Have you ever felt hunger?
And I don't mean the simple kind, the one that makes your stomach growl after skipping a meal.
I mean real hunger.
The kind that bends your body in half, makes your head spin, your hands tremble, and your mind fade between pain, despair, and emptiness.
That was my oldest companion.
And honestly... the only one who never abandoned me.
My name?
I don't have one. Never did.
For as long as I can remember, I've lived in the alleys of Kassel, the capital of the Kingdom of Kamira.
Names are for people who matter.
People with families.
With homes.
Not for rats like me, scurrying between shadows and filth.
The others in the slums started calling me Clint.
No one knows who came up with it.
It just... stuck.
Here, you're not born with a name.
You're born with hunger.
You grow with hunger.
And if you're not fast enough... you die with it.
I learned early that the world has no mercy.
If you're not smart, you die.
If you're not quick, you die.
And if you're not cruel enough... yeah, you die too.
I remember a boy I met when I was about eight.
He tried to rob a passing carriage.
Didn't end well.
The soldiers didn't kill him, maybe they thought it'd be more fun to do worse.
They cut off his hands. Slowly.
Just to watch him suffer.
His screams still echo in my nightmares.
That was the day I made the most important vow of my life:
"I'll survive, even if I have to sell my soul to do it."
And today... was just another day trying to keep that promise.
---
The smell of fresh bread hit me before I even turned the corner.
The old baker was already arranging his baskets, while further ahead a fruit stall was halfway open. Next to it, the butcher was sharpening his knife, preparing the morning cuts.
The aroma made my mouth water.
But the guards were nearby, stealing from there was impossible.
I crouched behind a stack of crates, watching carefully.
The baker's steps.
The guards chatting.
The merchants unloading supplies.
And then I saw it.
In the corner of the bread stall, half-hidden, there was a loaf bigger than the rest.
Big enough to last two days... if I got lucky.
I took a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart.
One step.
Two.
Three.
My hand reached out.
Almost—
— "Hey! Thief!" — a voice roared.
Shit.
I bolted.
My feet slipped in the mud, but I regained balance and sprinted as fast as I could.
Boots thundered behind me.
Shouts.
Clanging metal.
— "Catch that filthy rat!"
I dashed between stalls, slipping through cracks only someone small like me could fit through.
Jumped over crates, climbed fences, rolled under carts.
But something felt... different.
My body felt lighter.
My breathing calmer.
The pain in my chest... almost gone.
Why?
No time to think. I just had to run.
I turned sharply into a narrow alley, crossed a muddy courtyard and—
Dead end.
You've got to be kidding me.
I spun around.
The guards were closing in, weapons drawn, eyes filled with rage and disgust.
I looked around.
The walls. The crates. The ground.
Nothing. No way out.
Panic rose up my throat... but with it came something else.
A familiar feeling.
One I'd felt before, but never understood.
My muscles tightened.
My skin tingled.
My vision sharpened, colors vivid, outlines clear.
I clenched my fists.
If I couldn't run... then there was only one option left.
Fight.
The first guard lunged, shouting like I was some helpless prey.
But before he could reach me, my body moved on its own.
My fist shot up, straight into his jaw.
A sharp crack.
The man collapsed, motionless.
I stood there, stunned.
...Did I really do that?
But then...
My arms grew heavy.
My legs buckled.
The strength that had carried me just moments ago simply... vanished.
I staggered.
Fell, landing on the guard's unconscious body.
My vision blurred.
The world began to fade around the edges.
And before everything went dark, I heard a voice.
Calm.
Composed.
Almost... curious.
— "...Impressive..." — someone murmured, as if examining a rare artifact. — "That boy... who, or what, is he?"
And then...
Everything went black.