I grew up on the streets. For as long as I can remember, that's how it's always been—hiding in alleyways, stealing from villagers to survive. I don't know what it feels like to have a warm bed, or a family that tucks you in at night. All I've ever known is the chill of stone walls, the gnawing of hunger, and the fear of being caught.
When I was younger, stealing felt like a game. I'd dart into the marketplace, grab an apple or a hunk of bread, and run before anyone could stop me. Sometimes I'd laugh, thinking I was clever. But it didn't take long to learn that laughter doesn't fill your stomach for long, and that cleverness can only keep you alive if you run faster than the stones thrown at your back.
From the market stalls, I stole fruit and vegetables, and sometimes, if I was very lucky, I'd slip a fish from the tables near the harbor. The fish sellers were the worst—they always seemed to have sharp eyes and even sharper tempers. When they spotted me, they'd shout so loudly the whole square would turn to stare, and more than once I had to dodge knives or rotten fish hurled at my head. I can still smell the salt and the rot that clung to the air whenever I ran.
I lived in an abandoned house on the edge of the lower district. The place was nothing more than a crumbling ruin, its roof half caved in and its windows broken, but to us, it was home. I shared it with other kids, children just like me, thrown away by the world. We made a family of sorts, one stitched together from hunger and desperation. We fought, we shared, we survived.
From what I've been told, Emma found me when I was a baby. She was only ten at the time, far too young to raise a child, but somehow she did. Her younger brother James was with her—just eight years old then. Together, they fed me scraps, wrapped me in rags, and made sure I lived when no one else cared if I did. I don't remember any of it, but I owe them my life.
Now I'm fourteen. Emma and James left two years ago. They were the lucky ones. Emma found work as a maid in the castle, and James was taken in for training as a guard. I still remember the day they told us—they were so excited, their eyes glowing with hope. I was happy for them, but when they left, it felt like a piece of my chest was torn away. I told myself they'd come back, that they'd visit, but I haven't seen them since.
When they left, I became the oldest. That meant the responsibility of keeping the rest of us alive fell to me. Jakie is twelve now, stubborn and quick-tempered but loyal to the bone. Skylar is eight, small and quiet, with eyes too big for her face. She clings to me like a shadow. And then there are the twins—July and June—only five years old, bundles of energy who never stop asking questions. They don't understand hunger the way I do. I try my best to shield them from it, but sometimes, when we've gone two days without food, their little voices asking "Why can't we eat?" nearly break me.
We live in the lower part of town, the part no one wants to speak about. Up higher, nearer the castle, life is different. There, people are born with magic. They can control the elements—water, fire, air, earth, and sometimes more. Most people can use one element, maybe two. The rare ones who command three are treated like legends. And then there are the royals. The royal family is said to wield every element, unmatched by anyone else. They're marked by their colorful hair, a gift of their bloodline, as if the gods themselves painted them differently.
Here in the Water Country, our king has hair as blue as the sea, and his queen has green hair, for she was born of the Grass Country. Altogether there are six kingdoms: Water, Grass, Air, Sun, Flower, and Fire. The Fire Country was destroyed fourteen years ago. People still whisper about it in the markets—how their king, the most powerful of all, died in a war that left the land scorched and empty. No one dares speak too much about it, though. The memory is dangerous.
The king of Water has two sons and three daughters. The eldest son, born with green hair, will one day rule the Grass Country since their king has no heir. The second son, with blue hair, is the heir to our throne. The daughters are not of the queen but were born from the king's affairs with servants. Two share their father's blue hair, but the youngest was born with black hair. Rumor says she will be sent to another kingdom, traded like a coin for alliance.
I've never seen any of them with my own eyes. To us in the lower district, they're like myths, as far away as the stars. We only hear scraps of gossip from the mouths of merchants or guards.
For street kids like us, survival means staying invisible. If we're seen, we're as good as dead. Girls cut their hair short to pass as boys, otherwise we risk being dragged to brothels. There are no orphanages here, no safe places for children. Parents who can't afford to feed their families abandon their young in the alleys, and most of them don't live long. I've found babies left in baskets, their cries fading into silence because no one dared take them in. Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I hear those cries again.
When I go to steal from the markets, I always wear a cloak to cover myself—especially my hair. My hair is red, the color of fire. The color of a kingdom that no longer exists. It marks me like a curse.
I tried dyeing it once, smearing crushed berries and soot into the strands until it turned nearly black. But after a few days, the red bled back through, glinting in the light like embers hidden under ash. So now I hide it beneath my hood, always, because if anyone discovered what I am, I'd be hunted. People fear what they don't understand, and they hate what reminds them of loss. To them, I would be a monster, a relic of a land that was erased.
Sometimes I wonder what it means. Why was I born this way, with the hair of a dead kingdom? Did my parents come from the Fire Country? Did they survive the war? Did they abandon me because I was too dangerous, or because they loved me too much to keep me? I'll never know. All I have is the color of my hair, and the weight of the secret I carry with it.
And so, each day, I survive. For Jakie, for Skylar, for the twins. For the family I have left. I don't dream of palaces or magic, not like Emma and James did. I only dream of a day when I don't have to run.