In the city of Crolas, the marketplace bustled with life as the sun cast a warm glow over the cobblestone streets. Vendors hawked their wares, children darted between stalls, and the scent of fresh bread mingled with the tang of salted fish. Among the throng of people moved a boy, his eyes bright with mischief and a wide grin splitting his face.

This was Archeas, a nine-year-old street rat who had made a name for himself through his nimble fingers and quick wits. Today was a particularly good day for him; hidden beneath his tattered shirt was a pouch containing 120 brass coins, all liberated from unsuspecting pockets.

"Look at all this," Archeas whispered to himself, his fingers brushing over the bulging pouch. "More than enough for a feast tonight!"

He navigated through the crowd with ease, his small frame slipping past the legs of busy shoppers and merchants. Archeas had lived his whole life on these streets, learning early on that survival required more than just luck—it required skill, and Archeas had plenty of that.

As he approached a fruit vendor, Archeas couldn't help but overhear a conversation between a customer and the merchant.

"Times are tough," the customer said, shaking his head. "Lost a good deal of money just the other day. Pockets picked clean!"

The merchant nodded sympathetically. "Aye, it's those street rats. Nimble little devils, they are. Gotta keep a hand on your purse at all times."

Archeas smirked. "If only they knew," he thought, slipping an apple into his pocket with practiced ease.

The boy continued through the marketplace, savoring the thrill of his latest haul. The coins felt heavy against his side, a reminder of his success and the promise of a full belly.

"Tonight, it's meat pies and sweets," he decided. "No more stale bread and watery soup."

He made his way to the edge of the market, where a narrow alley offered a quick escape from the crowded streets. Archeas ducked into the shadows, his heart still racing from the excitement of the day's exploits. As he walked, he thought about the future, a future where he wouldn't have to steal to survive.

"One day, I'll have enough," he mused aloud. "Enough to leave this life behind."

For now, though, he was content. Archeas tightened his grip on the pouch of coins, his eyes gleaming with determination.

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As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the bustling city of Crolas, Archeas felt the day's exhilaration give way to a contented weariness. With his pouch of coins safely hidden, he ventured out into the evening streets, drawn by the tantalizing aromas wafting from the market stalls.

He stopped at a small tavern where the promise of a hot meal lured him inside. The innkeeper, a stout woman with a kind smile, raised an eyebrow at the sight of the ragged boy.

"What'll it be, lad?" she asked, her hands busy wiping down the counter.

"Meat pie and a mug of cider, please," Archeas replied, sliding a few brass coins across the worn wood. 

The innkeeper nodded, soon returning with a steaming meat pie and a mug of frothy cider. Archeas dug in eagerly, savoring the rich flavors. He ate with the gusto of someone who didn't know when his next meal might come, each bite a small victory against the gnawing hunger that often accompanied his days.

Once his stomach was full, Archeas leaned back in his chair, a satisfied sigh escaping his lips. He counted out the remaining coins in his pocket, tallying them up with a practiced eye.

"Seventy coins left," he murmured to himself. "Enough for a few more meals, at least."

With his hunger sated, he left the warmth of the tavern and wandered back into the cool night air. The city had quieted, the lively marketplace now deserted, save for a few stray cats and the occasional night watchman. Archeas made his way to a familiar alley, one that offered a bit of shelter from the wind and the prying eyes of those who might seek to relieve him of his precious coins.

He found his usual spot, a patch of ground behind a stack of wooden crates. The stone floor was hard and cold, but Archeas had grown accustomed to its unforgiving embrace. He lay down, pulling his thin coat tighter around himself, and closed his eyes. The sounds of the city at night—a distant lullaby of clinking glasses, murmured conversations, and the rustle of leaves in the breeze—soon lulled him toward sleep.

"Tomorrow's another day," Archeas thought, a flicker of hope lighting his mind. "Maybe I'll find something better. Maybe…"

His thoughts drifted away as sleep claimed him.

The next day dawned with a hazy, muted light filtering through the narrow streets of Crolas. Archeas woke early, the chill of the morning air a sharp reminder of his meager shelter. He stretched and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, determination steeling him for another day of survival.

With the city beginning to stir, Archeas slipped back into the marketplace, his eyes scanning the crowd for potential targets. He moved with the practiced ease of someone who had spent his entire life navigating these bustling streets, his small frame weaving in and out of the throng.

"Alright, just need a few more coins today," he muttered to himself, eyeing a well-dressed gentleman examining a stall of fine fabrics. Archeas edged closer, his fingers itching to snatch the coin purse dangling from the man's belt.

But luck was not on his side this morning. As his fingers closed around the purse, the vendor, a burly man with a keen eye, spotted him.

"Thief!" the vendor bellowed, grabbing Archeas by the collar. "I've got you this time, you little rat!"

Archeas struggled, trying to wriggle free, but the vendor's grip was ironclad. A crowd began to gather, watching as the vendor delivered a harsh beating, his fists and feet meting out rough justice.

"Please, stop!" Archeas cried, his voice breaking with pain. "I didn't mean to—"

"Didn't mean to, eh?" the vendor sneered, delivering a final kick. "Maybe this'll teach you a lesson."

Eventually, the crowd dispersed, and the vendor, satisfied with his punishment, let Archeas go. Bruised and battered, Archeas staggered away, clutching his side. Despite the pain, he managed to slip a hand into his pocket, feeling the cool metal of thirty brass coins he had pilfered in the chaos.

"Thirty coins," he whispered through gritted teeth. "Not worth it."

He stumbled into a nearby alley, collapsing against the rough brick wall. Every breath was a reminder of the blows he had taken, each movement sending waves of pain through his small frame. He cursed under his breath, frustration and anger bubbling to the surface.

"Stupid vendor," Archeas spat, his voice trembling. "Stupid city. I hate this place."

He sat there for a while, trying to regain his strength. The alley was quiet, offering a brief respite from the harsh world outside. As he rested, Archeas couldn't help but think about his future.

"Can't keep doing this," he thought, wincing as he shifted position. "There's got to be a better way."

For now, though, all he could do was rest and wait for the pain to subside. Tomorrow would bring another chance, another opportunity to scrape by.