Once the red-hot fire in his veins cooled, Kiren slowed his steps. It was black all around him apart from the occasional candle or two placed in a window, and the chilly air did a quick job of sobering him up.

Crazy old man, he thought. Like I’d trust a word he said. Probably made it all up. Even got my name wrong.

Kiren Odirk. That’s not right. That’s not my name.

He left the inner city behind, going through the Boar Gate into the Slog. The guards looked him over a few times. Eventually, they opened a side gate and let him through.

The tightly nestled buildings of the Slog offered some comfort. It felt safer than the wide, open streets and tall facades of the inner city. There, anyone could be watching from anywhere. Here, at least, he knew what was in store for him.

Muffled footsteps sounded behind him, followed by low murmurs. Kiren kept walking.

The footsteps came closer.

This doublet was bound to paint a target on my back.

He stopped.

“You don’t want to do this,” Kiren said. “Not tonight. I’m not in the mood.”

He looked back. A pair of young men with gaunt faces and torn clothes watched him carefully from a few meters away. One of them was doing a poor job of hiding a weapon behind his back.

“Give us your clothes and your money, and there won’t be any trouble,” said the one with the weapon, the braver of the two. He took a step forward and held out his right hand, the blade of a rusty knife gleaming in the moonlight.

“I told you once nicely. You take one more step, the next time I won’t be so nice.”

“We’ve got the knife,” the other thug said. “You do what we say, or I bet your corpse’ll be more agreeable.”

Kiren waited.

The armed thug inched forward.

He burst into motion.

Kiren rushed at the one with the knife. He reeled with shock but still had the presence of mind to attempt a half-hearted stab. He caught the blade between two fingers and let it slice into his flesh. He twisted his hand, wrenching the knife from the man’s grip. Kiren let it drop and angled a left hook. He struck the man in the jaw and sent him sprawling on the gravel.

His comrade’s confidence wavered, eyes flitting between Kiren and his weakly moaning companion.

Kiren picked up the knife, flipped it over in his hand, and threw it hard. It embedded itself deep in the ground between the remaining thug’s feet.

“Your turn,” he said. “Fancy your chances?”

The thug turned and ran.

Kiren nodded. “Yeah. Good choice.”

He turned his attention back to the man he had just incapacitated, who was trying to get up on all fours. He kicked the man in the stomach and he flipped onto his back with a sobbing groan. Kiren got on top of him, pinning a knee against his chest.

He punched the man in the face with a left, snapping his head to the side. Once more with a right, then left again.

He beat him over and over, his right hand flaring with pain. The man screamed and begged, but he didn’t stop. His nose cracked under Kiren’s fist, and it sent a shiver of euphoria through his body.

Eventually, the man stopped struggling.

Kiren stood, watching as his knuckles healed back up. The thug cried, tears mixing with the blood on his face as he prayed to the Creator.

Kiren wiped his hands on the front of his doublet. He unbuttoned the garment and took it off, throwing it on the ground.

“You know, I should thank you,” he said. “I think I needed that after all. You don’t mind if we swap, do you?”

He undressed the man and pulled on his scratchy, ragged clothes, leaving his own bloodied attire in the dirt next to him. He walked away, whistling Blacksmith’s Daughter to himself.

He got to Xander’s Curiosities and was met with the familiar rumble of rough voices and the stink of unwashed bodies.

“You’re home late tonight,” Tryss said, scanning him over. “Look a little roughed up, too. Did you finally get yourself a girl?”

“Shut up,” Kiren said.

Tryss laughed–a bright, pleasant sound, like the clinking of glasses. “Hit a sore spot, did I? If you need any advice, just come to Auntie Tryss. You men always do everything all backwards when it comes to women.”

“I’m doing fine on my own.” Kiren noticed a pair of broken shutters. “Had any trouble tonight?”

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

“No more than usual. This one guy thought he could sneak a peek under my dress, so I hurled him through the window. Ratfoot wasn’t too happy about it, but it looked damn funny.” She shook her head, smiling fondly to herself. “Priceless.”

“I can imagine,” Kiren said with a faint smile. “Speaking of which, I think I’m going to have a chat with the old man.”

He went over to the bar and knocked on it. The little barkeeper popped his head up and showed Kiren a gap-toothed grin.

“Finally found your way back, did you? I could have used you earlier. Tryss made a right mess of things.” He ran his hands through his thinning hair, no doubt contemplating the cost of the repairs.

“Yeah, yeah. Have you got what I asked for?”

Ratfoot shrugged. “Sure. I had Mug fetch it. Go talk to him about it. He’ll be expecting payment, though.”

“That’s fine.” Kiren still had a few coppers left.

He made to walk away.

“No more late nights, y’hear!” Ratfoot called after him. “Someone needs to keep this place standing!”

“Mmhmm.”

He spotted Mug on the other side of the room, sitting at a table of four other men. Steady tails of smoke rose from the table as they puffed at their pipes.

“You cheated!” came a cry from one of the other tables. A wiry old man with black teeth threw a handful of cards in the face of the man opposite him. “Thought you could swindle me out of my last coins, did you?” He pulled a short knife.

Kiren grabbed a chair from the bar, took three long steps, and smashed it down on the first fellow. Wood splinters flew everywhere, embedding themselves in his flesh, and the whole chair came apart in Kiren’s hands. The old man toppled backward off his seat, knife rolling out of his grip.

“Oh, come on!” Ratfoot called from the bar. “Someone’s gotta fix that now! You’re just as hopeless as Tryss!”

Kiren looked back and shrugged. “Got rid of the problem though, didn’t I?” He nodded at Tryss. “You care to see this guy outside?”

She sauntered over, hauled the man over her head with both hands, and carried him out of the bar.

Kiren went on to Mug’s table. The fence glanced up but raised a finger as he finished whatever he was talking about. They seemed to be negotiating terms.

The middle-aged men he was speaking with all had their fair share of scars, armed with axes and bludgeons.

Mercenaries. Seasoned, too, by the looks of them. Wonder what he needs all that muscle for?

“Kiren, my boy,” he said, finally seeming to have the time for him. He smiled as smoke slipped between his teeth. “Just the man I was looking for.”

“You have something for me,” Kiren said.

“That I do. Hold on, though. I have a job for you as well. A big one.”

Kiren paused. He had been living off little and less since he’d spent most of his money on his and Lace’s application fees. He could eat at the Lodge, but some coin would certainly not go amiss.

“Get on with it, then.”

“I’ve lined up a buyer for that book you brought me. New guy, but I’ve seen what he’s offering. Gold, I’m telling you. Too good to be true. That’s why I want some assurances, in case this goes ass up. You’d be there as security. If everything goes as planned, you’ll spend a day standing around, then earn a one-tenth share. Does that not sound good, hmm?”

That does sound good. Too good.

Kiren hesitated. As a petty thief in Goldbrand’s underbelly, you couldn’t afford to take too many risks. Stick out too much, someone would hammer you back down. You couldn’t play it too safe, either, or you’d just starve to death.

Something about this didn’t sound right. Too easy.

“I’m good,” Kiren said. “Just give me what Ratfoot asked you to fetch.”

Mug had a drag of his pipe. He harrumphed. “You seriously passing up an offer this good?”

“Yeah, I seriously am,” Kiren said, putting a venomous edge on his tone.

Mug grumbled as he reached into his ratty leather coat and pulled out a circular bit of wood, a bit longer than a foot and wider than the palm of a hand. It was light, almost cream-colored basswood. He put it down on the table.

“That’ll be four coppers,” he grumbled. “Now don’t come expecting to treat me like a fucking shopkeep in the future. I did it as a favor to the Rat.”

Kiren didn’t feel like haggling. He got some of his last coins out of his shoe and handed them over. He took the wood block and walked away. He could feel the five men staring at him as he left.

“Hey, kid!” Mug called after him.

Kiren looked back.

“What?”

“You’ve barely been at the bar lately. Take care of yourself. Don’t end up with any of the gangs. Akheem, Brisk, all of them. Don't let them tempt you, whatever they're offering.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that.”

“Yeah, well… wouldn’t be the first decent kid ended up gutted in an alley, is all I’m saying.”

Ah, yes. All the fatherly affection I could ever want.

Kiren climbed up the ladder to his loft and shut the trap door behind him. He breathed out deeply, allowing himself a moment of respite before sitting down. He took his whittling knife out of the wall and set to work on the basswood block in the light of the moon that streamed in through the only window.

He carved out a rough shape as the wood chips gathered around him. He went finer, creating limbs and head. A female silhouette took form.

Kiren clicked his tongue with pleasure.

It took him a good chunk of the night to complete the details, but he relished in the distraction. Once it was finished, he held up the figurine to the light. Plain, just like its counterpart, with few curves or distinguishing features. And yet, those simple, wooden eyes seemed to hold all the life in the world.

“You saved me,” he said. “Is that what Heroes are all about to you?”

Kiren smiled.

You will become a monster. The thought brushed the back of his mind like a fell whisper.

The face of the thug he had fought flashed in his mind. Desperate, sucking for air, blood gushing through his broken nose. All the fight beat out of him.

No, that’s not me.

Kiren Odirk, Sage’s voice echoed through his head.

“That’s not my name!”

He threw the figurine. It slammed against the opposite wall and split in two. He ran up and crouched in front of the ruined creation.

“Fuck…” he muttered, picking up the two pieces.

He put them together, briefly pretending it was still whole.

He sighed and put the pieces aside.

“I’m not a monster,” he said as he curled up in his corner. “I’m not…”

His words didn’t sound convincing.

Not even to himself.