John ran down the road sword in hand cursing himself all the while, how could he have been so stupid? He had found the boy striping coins from his dead friends and he still let his guard down. Still, it was not the theft that had made John so wary of the boy who called himself Kirk, John knew better than most what poverty could drive a man to, shamefully there was a time in his life where John had stolen something much more valuable than a few coins.

Long ago there had been two Baseless orphans. The Baseless were the lowest class in Orera; the serfs and beggars damned with no last name. Those blessed with a surname were the Named, they made up everything from the nobility to the working class, anybody who had a chance at being somebody was Named. The Baseless were seen as dull and prone to every vice only fit for the most unpleasant of labor. To be baseless meant to be less than human, reduced to a beast of burden for one’s betters. Those born nameless would learn the plight of the Baseless from a young age. No decent employer would give a nameless the time of day. Forcing them to less savory methods to survive, unless something miraculous happened.

John still remembered the night he had seen his miracle, a boy had just returned from a night of thieving and begging to the bridge that he and his sister slept under. The night air felt like a dagger of ice that pierced through the rags he wore around his body. Shivering, he picked up his infant sister from the old crate he had stored her in and held her close. Even now tears pricked his eyes when John thought about that night, the night the boy became sure his sister would die. Winter was coming to Longdale and with no shelter, his sister was sure to freeze. John froze and shook his head, he had a fugitive to catch, he couldn't be thinking about the past.

But still, he couldn't shake the night from his mind and found his thoughts wandering towards it like a moth to a candleflame. Upon the realization that his sister would not survive the winter the boy had wept and for the first time prayed. As he drove his knees into the river bank he beseeched Yaza to give him and his sister a way to escape the poverty that was the fate of the born Baseless. He had prayed for hours, eyes shut the cold air stabbing at him and when he had opened them there was a body on the riverbank.

The boy had stared at the corpse for what seemed like eons before he had worked up the courage to approach. The body was that of a young boy that had been in the water a long time, its skin was warped and discolored, the body was bloated beyond recognition. On its back was a brown backpack, the boy removed the backpack careful to not burst the balloon of rot in front of him. The backpack was waterproof and its contents were mercifully intact, within it were many documents. Thankfully, the boy was literate and able to tell the value of what he had found.

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The papers told the tale of two children whose parents had gone to one of Orera’s southern colonies bringing along their children. While there the two parents had died of some kind of native fever nicknamed the jags. The leader of the colony had decided that two orphans were more trouble than they were worth and had made an arrangement to ship them off to some military order on the mainland.

Within the bag was the letter of acceptance for the crusaders of the light and more importantly two identification papers. Identification papers were forms given to the named at birth, signifying their status, to steal one was a crime punishable by death.

The boy stared at the papers, he did not know his or his sister’s age, but the dates listed on the papers seemed close. He stared at the papers for a very long time before kicking the body back into the river and heading off into the night with his sister in arm.

That was his miracle, the night the boy and his sister became John and Tasha Coiro.

Of course, Tasha had no idea their true origins and John had no intention of ever telling her. Deception and theft were two of the worst crimes one in the service of Yaza could commit and John would never force Tasha to choose between her faith and the life he had stolen for her. John’s sins were between him and Yaza alone and if in the afterlife his stained soul was dammed to the hooks of Toza, at least he would have saved his sister.

John clenched his teeth, his mind was scattered. The shock of the day's events had set in making his mind frantic and disorganized. He needed to focus to find the boy. John set his shoulders and switched his chaotic mind back to Kirk and kept walking.

There was something about the boy that had set John on edge, he had originally attributed this suspicion to the shock of seeing his comrades dead, but the more he thought about it the more sure he was. When he had looked at Kirk his brain had whispered to him, speaking of things long forgotten. It was something about the way the boy had moved, how his eyes constantly darted around, scanning his surroundings, drinking in the details and when those eyes had landed on John he felt bare. As if the boy could peer into his mind. Not only was it unusual for a boy his age to possess such a perception, but John also couldn't escape the feeling that he had met someone with those mannerisms far in the past. However, when he tried to focus on the fleeting memory his mind became like syrup, thick and slow. The harder he tried to grasp the memory the harder it fought him, through his struggles did yield some fruit.

For one he was sure that Kirk and the memory were different people, the boy was far too young and the half-remembered figure far too tall. John pushed these thoughts aside for now, he had a criminal to catch. One who had dared to commit the most heinous crime John could imagine

He had hurt Tasha, the one he had risked his immortal soul to save.

He would find the boy no matter how long it took.