Like every morning since he was eight years old, Milo woke up in his hideout which was nothing more than a small hollow located in a fairly high area of the cliff and hidden among bushes. The space was not very wide, barely enough to lie down and rest for a few hours but that was all he needed. He had found it by chance during his explorations of the city, after his father set sail for the islands never to return, and it had since become his secret refuge.

Of course, four years later, his body had grown quite a bit and the gap was getting smaller and smaller. One more growth spurt and he would have to find another place to sleep. Even then he could barely stretch and needed to wiggle like a worm to make his way outwards.

However, when he stuck his head out, he remembered why he liked to wake up there: the priceless sense of freedom offered by that unique view of the port with its stone houses stretching down and the ships bobbing gently in the bay. On the docks the fishermen were returning with the day's catch, the merchants were opening their stalls and a group of crew members were preparing to set sail.

He breathed in the fresh spring morning air to clear his head. His stomach soon began to growl, and from the pockets of his old, gnawed pants he pulled out a few pieces of dried meat that would help him calm his hunger for the time being.

Having finished his breakfast, he descended the rocks until he reached the courtyard of a house. Then he climbed quickly up a wall covered with vines, jumped over the top and landed on his feet on the stone street.

At that early hour there were not many people moving around the neighborhood, so he took advantage of it and at full speed began to descend the steep streets. His footsteps echoed among the buildings as he crossed narrow bridges and footbridges that snaked between the houses on the cliff. He knew all the shortcuts in town so it didn't take him long to reach the area around the docks where the smell of salt and fish grew thicker and thicker, as did the sound of seagulls fluttering over the bay.

His first job of the day was to help the fishermen who, like every day, greeted him without many words as they unloaded the fishing nets and carried boxes of fresh fish to the stalls. Like many children his age, Milo was a recurring character in the port. Many of them worked to help their families but there were also those like him whose parents had died or raised anchor without looking back.

They were children of the port. They had no home of their own and no family waiting for them at the end of the day. They had learned to survive on their own. The port, with its chaos and incessant rhythm, was their home. They were tireless workers but also free spirits. They were part of the landscape, always on the move, scurrying between boats and stalls.

Many of the adults who worked there had once been children of the port who had suffered the long nights of cold and hunger, so they could not help but feel sympathy for those children, and through the generations, invisibly linked by a common past, a network of solidarity had grown up among the inhabitants, unusual for most human cities.

This manifested itself in small acts. The fishermen would offer every now and then some coin or piece of leftover food and there was always a place by the fire in their huts for those who had nowhere to sleep. The baker used to leave a basket of bread from the previous day by the back door for the early risers, as did one of the merchants who always brought exotic products from other lands and then left “forgotten” a box with the less attractive but still edible fruits. The owners of a tavern by the docks, no questions asked, always had a bowl of soup ready for any of the children who entered their kitchen on an empty stomach. Then there were people of various trades such as blacksmiths and carpenters who taught their trade to anyone willing to learn.

The children, reluctant to be pitied, earned these favors with work. They helped stack boxes, clear decks, or run quick errands. They knew how to move through the crowds unnoticed, and often took care of the most urgent errands, the ones that adults couldn't leave out but also didn't have time to attend to. They were quick, resourceful, and knew when to speak and when to keep quiet. Milo, like most of them, had learned to read the unspoken language of the port: a gesture from a merchant assuring them of a well-paying job, the glance of a fisherman watching the storm coming in from afar, and the lingering silence in a corner of the dock where something seemed to go wrong.

Among the children, there was an implicit sense of community. Despite competition for work and resources, they looked out for each other. They shared what they could, exchanged tips on the best places to get food or how to avoid guards and wizards when things got complicated. Although Milo was one of those who kept more apart from the group, he had always been willing to help out in a time of need, such as when one of them got sick or hurt and needed to be taken to a healer.

That day was not going to be very different from many others. Having finished his work with the fishermen, he took, as usual, a short break, sitting on the edge of one of the docks, watching the flight of the seagulls while eating a piece of soft bread and an apple that had been given to him. By then the port was in full swing with vendors organizing their wares and buyers making their rounds. Conversations and shouts echoed amidst the murmur of the small waves.

His next job would involve helping the shopkeepers load the carts with fresh produce to be sold throughout the city, from the more modest neighborhoods to the more affluent areas where daily deliveries of food and other household goods were expected. Milo was one of those who made those deliveries and thanks to his knowledge of the streets he was one of the fastest. He also took advantage of those runs to deliver messages. It was a much more tiring job but it allowed him to earn a few coins that at nightfall he would keep in a bag well hidden at the bottom of his hiding place.

In the beginning, when he was a whiny and inexperienced child, he had spent his first coins right away but as time went by he had learned to save and only dared to use some of them in cases of extreme necessity. What was he saving for? He still wasn't sure. Many of his peers were already planning to make a living in some trade but he didn't see any future for himself.

Depending on the success of his activities, he would decide at nightfall whether he would hang around the tavern for a while to listen to stories of sailors or pirates who had arrived clandestinely, perhaps even get valuable information about the movements of ships that he could sell to other traders or smugglers.

Sometimes he would take some time off to drop by the captaincy where he was well received, but lately he did so less and less due to the insistence of Dhabeos Myrkan, the port captain, who, concerned about the fate of the orphans, had entrusted himself with the mission of finding them a temporary home and educating them in the new school that his wife had created right next to the captaincy. Despite appearances, Milo liked Dhabeos, but if he continued to insist on sending him to school, he would have no choice but to continue ignoring him.

He did not want to hear anything related to it and therefore still chose his refuge in the heights, since there was always the risk that the couple would catch him and sit him at those ridiculous tables and force him to spend hours in front of a mountain of books. He did admit the importance of reading and writing, as well as dealing with numbers, skills that had been taught to him by the innkeeper's wife, but that he had only learned as a necessity for survival. Everything else, strange languages, history, music and other ridiculous things, seemed unnecessary and did not help him in his daily life.

Dhabeos had even proposed him to join some crew or to train as an officer but that meant to be under the command of others and that contradicted everything Milo had believed so far. He had become so accustomed to his freedom and there was nothing and no one in the world that would push him to give it up.

He finished his meal and began to leave the dock behind in the direction of the market at that moment overflowing with people. The aroma of spices, freshly baked bread and fresh fruit mingled in the air. At each stall customers haggled with the merchants, hawkers shouted up and down the street, a group of women loudly shared gossip, and children like himself scurried past on their way to fulfill an errand or carrying boxes and baskets.

Several acquaintances nodded at him. There were a few strangers, some simple merchants, others with suspicious looks that made him wonder if they might not be pirates or even sirenians who were sometimes rumored to visit the port. There were also foreigners, though very few, from distant lands who did not stay long in the port since their desire was to explore the interior of Terrarkana in search of the legendary beings whose stories plied the seas and attracted new adventurers.

He was already close to the establishment where he was supposed to show up that day when from a narrow alleyway he heard the sobs that made him stop in his tracks. Once he turned his head he saw a person crouched on the ground with her head buried between her knees and her body trembling slightly with each gasping breath. She looked so small and thin but to Milo she didn't look very young. Her coal black hair was short but it didn't take him long to realize that she was a girl, for she was wearing a ragged, stained dress whose frayed folds barely covered half her calves.

Her state reminded him of those early days alone in the port in which he had been forced to survive and not knowing if he would ever see his father again. His stomach knotted and before he could think about what he was doing he walked over to the sobbing figure and shook a shoulder.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

The girl, frightened, raised her head and two large eyes the color of the blue sea opened in the direction of Milo who felt as if that gaze had shot him straight in the heart.

She watched him from head to toe, which caused him to feel more self-conscious and even ashamed of his own appearance. He hadn't bathed in several days and as he nervously ran a hand through his red hair he could feel a faint layer of grease clinging to his fingers and had no choice but to wipe it off on his own clothes whose smell he had grown accustomed to but must have been worse than that of a stray dog.

She did not, however, give him any contemptuous glances as the rest of the girls of his age who wandered through the marketplace tended to do. She wiped her eyes with her sleeves and gave a faint smile.

“I'm fine, thank you.”

She hunched her shoulders again, as if waiting for him to leave, but Milo didn't move. Again he could not look away. He could sink into those deep eyes and just float there for hours.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

The silence of the alley and her quizzical look forced him to react.

“Do you need any help?”

She shook her head.

“I'm fine, thank you, you can go.”

But Milo wasn't going to give up just like that.

“I've never seen you here before.”

“I've never been down to the port. I live up there, ” she shook her head upward.

“I know the entire city. If I'd seen you up there, I'm sure I'd remember.”

“I don't think it's possible for you to know the entire city. We've just never crossed paths. That's all.”

Milo furrowed his eyebrows.

“What's the captain of the port's name?”

The girl didn't answer.

“Sure, you never go down to the port, so you probably wouldn't know,” Milo smirked. “Then I'll make it easier for you. Where is the City Hall? If you live uptown you should have passed it a thousand times.”

She bit her lip as she realized she had been caught in her lie.

“I see... you're not from around here,” Milo continued. “Did you come by land or by sea?”

She let out a long sigh as if realizing that it was no longer worth resisting.

“By land.”

“Alone?”

“With a friend.”

“Ah,” Milo would have preferred her to be alone. “And where is she... or he...?”

“He is waiting for me... but...” sadness again invaded her eyes that immediately filled with tears and as she continued speaking she seemed to forget that she was in front of a stranger. “I don't know how I'm going to look him in the face now.”

“What happened?”

The girl let out a sob.

“I... lost... the horse.”

“Your horse? How did you lose it?”

She continued to speak haltingly as if she was having trouble breathing.

“I was... going... to... sell it... at... the... market... but... I was... tricked... and it... it... it... was... they stole it!” she finished speaking before bursting into tears.

“It's all right,” that wasn't at all uncommon, especially when it happened to newcomers like her.

Milo also guessed from her neat, smooth hands and pearl-toned skin that her origins were not humble. It must have been very easy for the swindler to deceive her. It was obvious from a distance that she lacked the knowledge necessary to survive on the streets. She had been lucky that he had found her in time before another man approached to take advantage of her again.

He waited for her to finish crying before speaking again.

“If it's food you want, I can help you.”

“No... it wasn't just for food... although I am very hungry... I needed the money for something more important.”

“What for?”

She didn't answer and Milo didn't insist because he understood he had to gain her trust first.

“You don't have to tell me now,” he continued. “Let's go get something for you to eat. You can't think on an empty stomach.”

She looked at him in surprise.

“But... why do you want to help me?”

Because someday, I don't know when or how, I will marry you, Milo thought.

“I am a son of the port,” he beat his chest proudly as he said that.

“I don't know what that means.”

“We children of the port take care of each other.”

“But I...”

“You have no one who can help you at the moment so you are as much a child of the port as I am, besides your friend who must be in the same situation.”

She nodded.

“What's your name?” she asked.

“Milo.”

“Cute name.”

She sounded sincere, which melted Milo's heart, although her tone resembled that of a mother talking to a little boy and he had to show her that he was already a man.

“What about you?”

“Olivia.”

Beautiful. Milo's heart felt like a rowdy bird inside a cage yearning to fly away to freedom.

“Your name is cute too,” he replied, feeling the heat in his cheeks that worsened as he watched her smile at him.

He cleared his throat.

“All right,” he said as he turned around. “Let's go find your friend and then...”

“He's hiding. We must take the food to him.”

“Why is he hiding?”

She avoided answering again.

“If you don't tell me, I won't know how to protect you.”

“Protect me? You?” however, in the face of Milo's determined gaze, Olivia sighed wearily. “He can't go near the wizards.”

“Are the wizards looking for him?”

“I can't tell you anything else.”

“That will do for now. But your friend has nothing to worry about as long as he stays close to the docks. Wizards never come down here unless they have to sail on a mission, and when that happens they make such a fuss about their presence that it's hard not to notice them. They don't like to mix with the sailors.”

She sighed in relief.

“That's a good thing.”

“You will have to avoid the uptown.”

“Understood.”

As promised, it didn't take them too long to get some food, although this time Milo decided to skip the charity and spend one of the few silver coins he had in his pocket for contingencies. With that they got a basket full of fruit, bread, cheese and ham, as well as a bottle of milk. That was a day of great monetary loss for him since he had fulfilled his errands with the vendors, but he did not intend to spare any expense now that he had found a damsel in distress whom he had to rescue.

He took it upon himself to carry the basket while she led him to an area away from the docks, past the fishermen's huts, to a small cave among the rocks of the cliff. That was a lousy place to hide and if there had been wizards nearby they would have found them right away. It was also a place that flooded very easily when the tide came in.

But now Olivia counted on Milo and she had nothing to worry about. He would take care of everything.

As long as that stranger hiding in the cave didn't thwart his plans.

“Silas... this is Milo. Milo, this is Silas,” said Olivia introducing them.

“Why did you bring him?” Silas replied angrily, a boy perhaps the same age as Olivia, tall, stocky and with a messy mane of hair whose curls shot in all directions. However, what caught Milos' attention the most were his golden eyes. He had never seen such a color. Maybe he had come from abroad. Equally striking was one of his hands, covered with pieces of cloth, which seemed to be much larger than the other.

So he was deformed. Perfect. Milo already had an advantage.

“He helped me!” Olivia exclaimed.

“Have you already forgotten what happened the last time we trusted someone?”

“But he's just a little boy!”

That comment stuck in Milo's heart like an arrow, but he thought it was more mature to keep quiet and pretend he wasn't bothered.

“And what happened with the horse?” Silas asked.

Olivia went on to tell him in embarrassment how she had been swindled at the market.

“I knew I had to go with you!” Silas burst out.

“And what would you have done?” Olivia protested, “You know less than I do about such matters!”

So he must have been of high birth too, Milo surmised as he listened to them. Highborn people didn't usually worry about money and let their servants take care of the shopping.

“What are we going to do with him now?” Silas asked, ignoring Olivia's question.

“Well...” Olivia looked in the direction of Milo who finally decided to intervene. He had been quiet all that time watching with delight how they didn't seem to get along at all, so they must not be lovers. Although he had seen couples fighting in the street a few times so he couldn't rule out suspicion yet.

“You can't stay here,” said Milo. “I'll take you somewhere safe where you can rest and think calmly.”

“Why do you want to help us?” asked Silas suspiciously.

“I am a son of the port.”

Since Silas didn't know what that meant either, Milo had to explain everything again.

But Olivia's supposed friend was still not convinced.

“And that's the only reason?”

“You're running away from wizards and I don't like them. My enemy's enemy is my friend.”

“That...” Silas remained thoughtful for a moment. “It seems to make sense somehow.”

“Perfect, then follow me,” Milo headed for the cave entrance but Olivia stopped him.

“We can't go out now in the daytime... Silas can't show his face...”

Besides being hideous, he was a fugitive, one more point in Milo's favor.

“I'll be right back, wait here,” with that said, Milo ran off in the direction they had come from until he reached the tavern where he asked the owner to lend him a pair of cloaks for a while, promising to return them the next day.

A short time later he found himself leaving the cave with Olivia and Silas with their faces hidden under their hoods.

“Where are you taking us?” whispered Silas.

“You'll see. And walk normally if you don't want to attract more attention.”

Milo led them to a house located in an area far from the hustle and bustle of the port, accessible only by a steep path that wound dangerously along the edge of the cliff, flanked by jagged, moss-covered rocks. Care had to be taken as the wind made it difficult to keep one's balance in certain sections. Milo knew this path very well and advanced steadily, albeit slowly, taking Olivia's hand from time to time to prevent her from continuing to lean on Silas.

The house was small and was hidden by a rock formation that protected it from the strong winds. It was a simple building of gray, weathered stone and black shingles. It belonged to a ship captain, widowed and childless, who was currently traveling in the northern islands and would not appear there again until autumn. It was the perfect shelter although Milo had preferred not to use it because he didn't like sleeping indoors or occupying other people's homes but for Olivia's sake he was willing to break several rules.

Pushing with effort the old wooden door they were met by a modest looking interior, dimly lit by light filtering through small windows that offered them a view of a vast ocean. The furnishings were simple: worn wooden chairs and table and a stone fireplace in the main room that appeared to be used for cooking as well. Above the fireplace was a collection of polished stones and shells. In one corner were pots, pans, a barrel, bags of grain and dampened herbs.

“A house! I can't believe it,” Olivia exclaimed excitedly, as if she had never seen one before, and then set about inspecting the bedroom and a loft accessed by a simple wooden ladder.

Milo had his head in the clouds for seeing her so happy.

For the rest of the day they spent airing out the house and removing the dust that had formed a dense layer after the captain's long absence. When night fell they dined on the leftover food Milo had bought them. As they ate, Olivia kept nodding off so Milo insisted that she lie down in the bedroom. She didn't want to be the only one using the bed but Silas also insisted and Milo was relieved that he didn't want to spend the night in the same bed as her.

So with Olivia snoring in the next room, Silas and Milo stayed awake for a while after agreeing on the corner where they would each sleep. After so long sleeping happily outdoors, Milo no longer felt like going back to his tiny cave.

“What are you looking at, boy?” in the moonlight Milo saw Silas' face crumple after having spent some time watching him carefully, thinking he hadn't noticed.

“I'm twelve years old, I'm not a child. And you... you're truly ugly.”

He only wanted to provoke him but, to his surprise, he didn't get the reaction he expected.

“I knew it,” answered Silas. “Thank you. I've been meaning to explain it to Olivia but she doesn't seem to believe me for some reason.”

Then Olivia thought Silas was handsome. Sadly, one point for him.

Despite that, Milo felt encouraged to continue.

“Your eyes are the color of urine. I've never seen such grotesque eyes and your hair... it looks like a bunch of straws. And your hand...”

“You didn't need to tell me all that, just telling me I'm ugly was enough.”

“What's with you and Olivia?”

Silas stirred uneasily under the cloak he had covered himself with.

“What does that have to...?”

“Are you two engaged?”

“Of course not!” he was silent for a moment. “Well... for a while... we had to pretend but... no... we're nothing... I suppose... we're... just... friends...” he said it as if he had just realized. “We are friends.”

Milo sighed as he settled on a pile of nets he had found piled up in the loft.

“That's fine. As long as you're not competition, then we can be friends too.”