I couldn't help but feel a rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins.

"I'm Papia," I said, introducing myself to him.

"How old are you, Papia? Ten, maybe eleven?" He guessed, his voice filled with a sense of amusement.

"I'm thirteen already," I replied. My annoyance at that remark was clear.

"Well, you're a little undernourished, maybe," he remarked, eyeing me up and down. "You're also a little small for your age, and we're not even that far apart age-wise. Around seven years, bit more, bit less, who knows? But it’s not a lot, counting all the longer lived races."

I couldn't help but feel a twinge of insecurity at his words. Was I really that small?

"Are you alright?" I asked, my concern for him overriding my own self-doubt. I had already let go of the dagger, but it was still lodged inside his chest.

"It doesn't matter," he said, pulling out the dagger and handing it to me, his clothes rapidly becoming stained with crimson liquid. "Do I have to ask your parents for permission? Maybe a different kind of guardian? I suppose you are either an orphan, homeless, or just really impoverished based on your appearance and, I should add, your fairly immoral acts. I really don't want to kidnap a minor. Once, I stated that I’m not a lolicon, and my position hasn’t really changed since then. Some of them may already think that you're even too old to be prime material."

I was taken aback by his words. What did he mean by "prime material"? And why was he so concerned about my age and appearance?

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Much of what he said, I ignored, not wanting to dwell on the implications of his words.

"You're right, I am an orphan," I answered, my voice barely above a whisper. "There's no one waiting for me in some sort of warm home. Is that what you want to hear?"

"Great! Follow me. And don't dawdle, you DO want that bag, don't you? All my stuff, in the very near future, yours, is in there. You don't want to forget something so valuable, do you?" he said. There was an urgent feeling in his voice.

He must have noticed the look on my face because he said, "You're not going to get any answers standing there with that dumb look on your face. Come on, let's go."

I hesitated for a moment, not sure if I should trust him. But then I remembered the bag and the possibility of finding something valuable inside, and also the threats he made. I decided to follow him.

Without knowing what this man's plan was or where he was taking me, I sprinted after him, trying to keep up as best as I could. Even though I didn't trust him, and knew he was clearly nuts, I had to follow his instructions for the time being if I wanted to get out of here unharmed and get my hands on that bag.

"Where are we going?" I panted, trying to catch my breath; he was strangely fast.

"Some fancy place, a high-class inn or something," he said dismissively. "I don't think the way you smell or the way you dress is, uhh, appropriate for the place we're going. I mean, look at yourself. You look like trash."

I bristled at his comment, but didn't say anything. He wasn't wrong--I hadn't exactly had access to the best places to clean myself or the best options for clothing lately. But it still stung to hear him say it so bluntly.

"Thanks for the feedback," I replied, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

He chuckled, apparently amused by my response. "Now, we'll clean you up; a nice bath and some fresh clothing should do the trick; after that, we'll move on to our, now, shared goal."

I raised an eyebrow at the phrase "shared goal." What could he possibly want with me? And why did he seem so confident that I would want to be a part of it?

"Suppose you want to tell me where or what this 'objective' is?" I asked, hoping to get some answers out of him.

"Ha ha, no," he replied with a smirk, clearly enjoying keeping me in the dark.