Brady begrudgingly pushed through the hospital doors, scrunching up his nose at the smell of rubbing alcohol and piss.

After meeting Adam, he happily walked home to the boarding house he'd rented. He'd had a bad premonition and paid for an extra day on a whim, thankfully before all his shit got stollen right out of his room. With the meager supplies that sap had bought him, he'd be able to mooch a few coins reading fortunes to people walking by tomorrow and brew a tea that would let him fall asleep tonight.

The hostess of the home nodded to him as he entered, and Brady hungrily sniffed the air as tonight's meal lingered in the air. He didn't have enough money to buy food, he didn't have any money anymore, and he hobbled up the stairs quickly to ignore the twinge of pain in his stomach.

He came home a few hours early yesterday, his right side acting up after days of bad sleep. His Bad Feeling was cresting as he opened the door to his room, and he caught the tail end of someone fleeing out his window in a dark cloak. He ran to the window and shouted at them, pointing a finger and letting out a small shock of electricity. It hit the thief and he wheeled around enough for Brady to catch sight of half of his face, blond hair swishing under his hood. Then he'd disappeared around the corner of the building, leaping across window boxes as quickly as the breeze.

Brady cursed and turned to face what was left, but there was nothing. He hadn't had much anyway, but his money, food, even a change of clothes were gone. He kicked his bed and regretted it as his leg seized in pain. At least he'd bought an extra night.

Brady flicked his wrist, banishing his cane to a pocket dimension as he grabbed the tin cup of water from this morning and concentrated on it. He watched the tin start to glow where his hands cupped it, and the water bubbled. He threw the herbs Adam had bought him into it and drank greedily, burning his mouth but glad to have a distraction from his growling stomach. If he ever found that thief, he was going to be a hangry force to be reckoned with, so help the Gods.

He woke up the next morning in moderate levels of discomfort, but that was better than the limping mess he'd been the night before. Brady wasn't sure what the sleep schedules of bumbling nobles were like, but he figured he could fit in a few hours of fortune telling before heading to the hospital. He was terribly attached to his current cane, mainly because it was his singular mode of transportation at the moment, but he was excited to see what Adam might offer him. It wasn't every day you stumbled into a rich kid with a guilty conscience, but Brady was happy to benefit from it. The look on Adam's face when he admitted defeat about the hospital was priceless, and he hardly put up a fight about buying him the stone. He wasn't bad to look at either.

Brady made a small walk further into town, finding a market packed full of some hardened faces – the locals – and others wandering around asking to be scammed. He sat down in a small patch of grass and set up his meager station, beginning to call out to the crowd in a weary voice.

"The spirits seek to tell you your fortune! You there, young sir! Care to feed a poor orphan and learn your fate? The Gods pity me and have given me the gift of prophecy! They took one eye and gave me a third one!" He was hard to ignore even before he started shouting, the right side of his body covered in wiggling scars. His gray eye really elevated the illusion he thought, but he couldn't have turned it another color if he wanted to. He could still see with it, but only in shades of gray that made it hard to focus on anything far away.

Someone tossed him a coin without even asking for a fortune, and Brady smiled wide and tucked it into his cloak. There might be better ways to live, but he could entertain himself all day just by shouting at people to pity him. In two hours, he had enough money to buy something to eat.

On the walk to the hospital, he munched on an apple and clicked his way through town, relishing his last few hours with this trash he called a walking stick. He never expected to look forward to meeting with an aristocrat, but if it let him get rid of this thing, he wasn't going to complain. That was, until he saw the hospital.

He'd been in one before, something no one was surprised to learn considering the state of his right side, and he wasn't a fan. Besides for all the stares and the terrible smell and the occasional screaming patient as they died some tragic death, they required him to be clean. Brady prided himself in the thick layer of grime he maintained to keep his skin distracted from the constant tingling burn of his scars.

But a new cane was waiting for him, so he pushed through and found someone who looked important.

"I have a meeting with one Adam Hesler," he said, leaning on the desk she sat behind. The woman looked up at him and horror passed through her eyes. Here it comes, Brady thought gloomily. She's going to scream and ask if I need a healer. But her eyes flicked up and down his body as she managed, "Please lean back sir, you are terribly filthy." Brady almost laughed.

"Adam Hesler."

"I am sure Mister Hesler doesn't have a meeting with you today."

"He does! Check your books, I'll be there." The woman rolled her eyes and begrudgingly pulled out her schedule book. Brady whistled a little tune, and as she turned the page, she blinked back surprise.

"Oh, I'm very sorry Mister Canely, you're right here. Please have a seat. Mister Hesler isn't in yet, but I'll let you know when he arrives." Brady smiled wide at her and turned around to find a seat. His name hadn't been in the book, he'd never even given the noble his last name and "Canely" surely wasn't it. Brady just hadn't come up with something better before she'd turned the page and the spell needed to be done.

Brady sat down and tried to pretend he was disinterested in his surroundings. Other people were waiting around him, either for patients to come out of the hospital or to be put in. There was a mother and young kid nearby, an older gentleman who stared off into space, and a few teens younger than him in the corner, messing with a ball and some jacks. They were all as dirty and skinny as him, and he bit back his disgust. In his tiny hometown, one hospital (if it could be called that, it was more of a tent) was hardly enough to accommodate all the farming accidents in the year. One hospital for this entire city, be it a considerable upgrade from a tent or not, was a disgusting oversight on the city's part. Maybe an oversight by Adam's family, Brady considered, imagining how quickly someone like him might get a bed if he looked half as dead as that old man over there.

Brady waited for an hour before he got bored, and then he offered the old guy a fortune reading. He never responded, so Brady took the seat next to him and rambled forever to keep himself busy. He could distract himself with anything, including talking to a corpse, and he was willing to wait a bit longer for a proper cane. He told this to the man, demonstrating his disappearing stick act and then regretting it as the woman behind the desk narrowed her eyes at him. "Mr. Canely" was bringing too much attention to his cane . . .

Brady glanced outside and saw it was the afternoon now. He let out an exasperated sigh, throwing his head back and cursing this Hesler kid. Maybe he wasn't as generous as Brady thought, and he'd been played for a fool, sitting in a hospital lobby all day. He couldn't afford to stay here if he wanted to have a room at the boarding house tonight.

"It's been lovely chatting, but I've gotta go," he said to the half-dead guy, and he stood up and summoned his stupid walking stick. He made it all the way to the doors when he heard, "Mister Canely! Your appointment is ready."

Brady was escorted to a room where a kid, who was not Adam Hesler, stood eyeing him with disdain.

"Your name is not Brady Canely," the kid declared, and Brady smiled as he leaned on his stick.

"Your name is not Adam Hesler. I don't see what the problem is."

"Mister Hesler is busy today, an unexpected appointment appeared on his calendar. My name is George."

"My name is Brady. Can you get me a new cane now?" George sighed, but he motioned for Brady to follow him through the hospital. He wasn't wearing the attire of any of the other nurses, instead sporting blue and yellow which looked sort of faded in the bright lighting of the hospital. His shoes were noticeably scuffed, but who was Brady to comment on that? Besides, the easily flustered quality from his encounter with Adam was gone, and Brady thought better than to make fun of George before he had his goods.

When they arrived, George let Brady have a pick of some canes that were lined up against the wall, instructing him when he thought necessary. He knew too much about the hospital to be a layman, and Brady said as much while he tested the walking sticks.

"I've been apprenticing here in the last year or so."

"You're not wearing the right clothes for this."

"Mister Hesler asked me to assist you very last minute."

"How do you know Adam?"

"I'm Mister Hesler's personal nurse."

"Why not someone who's a little bit older?" George pursed his lips in annoyance.

"I think you ask too many questions. Do you like that one?" Brady turned to him with a big smile, leaning on the new cane easily. He was getting the same satisfaction of annoying George as he had making Adam turn pink.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"It's a major upgrade. Thank you for your graciousness, Mister George. I don't suppose I can convince you to buy me dinner."

George let a thin, joyless smile spread over his lips. "No, Adam and I don't have that in common."

"Well, next time you see him, tell him to come by the Honey Mead Inn, he owes me for making me wait that long. I'll know if you don't."

"You wouldn't know," George said quickly, and Brady smiled as George bit his cheek in regret. He wasn't planning on telling Adam anything.

"I have a scrying stone. Very easy work, the art of perception. Want me to demonstrate?" Brady pulled the wishing stone from his pocket as George began assuring him not to.

Brady didn't listen, channeling his focus on the stone and peering at George. In his bad eye, in black and white, he could see images dancing behind him, but he pulled back in alarm. He saw Adam on a cot, bloody nose, half naked as hands which were not his own relocated a shoulder.

George shoved him out the door to the cane room and slammed it behind him. Brady took a second to calm his nerves, but a few vague images weren't enough to really scare him, so he shrugged it off. With the soft grip of his new cane, Brady started his way back to the boarding house.

He was disappointed to find his tin cup set out on the counter and a warning to "Sod off" from the clerk, who'd sold his room to someone else while he was away. He anxiously leaned on his cane, glad to have a new one after the rough night of sleep he was going to have. Tomorrow would bring a lot more limping.

~'~'~

The young cadet took a second to himself on his knees, breathing in through his nose and clearing his mind, eyes shut. He could feel his heartbeat speed up and slow down with his breaths, like a frightened bird in his chest adjusting to the size of his rib cage as he meditated, ears shut to the rest of the world and hands face up on his knees. He imagined cupping his hands around the bird and getting it to land in them, rubbing a thumb over the brown feathers and the fit of its claws on his fingers. They worked together to calm its panicked flight, until the distinction between the bird and himself was blurred, and they grew into one beast.

Then he opened his eyes and let the cacophony of his surroundings crash into him.

Matt stood up and clapped some of his fellow cadets on the shoulder, boys all around them laughing and celebrating this evening. This morning, just after breakfast and primed for failure, one of their commanders had barged in and demanded an immediate inspection of his squad's quarters. All the cadets, fourth years like Matt, had bolted upright, but someone had heard a whisper about a missing commander – one Albert Kain, self-described "Dick of Fort Nattien" – and warned them to pick up.

Commander Kain rumbled through the tent, Matt standing straight as a board at the foot of his bunk like his brothers around him as he passed. Kain stopped in front of him, nearly as tall, and face twinged with dark suspicion. Matt met his gaze, dismissing the cold sweat that sprung up on his neck. After several tense moments, Kain nodded and continued his inspection, practically ignoring the other cadets. Across the room, one of his friends winked at him, and Matt took a deep breath in through his nose.

As reward, they got the evening off, dismissed after dinner hour to wander town or go to bed early, whichever mood struck the young boys on a cool summer evening. Most everyone in his squad left the perimeter of camp to go to the small boxing arena just west, built a hop and a skip away so the other cadets could watch the festivities while they did their dinner chores.

Matt had wrapped his hands and was urged into the small ring with another boy, one he'd spent many hours with in training since they were nearly the same size. There weren't many others as big as them, and between getting the worst cut of chores for it, they'd grown as close as Matt was comfortable. The kid, Avery, seemed to think they were friends, and they shook hands before finding their footing, the boys around them erupting in hormone-fueled mania. Avery grinned and took them in as Matt thought about that brown bird fluttering in his chest.

Someone rang a handbell and they circled each other, feinting and testing their opponent's reflexes, making the cadets around them cheer. Some fights were set up to settle scores between disgruntled friends, but ones like this were for the theatre, Matt and Avery playing the crowd so they might get to relax after giving their best show.

Avery took the first real swing and Matt stepped out of the way, returning a jab to his ribs. The other cadet feinted at him and Matt fell for it, taking a hit to the side that made him stumble. To fuel the roar of the crowd, Avery pretended to get caught up gloating a successful hit, letting Matt blindside him and pull him to the ground. The boys around them were enjoying the show, but finally, the crowd demanded a real fight. They obliged, turning into two knights-in-training as they circled each other.

Avery was strong and fast, but Matt had the bird fluttering in his chest that made him feel like he had sprouted wings. A few stray hits found him, but in under two minutes, Matt put him on the ground. The crowd broke into cheers and cries as bets were doled out, and Matt offered a hand to his fellow cadet. Avery took it with a hint of hurt pride.

"I don't get how you always put me on my ass," he huffed, shuffling under the weight of hands on his shoulders from their crowding friends. Matt just shrugged, but another cadet laughed loudly in his ear.

"Are you kidding?! All his 'private lessons' with Kain, and you're surprised? You must be half as stupid as you look."

"Hey, Kain hates him so much we got out of chores tonight, be glad!" another cried, and Matt feigned a laugh as everyone around him erupted.

"Kain doesn't hold back," was all he said, but he couldn't ignore the dull throb of the fresh cut in his eyebrow that arched down to his cheek. His bunkmates had grilled him about the injury a few days ago, but everyone was making up their own stories anyway, so Matt had ignored their concern. Kain did that. Why, did he look at him wrong? Matt doesn't have to do anything to get a beating. Don't be ridiculous, he's our commanding officer. Shut up, he's coming.

Through the revelry, Matt felt someone tap on his shoulder, and he turned to see a second year at his side.

"Your cripple wants to talk to you," he said, but he pulled back at the dark glare Matt sent him. The cadet raised a finger and Matt pushed through the crowd until he picked him out on the edge of the festivities.

"Brady!" Brady turned, a smile splitting his scarred face. Matt registered the dark stained wood of his new cane a second later, confused. "Is that new?"

"You like it? I cheated a rich guy for it." Matt let a frown crease his face, but he reminded himself to drop it.

"What're you doing here?"

"Making some money off of you," Brady winked, and he juggled a few silver coins in his hands. "Someone stole my place at the boarding house, so I was looking for some company."

"Well, there's plenty of it here. I hope none of the guys are giving you trouble," Matt said, looking around at the wide berth they were being given. He caught some eyes on them, but he'd just won a fight, so he couldn't tell who they were looking at. Brady shrugged it off.

"Since when don't I get into trouble? I heard there's a show in the low town tonight, you should bring some friends so I can go see it. And I need to get some fucking dinner." Matt turned back to him and took in his narrow frame, feeling a pang of guilt. Matt had been skinny like that once, but since joining the cadets, he was well fed. That's how he got to grow so big, and compared to the pile of sticks talking to him right now, he felt especially conscious of their size difference.

Brady scoffed. "Don't give me that look, if I wanted money from you, I would've asked for it already."

"I don't have any, it got confiscated."

"I thought everyone had money, don't you get paid?"

Matt gestured to his split brow and shrugged. "They took this out of my salary for causing 'undue commotion.'" Brady barked a laugh and Matt looked back at the revelry, starting to pick out faces to bring downtown. He rambled about the hospital and something about money as Matt collected a group to go to the show.

As they walked through town, a group of ten of them laughing and kicking stones as they walked, Brady stopped for food and Matt stayed with him. Brady never really stopped talking, but Matt was used to ten cadets yelling in his ear at once, so he relished the bit of quiet. Brady at least paused between bites of food.

When they resumed their walk to the show, Brady was limping badly, and Matt had to shorten his steps to stay in line with him.

"Do you want a lift?" he asked after the tenth time Brady swore.

"I hate getting lifts," Brady huffed, but he flicked away his cane. Matt wasn't sure how many times he'd seen him do that, but it always baffled him. Despite some full-hearted attempts on Brady's part, Matt had concluded he had nary a magical bone in his body, and he almost felt a twinge of jealousy. Then he remembered how many people had told him, "If I had just half your strength, half your size . . ." and he shook it off.

Matt took a knee and Brady climbed on his back, weighing as much as half a backpack. Matt stood up like nothing had changed, and he carried them the rest of the way as Brady yapped in his ear, occasionally grumbling about a cramp in his right leg.

The show was easy to find, partially because it was crowded with cadets cheering their heads off and partly because of the band which was playing to match their energy. A young man was dancing on a stage, twirling in such tight circles that Matt got dizzy just watching, sweat glinting off his golden skin like stars. Brady was laughing and kicking at the cadets around them as they mocked him for getting carried like a toddler, but Matt ignored their shouts.

The dancer caught Matt's eye and winked at him, but Matt gave him a half-hearted smile in return, caught up in the twirling skirt at his waist and the fabric pulled along behind him. Orbs of purple and orange light floated in the air above them, glittering over the dancer's costume and catching on silver threads embroidered into the veil hung from his nose. He looked like the stars had been brought down and laced into his skin, giving "Moonlight" his name.

Matt felt someone bump into him and he looked down to see a man at his side, tall and blond in a dark shirt, smiling wide at the stage. His gaze found Matt's as the music soared around them, and he raised a glass bottle in toast. Matt's hands were occupied supporting Brady, but he nodded his head and tried to focus back on the dancer. He felt a hand pat him on his arm which trailed down as the guy pulled back, but Matt moved his hips away as it fell, a second before the man's fingertips could touch the coin pouch at his belt. Some of his friends had given him a small share of their bet winnings.

"Sticky fingers?" Matt asked under his breath, and the kid raised his hands in surrender. In the half second it took Matt to look away in exasperation, he disappeared.

"Matt, turn back around!" Brady complained as he spun around in confusion, but the kid was gone. There was a roar of laughter and Matt turned back towards the stage as someone got pulled up by the dancer, one of the first years from his squad, and the crowd swept him up in cheers for the clumsy, flustered cadet.

A few songs later, the dancer took his final bow at the front of the stage, thanking the crowd for their support and asking for money if there was any to spare. He made a joke about getting enough to eat, and everyone cheered in agreement. Despite that, Matt heard the clink of coins as a hat passed through the crowd. When it came to them, Matt reached in his pouch for a coin to find the bottom had been slit open. Matt cursed under his breath and passed the hat along to the others.

Now that the show was over, it was time to head back to camp and drop Brady off somewhere warm to sleep. He wasn't allowed in camp, but he pointed from around Matt's head to a place he knew on the way back, and Matt fell in with the crowd's slow shamble.

He spared one last glance towards the stage and stopped to watch a tall blond offer a hand to the dancer as he hopped off stage. They disappeared into a small storage shack with the rest of the band as Matt let out a small sigh, letting the crowd sweep him away.