The town reeked of smoke, sweat, and desperation. Kael walked silently down the narrow alleys, head bent, eyes darting around. His belly growled like an animal, tearing at his insides. Hunger had developed into a weight round his neck, dragging him along where food was to be found.
He had left the wood behind, driven by reflex more than by thought, stumbling towards the faint hope of living. The structures of this humble market town rose before him like salvation. But towns contained humans, and humans contained menace.
Kael passed by the stalls where vendors called out what they had to sell—apples soft with rot, bread too expensive for a starving prince, and meat that looked older than the men who sold it. One stand his eyes lingered upon: a baker's stall piled high with golden crusts, the smell alone causing his knees to weaken.
His pouch was bare. He had not handled silver since the soldiers came. He had but one choice that had kept him alive until now.
Steal.
Kael's hand shook as he crept closer, as though studying the baskets of flour. The baker was busy, negotiating with a woman over old bread. Kael's hand snatched at a warm loaf, folding it within his grasp. For a moment, triumph flowed through him.
And then an iron fist clamped around his wrist.
"Thief!"
The cry shattered the hum of the market. Heads turned. The baker's punch cracked across Kael's jaw, stars bursting in his eyes. He stumbled, his arms holding the bread as if it were the breath of life.
Guards came running, boots thudding on cobblestones. Their spears glinted, their eyes hard. Kael tried to run, but hunger had taken its toll. They dragged him down with ease, fists and boots pummeling him.
"Vermin," one spat, kicking him in the side. "Stealing from honest folk."
Kael spat up blood, small clinging to the stones. The tattoo on his arm burned, hot and cold at once. He struggled to contain it, biting hard on his lip until he could taste blood. But the darkness churned, pouring out of him like some living tide.
The guards did not move. Dark surged up the street, devouring their spears, their shouts, their courage. The baker screamed and retreated, crossing himself.
Kael stood, trembling, his silver-illuminated eyes burning. The night spat out, not at but in warning, pressing against the hearts of all who were around him. The villagers fled, screams ringing the square.
"Witchspawn!"
The term cut more severely than steel.
Kael stumbled backward, darkness closing around him, consuming his fear. He fled, bread held in his cut hand, their cries ringing after him into darkness.