet in Jonah’s cruel game.

The minutes dragged on, each one filled with more pain than the last. Thorne’s vision blurred as his health points plummeted into the red, his body screaming for the onslaught to stop. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the boys grew bored and left him there, bleeding and broken in the filthy alley.

Thorne lay still, gasping for breath. His entire body throbbed with pain, and his mouth was filled with the taste of blood. I’m alive, he thought numbly. Barely, but I’m alive.

With tremendous effort, he dragged himself toward the nearest wall, using it to pull himself upright. His arms shook with the strain, and every movement sent fresh waves of pain through his battered body. I’ve had worse. He told himself that, but it did little to ease the ache.

Once he was secure against the wall, Thorne let the aether flow through him. Dark motes clung to his skin, wrapping around him like a protective shield. The shadows deepened, and he knew anyone passing by wouldn’t be able to see him. Hidden in the darkness, he finally allowed himself to check the notification that had been waiting for him.

CONGRATULATIONS!

YOU HAVE UNLOCKED THE SKILL: Resilience!

CONGRATULATIONS!

YOU HAVE UNLOCKED THE SKILL: Thick Skin!

Thorne let out a humorless laugh, wincing as pain shot through his ribs. “Well... at least there’s that,” he muttered under his breath, gingerly touching the side of his mouth where he could feel a loose tooth. Looks like I’m going to need to learn how to pull teeth next.