The alley smelled of wet stone, smoke, and something that made my stomach twist. Yorknew City was alive, breathing, and it did not care about me. I hugged my thin blanket tighter, dragging it over my shoulders, keeping low. Seven years old, alone, and already learning the hard way that survival demanded more than courage.
I slid past a stack of crates, careful not to knock them over. A boy darted by, coins clinking in his palm. He grinned at me, daring me to chase, but I stayed in the shadows. I had learned early that other children were not friends—they were obstacles, potential threats, or both.
"Oi! You moving or what?"
A merchant waved a broom at me, frowning. I jumped back, hands raised.
"Sorry! Didn't mean to—"
He waved me off, muttering under his breath, and I exhaled slowly. Every interaction was a test, and today I had passed. Barely.
The streets were noisy and chaotic. Vendors shouted their goods, carts rattled, and children weaved through legs like small fish in a river. Somewhere, someone laughed too loudly. Another shouted in anger. I could feel the rhythm of it all, the flow of the crowd. Observation was survival.
A group of kids had cornered a smaller child near a fruit stall. They were laughing, shoving him around, trying to take his coin. I froze, watching. I could intervene. I could bluff. I could run.
"Hey!" I shouted, jumping onto a crate to make myself taller. "Leave him alone!"
They turned toward me, sizing me up. "You gonna stop us, runt?" one asked, smirking.
"Yes. You back off now," I said. My voice shook slightly. My palms were sweaty, my stomach tight. But I had a plan.
They hesitated, glancing at each other. One kicked at a crate, sending apples rolling toward them. The distraction worked. The smaller child slipped past them, running toward safety. The group muttered, cursing, and disappeared into the crowd.
I dropped down and exhaled. The adrenaline made my hands shake, but I had survived. That was all that mattered.
By midday, hunger forced me toward the auction district. I offered my services to anyone: carry crates, sweep floors, run errands. A few merchants gave me coins; most ignored me. Every coin earned was a small victory. Every look from a stranger was a lesson.
"Hey, you!"
A voice cut through the noise. I looked up. A woman with bright pink hair watched me. Her eyes were sharp, calculating. "Quick, move that box over there."
"Yes, ma'am," I said, rushing to obey. My legs ached, but I ignored it. I was learning that speed and obedience could buy survival.
She examined the box when I set it down. "Not bad," she said. "Keep your eyes open. There are hunters and worse walking these streets."
I blinked. "Hunters?"
She smiled faintly and disappeared into the crowd, leaving me with more questions than answers.
The afternoon passed in errands, observations, and careful calculations. I watched patterns: which gang kids moved first, who kept a hand near a weapon, how merchants protected their coins. Each movement was information. Each glance, a clue.
A man with a long coat approached me, leaning slightly against a crate. "Kid," he said softly, "you're new. Yorknew isn't kind to strangers. Watch the shadows and learn the players."
"Yes, sir," I whispered, keeping my voice low.
"You're observant," he added, then slipped away into the crowd. My heart pounded. The city felt bigger than me, but I also felt aware. Every step mattered.
Near the canal, a group of street children fought over a coin. One dropped it, and another lunged to grab it. I stepped into view. "Leave him alone," I said firmly.
They froze. "Or what?" one demanded.
I advanced a step. "Or you'll regret it."
They laughed, but hesitation was enough. They backed off, leaving the coin. The small child looked at me with wide, grateful eyes.
I crouched by the canal, letting the water reflect the city's lights. My stomach ached. My body ached. But my mind raced, calculating, observing. The city was a puzzle, and I had begun to see the edges of the board.
Night fell, lanterns flickering along streets, shadows stretching. Small gangs patrolled silently. Merchants locked their stalls. Hunters passed unnoticed by most, but I had begun to notice them. Everything here was part of the game. Every step, every glance, every action mattered.
I wrapped my blanket around me and lay down on a crate. Hunger and fear pressed against me, but I felt something else: awareness. Patterns, movements, decisions. Small, faint, but mine.
I whispered to myself, a promise in the darkness: "I will survive. I will learn. And I will play this game better than anyone."
The stars blinked above, but Yorknew City had its own pulse. Danger, opportunity, secrets—all waiting. And I, seven years old and homeless, had taken my first conscious step onto the board.
The pieces were moving. I was no longer just a stray pawn.