He awoke to a strange sensation. An absence of sensation, really.

The festering pain that had plagued him for so long had begun to diminish.

Perplexed, he looked down. Adorning his wounded leg was a pungent poultice, soothing the infection that had taken root. Soft wrappings of gauze spread across his back as well, helping to alleviate the pain and ward off disease. Having looked into the matter himself, he realised how expensive the curative substances must have been. They had been far more than he could have hoped to afford, forcing him to simply hope that he could weather the storm.

With his wounds having been treated at last, he could already feel an increasing sense of health. He knew that he must have slept for several days - at least, his parched lips and grumbling stomach certainly seemed to think so.

“Oh, you’re awake?” From beside him, a voice called out happily.

He turned weakly, still battered by the residual effects of his injuries and malnourishment. An older boy sat on a pallet beside him, adorned in rags and grime. He gave a beaming smile, the expression lying in stark juxtaposition to the sheer amount of dirt that coated his every limb. Perhaps some blood, as well, now that he had a chance to look slightly closer.

He racked his brain for a minute, requiring a moment for the information he sought to arrive, hurtling past the cobwebs forged by his unhealthy state.

“Norik? Or is it Wymar?” he asked.

The boy’s smile widened further. “Norik.” The grinning boy held out a hand, proffering it to him. “What’s your name, kid?”

“I heard he doesn’t have one,” a voice called out from behind him. It was the girl that he had met earlier, Anniya. She spoke with a confident and conspiratorial tone, as if deeply proud of her knowledge of the city’s gossip.

The other boy’s expression softened, slightly. “Well, we’ll have to call you something, kid. Guess Kid’s as good a name as any.” He shook his hand in the air in front of him, as if to create a reminder of its existence.

Bemused, the boy - Kid, he supposed, which seemed as good a name as any - reached out and shook Norik’s hand.

“Hello,” he said. His voice was raspy, strained from disuse. “Thank you for the poultice and the bandages. I’m not sure how I’ll repay you, though.”

Norik grunted. “I wouldn’t worry about it. Roy’s got a soft spot for ones like you.”

“Like me?”

“Yeah, like you. The mistreated. The abandoned. Think they remind him of himself, in a way.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “To tell you the truth, it’s the same for each and every one of us. Roy’s been there for us all. He saved us. Made us a family, of sorts.”

Anniya laughed. “How sweet! Thanks, Norik.”

Norik’s expression soured. “Sometimes I think family’s not all it’s made out to be, though.”

Anniya made a choking sound. “Wha...what..How rude!”

Kid watched as Norik laughed and ran away, Anniya chasing him across the dusty warehouse.

Family, huh? He liked the sound of that.

⥫⥬⥫⥬⥫⥬

It wasn’t long after that Roy and Wymar returned. The same knock resounded, a repeated pattern that he had come to understand was a code to request entrance. Anniya skipped to the door lightly, throwing open the numerous bolts and locks that sealed it shut.

They entered, holding bundles underneath their arms.

He perked up, his sensitive nose easily detecting the scent that spilled forth - even hidden underneath the stale and musty odor of the warehouse itself.

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The group approached the pallets that presided over the warehouse’s center, sitting down in a circle. In the middle, Roy and Wymar placed down the bundles, slowly unwrapping them as if to savor the moment.

The tantalizing aroma of fresh bread set his mouth to watering, saliva spilling from his open mouth. He knew that it wasn’t a good look - but when you’re literally starving to death, what is?

As the others reached in and grabbed their share, he stretched a trembling hand towards the life-giving food. The others paid him no mind, and he snatched what he could, filling his mouth with a desperate fervor that could only come with true deprivation.

Finally, after a dreamlike haze in which he consumed far more food than should be possible, he found himself lying on the pallet behind him. His stomach felt something that it had not for his entire memory - full. Sated. Complete.

And then he vomited, his withered insides unable to hold down the food that he had finally consumed.

At least he managed to drag himself to the side first, avoiding the problems that would have been caused by becoming sick on the pallets themselves.

“You’re cleaning that up,” Anniya said, her nose wrinkled with disgust.

After some time, he finally did - with no small amount of embarrassment.

Next time, he resolved, he would be more careful.

⥫⥬⥫⥬⥫⥬

“I’m serious!” he exclaimed, giving a stern look to his laughing companions. “I’m going to get me a Seed, one day. You’ll find me at the top floors of the Tower, sipping ale and kicking ass.”

“Yeah, Bert. Sure! Or maybe you’ll duck out a little bit early and become the City Lord instead!” They laughed boisterously at the thought, unable to contain themselves. The stench of alcohol wafted from each of them, a heavy odor of great enough strength that one might imagine it was visible.. It was little surprise, though. There were who could say they would be able to climb the Tower successfully with a straight face - sober, anyway. Bert was decidedly not.

The group meandered through the streets of the market, ale sloshing from their open mugs. They must have wandered off from a nearby inn.

Yep. A barmaid was yelling from behind, demanding that they return the tankards that they had just absconded with.

As always, Roy had donned a dark look at the mention of the City Lord. There was bad blood there, Kid knew. He hadn’t pried, but their leader’s jovial nature took a sharp turn each time the man was mentioned. That, at least, was clear to see.

For three months now, he had lived and worked together with the others. There was security there - not to mention, he had learned much when it came to surviving within the city. More than that, he had gained a family. They were thick as thieves. Which was appropriate, as thieves were exactly what they were.

Their mark continued to move along unawares as they passed the group of drunkards, slipping through the crowded streets of the market.

Soon, Anniya would provide the distraction that they needed. Then, the others would swoop in to take advantage of the confusion, divesting their target of his valuables. After all, it was a harsh world, as they all well knew. And for them, it was a simple act of survival.

Roy, who picked their marks most of the time, had some sort of code that guided his decisions. They never stole from someone who would go hungry from their actions; instead, they targeted the overly wealthy, those who had never and would never suffer from the same circumstances as their own.

Kid and Roy had become the cornerstones of the actual practice of thieving within their little group. It had been found that, once he was able to work on his technique and nurture his health a little more, Kid possessed a higher level of dexterity and agility than most. Meanwhile, Roy was the most experienced of them all - he had both the skill to divest their target of valuables, as well as the understanding necessary to select their marks.

Anniya typically served as a distraction; something about a girl distracting them made marks far less wary. Norik and Wymar served as backup, ready to swoop in on the off chance that something went wrong.

Even now, Kid could see the two out of the corner of his eye, stalking alongside them from the far end of the street. Just far enough away to be hidden, but close enough to act if needed.

In front of them, Anniya had made her move.

She stepped slightly in front of the target, allowing the man to knock her over. The waterworks started. In order to avoid suspicion, Anniya was the most clean and well-dressed of the group. Rather than looking like a beggar or a thief, she looked like a normal child. Her overall lack of proper nutrition caused her to be smaller than most, giving her the appearance of someone far younger than she actually was. One that had now been injured.

Thus, the distraction.

The man started, and the plan sprung into action.