The rope that had once tethered a horse to a post on the outskirts of his father's abandoned house was the last thing Ashwel stole. It was also the last thing his father would ever lose, though he was blissfully unaware of the theft. Ashwel did not look back as he rode his scrawny horse into the vast, cruel world.
The world was merciless to a boy with no coin, no name, and no protector. For weeks, Ashwel survived on stolen scraps of meat originally meant for dogs, drank from muddy rivers, and sustained himself on the determination of a hungry cub ready to bare its fangs. He followed a trade route north, his horse growing so weak it could barely carry its own weight, much less the boy's. Soon, facing no other choice, Ashwel abandoned the creature and continued on foot.
What seemed like an eternity later, the seemingly endless forest finally began to thin. The bald, flickering lights of torch-born civilization emerged on the horizon. The chaos and smell of a market made him drool; the city of Oaken was now within his reach. The map he had found while wandering showed it to be a city, but to Ashwel, it was an entire world of opportunity. And like any world, it had rules.
Ashwel, who had learned to be silent and observant to survive, now used those skills to navigate the streets. He saw what others could not. He saw merchants with carts laden with goods struggling to find space in the crowded market square. He saw business owners turning people away just for being late. And he saw an empty corner with a well, just outside the official market near a popular bar—a perfect, overlooked spot.
An idea, small and fragile, began to form. It started not with gold, but with service. Using his stolen rope, he offered to tether horses and mind the carts of merchants who couldn't find a spot, all for a single copper penny. The first merchant, a fat and rude-looking man with a cart full of pottery, laughed at him. The second, a weary wool trader with a skittish horse, sighed and tossed him a coin. "Don't let it wander, boy."
Ashwel did not let it wander. He held the rope tight, his small frame taut with responsibility. He even brought water from the well for the horse. The wool trader, returning to find his beast content and merchandise untouched, grunted in surprise and tossed him a second penny.
That was the beginning. The next day, Ashwel was back. He used one of his pennies to buy a bruised apple, which he offered to a merchant's horse. The pleased merchant gave him two coppers. Word spread among the merchants that a quiet, grim-faced boy at the well was reliable.
The market square's guard captain, a man named Jonathan, watched from a distance. He saw the boy not as a nuisance, but as a solution to a problem he'd been too busy to solve. The boy was organizing the chaos outside the market, and for free. Jonathan decided to let the enterprise continue.
Within a month, Ashwel had a proper business. He saved enough coppers to buy a second-hand length of rope. He hired two other street boys, paying them in a meal of bread and broth, to watch over more carts. He never forgot the fear of an empty belly. He slept in a stable loft he rented for a few coppers a week, his hand always curled around the small leather pouch that held his entire fortune.
The hot gossip and news of the city eventually circulated a story: a perfectly fine, medium-sized manor had been reduced to rubble and ash one night. An old man claimed to have witnessed a darkly dressed assailant at the scene. After an investigation, the city guards were left bamboozled for weeks. In the end, a public report depicted it as a tragic accident—a kitchen fire that had spread throughout the residence, leading to the deaths of a married couple.
The authorities posted the news in hopes a relative would come to collect the bodies, but no one ever did. The remains were burned to ashes alongside the house. The old man who claimed to have seen a dark figure was not taken seriously, especially after the authorities denied finding any traces of magic in the area. In the end, the deaths of Mr. Mark Ravenstel and Mrs. Lily Ravenstel were soon forgotten as the days passed.
Back in the present, Ashwel became known as the hustler of the market in the following months. He took any job offered by any merchant, as long as a coin was paid. From scrubbing shoes to grooming horses, he did it all. He even played hunter, but instead of hunting animals, he hunted pickpockets. Above all, he gained priceless insight. He learned how a master haggles not with rage, but with a calm, unshakeable certainty. He saw that trust and reliability were a currency more valuable than gold.