The cold bit through Elias's thin shirt as he pressed himself against the rough brick wall of the alley. Seven years old and already a veteran of Ardenia's unforgiving streets, he knew that survival required patience. The bakery across the street would soon discard its day-old bread, and the owner's predictable routine was Elias's lifeline.
His stomach growled painfully, a constant companion these last three days. The abandoned building where he'd made his nest had been demolished earlier that week, taking with it the small cache of food he'd managed to collect. Since then, he'd been moving constantly, sleeping in whatever sheltered corner he could find, drinking from public fountains when no guards were watching.
A bell jingled as the bakery's back door swung open. Elias tensed, ready to move. The large baker emerged, carrying a cloth sack that made Elias's mouth water with anticipation. The man tossed the bag into a metal bin before retreating back inside, the door slamming behind him.
Elias counted to thirty slowly in his head—a trick he'd learned to avoid being caught—before darting across the street. His small hands, calloused and dirty, reached for the bin's edge. At seven, he was small for his age, a consequence of malnutrition, and the bin's height presented a challenge. He jumped, fingers catching the rim, and pulled himself up with practiced ease.
Inside, the bag of discarded bread smelled of heaven. Elias grabbed it quickly, stuffing several pieces into the pockets of his oversized pants, secured at the waist with a frayed piece of rope. He had just slipped back down to the ground when a voice shattered his momentary triumph.
"Hey! Street rat! What do you think you're doing?"
The baker stood in the doorway, his broad face flushed with anger. Elias didn't hesitate—he ran. His bare feet slapped against the cobblestones as he tore down the alley, the weight of the bread bouncing against his thighs. Behind him, the baker's shouts faded, too busy to give chase but angry enough to alert the street guards.
Elias navigated the maze of Ardenia's Lower Ward with the instinctive knowledge of one born to its shadows. Left at the broken statue, right past the abandoned well, through the narrow gap between buildings that adults couldn't squeeze through. His heart hammered in his chest, not from exertion—his small body was accustomed to running—but from the thrill of success. He would eat tonight.
The network of alleys eventually opened into what locals called the Hollow, a forgotten courtyard surrounded by crumbling buildings. Several makeshift shelters dotted the perimeter, constructed from discarded materials—wooden planks, torn canvas, rusty metal sheets. This was one of many gathering places for Ardenia's homeless, particularly those too young or too old to be of use to the city's labor recruiters.
"Eli! You made it back!" A small voice called out as Elias entered the Hollow. Mira, barely five years old with tangled blonde hair, raced toward him. Her eyes, too large for her gaunt face, fixed immediately on the bulging pockets of his pants.
"Did you get something? Please say you got something." Her tiny fingers, already reaching for his pockets, trembled with anticipation.
Elias gently pushed her hands away. "Wait, Mira. Let's share it properly." He glanced around, counting the children gathered in the Hollow. Today there were seven, including himself and Mira. Four were regulars he recognized; two were newcomers, their faces still showing the shock of recent abandonment rather than the hardened resignation of long-term street dwellers.
He led Mira to a relatively clean corner where a piece of torn canvas provided some protection from the ever-present grime. With careful deliberation, he removed the bread from his pockets, breaking each piece into equal portions. Even when starving, Elias maintained this ritual—fairness was one of the few principles he clung to in a world that had shown him none.
"Seven pieces," he counted aloud, placing them on the canvas. "One for each."
The older children approached first, having learned the routine. They took their portions with murmured thanks, retreating to their own corners to savor the rare meal. The newcomers, a boy and girl who looked to be siblings, hesitated until Mira beckoned them forward.
"It's okay," she assured them. "Eli always shares fair."
As the others ate, Elias chewed his portion slowly, making it last. The bread was stale and hard, but to him, it was a feast. He watched the Hollow's entrance carefully, aware that larger gangs of street children sometimes raided smaller groups. The constant vigilance was exhausting, but necessary.
Night fell quickly in the Lower Ward, shadows deepening as the sun disappeared behind Ardenia's towering central district, where the wealthy lived in illuminated splendor. In the Hollow, darkness brought both protection and danger. Elias finished his bread and moved to the entrance, taking the first watch as others settled in for sleep.
"Can I sit with you?" Mira asked, appearing beside him with her small blanket, a treasured possession she'd managed to keep since arriving in the Hollow six months earlier.
"You should sleep," Elias replied, but moved over slightly to make room for her against the wall.
"I'm scared of the new people," she whispered, leaning against his bony shoulder. "The boy keeps staring at my blanket."
Elias nodded, understanding her concern. In their world, even a threadbare blanket was wealth worth stealing—or killing for. "I'll watch them. Sleep now."
Mira curled against him, her small body radiating surprising warmth in the cool night air. Within minutes, her breathing settled into the rhythm of slumber.
As the night deepened, Elias contemplated his existence. He had no memories of parents or home, only fragmented images of a woman's face and a soft voice singing. His earliest clear recollections were of the state orphanage—a grim building where caretakers were more concerned with discipline than nurturing. He'd escaped at five, preferring the uncertainty of the streets to the certainty of daily beatings.
Two years later, he'd established a precarious routine. He knew which shops discarded edible food, which public fountains were least guarded, which alleys provided shelter from Ardenia's frequent rains. He could identify which passers-by might toss a coin to a pathetic-looking child and which would call the guards to have him removed from sight. He'd learned which areas to avoid during the Awakenings.
The Awakenings—when children reached their tenth year and manifested their elemental abilities—were public spectacles in the Upper Districts. In the Lower Ward, they were often deadly as untrained children suddenly found themselves wielding fire, ice, or earth powers they couldn't control. Buildings burned, people froze, streets cracked open. The lucky ones were quickly identified and taken by Guild recruiters. The others either destroyed themselves or were put down by the city guards "for public safety."
Elias had almost three years before his own Awakening, if he lived that long. The thought gave him no comfort. Those with power in this world—true power, not just the authority of guards or wealth of merchants—were the Awakened who joined Guilds. But Guild recruitment rarely reached the Lower Ward except after accidents, when they came to clean up messes rather than nurture talent.
His dark thoughts were interrupted by movement at the Hollow's entrance. Elias tensed, gently moving Mira's head from his shoulder to the ground beside him. He stood silently, backing into deeper shadows as three figures entered the courtyard.
They weren't children. Three men, their faces obscured by the night, moved with purpose rather than the casual menace of street gangs. Elias recognized the deliberate movement of hunters—not Guild Hunters, but something worse. Traffickers.
The child trade was Ardenia's open secret. Orphans and runaways disappeared regularly, taken to work in factories, mines, or worse places. With no one to report them missing, they simply ceased to exist in the eyes of authority. Elias had avoided capture thus far through caution and speed, but he'd seen others taken, had heard their screams as they were dragged away.
He reached for a piece of broken brick, the only weapon within reach, as the men moved deeper into the Hollow. Their whispers carried in the night air.
"The girl first—the one with the blanket. Then the little blonde. Younger ones fetch better prices."
Elias's grip tightened on the brick. He could run—should run—but Mira was sleeping just feet away. The men were nearly upon her when Elias made his decision.
The brick flew with surprising accuracy, striking the lead man in the back of the head. Not enough to seriously injure, but sufficient to gain their attention. All three turned toward the source as Elias stepped into view.
"Leave them alone," he said, voice steadier than his trembling legs. "Guards patrol here."
A blatant lie—guards avoided the Hollow—but he hoped the darkness concealed the truth in his eyes.
The men exchanged glances before the largest one laughed. "Look at this. The rat thinks he's a lion." He took a step toward Elias. "We'll take you instead, then. Spirited ones are worth something too."
Elias had expected this outcome but had hoped for more time. "Run!" he shouted to the now-awakening children. "Guards! Help! Traffickers!"
His warning echoed through the Hollow as chaos erupted. Children scrambled from their sleeping spots, scattering like startled birds. The traffickers cursed, lunging to grab whoever was nearest. One caught the arm of a newcomer boy, who screamed in terror. Another man reached for Mira as she struggled with her blanket.
Elias charged, throwing himself at the man threatening Mira. His small body collided with the adult's legs, the impact barely registering to the larger human but creating enough distraction for Mira to slip away. Small teeth sank into the trafficker's hand when he tried to grab Elias instead.
"You little—" The man's curse was cut short as his fist connected with Elias's temple, sending the boy crashing to the ground. Stars burst behind his eyes as pain exploded through his head.
Through blurred vision, Elias saw the other children escaping through the Hollow's various exits. Mira looked back once, her face a pale oval in the darkness, before disappearing down an alley. Good. She was safe. That mattered more than what happened next.
What happened next was pain. The trafficker's boot connected with Elias's ribs, driving the air from his lungs. Rough hands seized his arms, dragging him upright as he gasped for breath.
"This one's more trouble than he's worth," growled the man he'd bitten.
The leader grabbed Elias's chin, forcing the boy to look up at him. "Maybe, but he's got spirit. The mines always need workers who last longer than a week." His breath smelled of cheap alcohol and rotting teeth. "Besides, he cost us the others. Fair trade."
A dirty cloth pressed over Elias's nose and mouth, soaked in something that smelled sharp and chemical. He struggled against the hands holding him, lungs burning for air, until finally he had no choice but to inhale. The world spun, darkened at the edges, then faded completely.