Sleep never came.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw them—the hunters' faces twisted in shock, the spray of blood against firelight, the sound of steel cutting through flesh. His body still moved through the motions in his dreams: pivot, slash, parry. Over and over.
When he finally staggered back into the market's glow, Kael was already waiting. Of course he was.
"You're awake early," Kael said, eyes glinting.
"Didn't sleep."
"Good. Sleep dulls the blade."
The boy snorted, exhausted. "Then maybe I'll snap sharp enough to cut your throat."
Kael's grin widened, like he enjoyed the threat. "Keep that fire. It makes you dangerous."
Dangerous. That word hung in the air, bitter as rust.
He turned from Kael, weaving through the market's chaos. The merchants' cries blurred together. [Strength of Ten Men]. [Memory of a Mother's Smile]. [Poison Brewing Basics]. Every stall looked like a trap.
Then, he saw the girl again. Same place, same bread, as though time itself couldn't touch her.
"You look worse," she said as he approached.
"Feel worse."
She studied him, eyes sharp in her small, dirt-streaked face. "You'll break soon."
The words landed harder than Kael's lessons. He didn't respond, just took the bread she handed over. His hands shook.
And for the first time, he realized—her gaze didn't carry pity anymore. Only inevitability.
That night, Kael brought him to the upper stalls—the richer part of the market. The air smelled less of blood and more of incense, but the desperation was worse. Buyers in fine robes, faces hollowed by hunger for something they couldn't name.
Kael leaned close, voice low. "Tonight, we don't fight hunters. We hunt memories worth more than gold."
The boy frowned. "Meaning?"
Kael's smirk sharpened. "Collectors. Fat pigs with heavy pouches. They hoard what they'll never use. We carve it out of them."
He froze. "You want me to rob them?"
"Rob? No. Hunt. Learn the difference."
Kael pointed to a man in silken robes, coins spilling from his satchel like careless jewels. His eyes glittered with obsession as he bartered for yet another memory of joy.
Kael's hand clapped the boy's shoulder. "That one. Take his pouch."
The boy's stomach turned. Fighting hunters was survival. But this? This was slaughter.
His grip tightened on the dagger at his hip, sweat sliding down his neck.
Kael's whisper cut through the roar of the market. "Lesson thirteen. If you can't kill the fat pigs, you'll never eat."
The man in robes turned slightly, exposing his pouch. The boy's pulse roared in his ears.
One step forward, and there'd be no turning back.
The man in robes never noticed him at first. Too busy drooling over the merchant's tray, arguing over the price of someone else's childhood. His pouch jangled heavy at his hip, runes shimmering in the lamplight.
The boy's hand clenched around the dagger. One thrust. Quick. Clean.
Just do it. In and out. Survival. That's all this is.
He stepped closer, heart hammering.
The man finally turned, eyes locking on him. For a moment, the boy froze. The collector's face wasn't desperate—it was blissful. A smile stretched across his lips, wide and serene, as though buying joy had made him untouchable.
That smile was worse than any blade.
His body moved before his mind could. Steel flashed. The collector's eyes widened, then dimmed as blood poured from his throat. Coins spilled across the stall, clattering like broken glass.
Gasps erupted around him. Some screamed. Some stared hungrily at the glowing pile.
Kael appeared at his side, swift as shadow, scooping the richest coins into his cloak. His voice was calm, almost proud. "Well done."
The boy's chest heaved. His dagger dripped red. He couldn't look at the smile frozen on the dead man's face.
He shoved the pouch against Kael's chest. "Take it. I don't want it."
Kael's smirk didn't falter. "Lesson fourteen, then—you don't get to choose."
And just like that, the coins were tied to his belt again.
By dawn, the market buzzed louder than ever. Rumors flew like arrows: a collector murdered in plain sight, his coins stolen by a "blank-faced stray."
Everywhere he walked, eyes followed. Fear. Respect. Greed.
He hated all of it.
Kael walked beside him like a proud houndmaster, leash in hand. "Now they know your name."
The boy's jaw tightened. "I don't even know my name."
Kael chuckled. "Then they'll give you one."
The little girl's stall came into view. She looked up, bread in hand, expression unreadable.
"You killed a collector," she said. Not a question.
He stared at her, throat dry. "…Yeah."
Her gaze lingered on him, heavy and cold. "Then you're not a stray anymore. You're a hound."
The words struck harder than any blade.
He turned away, the pouch dragging at his hip, heavier than chains.
Around him, the market roared, merchants crying, coins clinking, buyers shouting. Life went on. But inside, something had already broken.
He didn't know his name. He didn't know who he'd been.
But the market had decided what he was now.
A hunter.
And there was no turning back.