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Alythia
Young Finn, Part 1

Young Finn, Part 1

Hiding around a corner somewhere in an alleyway along the outskirts of Caeloria's outer city was a young boy named Finn.

Finn’s eyes glinted with a mix of desperation and determination. At twelve years old, he, like many others after the tumultuous civil war, had already mastered the art of survival on the grimy streets that formed the web of Concordia’s underbelly.

‘Target spotted’ he signaled to his buddies on the other side.

Their target was a elderly human with a hunched back and long traveler’s robes.

From his previous experience, Finn knew this job was going to be easy. The target was elderly, his posture was bad, and he didn't see any evidence of the target carrying a weapon.

Though the downside of the lower difficulty was the lowered loot. Given the used condition of the robes the man was wearing, it would probably only fetch for a silver or two at most. And the old man didn't appear to be carrying anything else. Maybe he would have a purse with some money, but Finn wasn’t too hopeful. Split between 3 people, he estimated he would at most get a single silver coin from this job.

Though a single silver to slum dwellers like him was a small fortune. It was enough to keep him and his mum from starving for a month.

He felt bad for the man, but he knew he didn't have the luxury to take pity on others.

‘Ready’ two other boys similar in age gestured back.

Seeing their reply, Finn gave a sharp nod and they began executing their plan.

Like clockwork, Finn and his two buddies emerged from their hiding spots and surrounded the old man. The trio, armed with their makeshift wooden swords that were more blunt than sharp were a fearsome sight for a lonely old man in this neglected alleyway.

“You wanna pay up or get beat up, old man?” Finn commanded. His voice was confident and his stance firm, a stark contrast to his two buddies whose hands trembled as they aimed their ‘swords’.

The elderly man paused, his eyes meeting Finn’s. Despite being alone and surrounded, there was no fear in them, only a profound sadness and sympathy for the surrounding boys.

In a stern and leveled voice, he spoke, “I have nothing of value to you, young sirs.”

The boys hesitated for a moment, thrown off by his calm demeanor.

“Don’t waste our time” one of them snarled.

Finn had a bad feeling about this person. He was too calm, this wasn't the type of calmness typical of someone who believed they had nothing of value.

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Despite the warning signs, Finn felt the impatience from his companions and tightened his grip on his ‘sword’. “You need to pay your toll” he said, “Hand over everything you have, or we'll take it by force!”

The old man sighed, a deep and weary sound that seemed to carry the weight of countless years. “Violence is never the solution, young ones.” he advised.

But his words fell on deaf ears. With a rough shout, the two boys, finally out of patience, charged forward, their 'swords’ raised high. Finn followed a split second later, feeling apprehensive but believing he had to stand with his buddies.

The old man's movements were surprisingly quick, his frail appearance a deceptive veil for his skill. With an agility that belied his age, he sidestepped one boy, gripped his wrist and took possession of the ‘sword’ before sending him sprawling to the ground with a deft sweep of his leg. The other he parried before also disabling with a firm push to the chest.

Finn’s attack was quick, with a sharpness and ferocity a grade above the other two. But in the end, he was still just a young malnourished boy with no actual training.

The old man merely pivoted and Finn’s own momentum carried him past his target, directly against a wall, knocking him down.

Standing back upright, Finn continued his strikes but to no avail as the old man easily partied every hit.

"You have spirit, boy" the old man praised, a faint glimmer of respect in his eyes. "But what you need is to direct that spirit to something worthy, not this petty thievery."

Breathless and disarmed, the three boys could only look on as the old man adjusted his robes. Finn felt the sting of defeat, but within him, a strange new feeling stirred.

Finn trudged back through the labyrinth of narrow streets, the taste of defeat sour on his tongue. The tiny one-room house he called home loomed ahead, its ramshackle door creaking in the cold night breeze. Inside, the darkness was a blanket, familiar and stifling. He slumped onto the worn mattress in the corner, hungry and annoyed.

He didn't want to do some 'petty thievery’ either. He just wanted enough money so he and his mother can be full every day. Determined to get stronger and beat the old man up the next time they met, he picked up his ‘sword’ and began doing some practice swings.

Hours later, the door groaned open, and his mother stumbled in. The scent of the tavern clung to her, a mixture of alcohol and smoke that Finn could recognize from a block away.

“Finn? Here! Come eat.”

In her hand, she clutched a meager offering. A fist-sized piece of bread with a paper-thin slice of cheese sandwiched in between. She passed it to Finn along with two small copper coins, the bits of moonlight glinting off the metal.

“Eat, I already ate” she said, her voice weary but laced with a mother’s concern. “And tomorrow, use this to buy yourself some food. Did you fight again today?”

Despite the heavy makeup and thick powder on her face, Finn was still able to see the tiredness she tried to hide, the subtle slump of her shoulders also betrayed her exhaustion. “I’m fine, mum” he replied, brushing off her question with a tired swipe of his hand. “I just fell.”

She looked at him and sighed.

“You made trouble again, didn't you? How many times do I have to tell you to get it?” she said, clearly exasperated by the frequency of this line.

“I found a new job soon that'll give us more than enough to eat, maybe we can even get you some new clothes. Just be good. I know you want to help, but you can do so when you're a bit older.” Her voice was stern, but her love was evident.

He nodded, a silent promise hanging in the air. As he nibbled on the stale bread. “Okay.”

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