Everyone froze, their attention snapping to her. She swept her gaze over the crowd, really seeing them for the first time in what felt like ages. Their faces seemed alien and aged. Were they actually her age? They looked as old as her caretaker.

"Go back to what you were doing. Go back to networking, to finding your guilds. Just... leave me be."

Slowly, most of the crowd began to disperse, murmuring among themselves as they returned to their previous activities. However, a few lingered, their intentions clear in their persistent gaze, still hoping to offer their assistance. She gestured to some of the more understanding onlookers who gently, but firmly, guided them away.

Reunited with her priest, who had made his way through the thinning crowd, she nodded at him, and they started to walk away together. As they moved, she felt the tension in her shoulders begin to melt with every step.

Ahead, people who hadn't heard her demand to be left alone looked ready to approach. But those that remained who had followed her, including many of the persistent ones, took it upon themselves to spread the word.

–

Further ahead where her demand hadn't yet reached, recruiters talked among themselves,

"Seems like we're out of fashion for the moment," the first recruiter said.

"Exactly, what's so special about her?" the second recruiter said, folding his arms. "We've got plenty of talents passing through. Why the sudden protection squad?"

A third recruiter shrugged, peering over the heads of the crowd, trying to catch a glimpse of the girl in question.

When a couple of the girl's defenders approached, not asking about guilds or abilities but instead asking for space for the girl, the recruiters were taken aback.

"Just make sure she gets some breathing room, okay?" one said before hurrying off.

"Room? In this crowd? Sure, we'll give her space.” the third recruiter said. He looked up at the sky. “Seems like everyone's smitten with her. Maybe we’ll be next.”

The other recruiters laughed.

But one defender stayed back, his gaze burning. "This isn't a joke. She's really stressed out. Just back off, okay?"

"Alright, alright, we'll lay off," the third recruiter conceded, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. "But if you're looking for a guild that respects personal space, you know where to find us."

As the group dispersed, the recruiters exchanged incredulous looks.

"Did that just happen?" the second recruiter asked, eyebrows raised. "Since when did we become the bad guys just for trying to recruit?"

They watched as other people passed by, some of whom were also defenders of the girl, repeating the request to give her some space. The recruiters nodded, showing they understood.

"We hear you, no worries. She'll have all the space she needs," they assured them.

Eventually, they slumped back into their chairs, watching the crowd drift by without the usual engagement. They couldn't help but feel a slight disconnect. Normally, they would be swamped with hopefuls dreaming of big spells and even bigger paychecks, along with the kind of prestige, honor, and power that could only be found in a prominent guild.

But then, their eyes landed on the girl.

The third recruiter leaned forward. The first recruiter stood up, craning his neck. The second followed their gaze and was caught by the sight.

In that moment, the world around them seemed to pause. The hustle for new recruits and the rivalry with other guilds vanished, leaving only their shared fascination with the girl who had somehow turned the day's dynamics on its head. They were united by a single desire: to know who she was that commanded such attention. Of her passive ability, of her family, and of the guild that’d be fortunate enough to have her.

Perhaps it’d be theirs.

Yet, as quickly as their interest flared, reality tempered it. They remembered the stern warnings from the girl's protectors, the clear message not to intrude.

A rogue thought still briefly flickered through their minds. Perhaps this was all an elaborate ruse, a terribly contrived plot devised by kids to ensure they'd miss their chance as she slipped by.

But then, in a blink, she was gone, having walked past and vanished from their view. The recruiters found themselves deflating, the sudden absence of her presence leaving a void where life once pulsed.

As the minutes stretched on, the peculiar haze that had clouded their thoughts began to lift. The intensity of their fascination faded, revealing the silliness of their infatuation.

"Next, we'll be swooning over magical puppies," the third recruiter muttered.

"Yeah, or getting teary-eyed at enchanted sunsets," the first added.

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“Or wishing my wife could use a spell to make herself as seductive as that… girl was magnetic. Actually, I can’t even remember her face anymore,” the third recruiter lamented.

Indeed, as they attempted to recall her face, they found the details slipping away,

“Must be some spell that tweaks the senses, amps up the emotions," the second recruiter suggested.

After some discussion, the recruiters pieced together a theory about the mysterious girl's attraction. They surmised it wasn't just an enchantment drawing people in but a spell crafted for privacy. The magic was designed to make the caster the center of attention momentarily, only to veil their identity behind a curtain of forgetfulness, effectively hiding them in plain sight.

The more they thought about it, the more they were sure it was a powerful mage playing a prank on their apprentice. The spell could have been a peculiar sort of reward — an apprentice wishing for a moment of fame, only for their mentor to twist it into a lesson on the dangers of vanity and the value of anonymity.

–

Stepping out of the temple, she paused to look back. The ancient structure stood as pristine as if it had been built yesterday, its stone surfaces smooth and unmarked by time, reflecting the noon sun in a way that made the whole edifice glow.

Then they were off, onto the streets, away from the din of the recruitment fair. She found the street's atmosphere distinctly different — not in its busyness, but in its rhythm: vendors haggling, children playing, and a steady flow of people each absorbed in their routines. The buildings were a mix of old and new, but close to the ancient temple, the stone structures were clearly ancient, with worn facades and intricate designs

Then, people noticed her.

Almost instantly, the crowd began to swarm, drawn in by her presence.

"Is she lost?" someone murmured, eyeing her curiously.

"Poor thing, she looks out of place," another added.

"Do you need directions?"

"Are you here alone?"

The questions were gentle, the offers kind, the hands reaching out soft. Yet, as they pressed closer, a different realization dawned.

"She's quite dirty, isn't she?" one noted, glancing at the dirt smudging her face and hair.

"Does she not have a home?" another pondered aloud.

“Look how thin she is," a voice whispered.

At this, the priest, fueled by the day's earlier trials, took charge. "Please, give her room!" He moved among the onlookers, gently but firmly redirecting hands that reached out towards the girl's hair and face: such familiarity was not welcome.

The crowd stepped back. The smaller number of people around them, compared to the dense throng at the fair, allowed the priest to effectively shield her, creating a space where she could breathe without the press of curious strangers.

Those gazes shifted when they raked over the priest.

"Is he your guardian?" someone asked, their tone laced with accusation.

From the back of the crowd, voices rose in defense.

"Let's not jump to conclusions. Seems like he's trying to help."

The words seemed to reach the one who had spoken earlier, and they asked, hesitantly, "Are you doing good by her, priest?"

"Yes, he's helping me," the girl confirmed. "And we're looking for the nearest clothes shop."

A woman who had been observing quietly from the edge of the crowd shoved her way forward. Her posture was confident, the look in her eyes hard. "I'm a seamstress," she declared. "I can provide what you need, but first, you must clean up. My creations cannot be draped over dirt."

Drained from the day's events, the girl could only nod in response.

The priest nodded. "Then we'll follow your lead, madam seamstress."

The seamstress, satisfied with their agreement, turned back to the crowd, her command clear and forceful. "Didn’t you all hear that? Make way!" Surprisingly, or perhaps not so, the crowd parted, creating a path for them to pass.

"Stay close," the seamstress instructed.

As they walked, curious eyes followed them, but the seamstress and the priest were quick to shield the girl from too much attention. When well-meaning townsfolk extended offers of food, she accepted graciously, but soon found herself overwhelmed with more than she could possibly consume. Balancing a loaf under one arm and clutching a pie in the other, with fruits nestled against her chest, she tried to manage the growing assortment, her steps careful to prevent any of the food from tumbling to the ground.

Then a hand extended a bag towards her. She tucked the food inside, but soon even the bag brimmed with generosity, green apples peering over the edge, threatening to escape. The priest, seeing her struggle, chased away an overeager townsman offering yet more apples.

The seamstress, meanwhile, stepped closer, deftly snagging an apple on the verge of falling. "Let me help with that," she said. But then she wrinkled her nose. "You're carrying enough dirt to plant a garden. And the smell is strong enough to chase away the town's stray dogs."

Despite the harshness of her words, there was no malice in the seamstress's voice — just a straightforward observation.

"I've been on my own a lot," the girl shrugged.

They said nothing more, and when the priest returned, they resumed walking.

But now, the seamstress was more interested in the girl. Every so often, the seamstress would glance back at the girl. And, eventually, she asked a question. "Just what did you do to get so dirty and smelly, girl?"

The girl, looking down at her new tunic and leggings, shrugged slightly. "I guess I've been...forgotten," she admitted softly,

The seamstress's demeanor grew more gentle. "What kind of clothes do you usually wear?"

"I don't really know," she said.

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

"I mean, nobody really asked me what I liked before," the girl explained. "Clothes just... appeared.”

There was silence after that. A final silence.

Along the way, they passed by a group of performers in the town square. The play unfolding before them told the tale of the soul eater — a story drawn from legend, about a creature that once haunted their lands, only to be vanquished by a powerful summoner. The actor playing the soul eater, draped in dark, flowing robes, crept among the others who expressed their terror and admiration through exaggerated screams and gestures. The crowd and actors, fully engrossed, paid her no mind.

After the play, the streets led them past an old fountain. She noticed the intricate carvings on the fountain's basin, each depicting scenes of other legends, perhaps as old as the one about the soul eater. People still glanced her way, drawn by her charm, but the seamstress kept them moving. Children still darted about, playing games. They passed a baker closing up shop, the scent of fresh bread lingering in the air, and a blacksmith's forge dimming for the night – the glow from the coals lighting up a portion of their path.

They arrived at the bathhouse, a modest building with steam rising from its chimney. It was marked by a simple wooden sign swinging in the breeze that read "Warm Waters Bathhouse."