Akshran kept low, his body pressing into the shadows, watching the bustling crowd in the marketplace. His eyes, sharper now that he was adapting to the Little Kid's wiry frame, flicked over the scene in front of him—calculating, analyzing. He inhaled deeply, feeling the strain of hunger gnawing at his stomach, the food in the Kid's house was not enough to fill his belly. This body hadn't eaten properly in days, and the weakness threatened to slow him down if he didn't address it soon.

But first, he needed a plan.

'Focus, Akshran,' he told himself, pressing a hand to his hollowed belly. 'You've survived worse.'

The Little Kid had survived like this—hungry, desperate, quick. But Akshran wasn't that boy. He had an advantage the boy hadn't understood: a mind trained for deception, strategy, and reading people. This world of Elpium was strange to him, but human behavior? That was universal.

He narrowed his eyes, watching the market with renewed focus. There was always a weak link in the crowd. Always someone too distracted, too confident, or simply unaware that they were about to be played. He'd find them.

As he shifted position, he felt the uncomfortable stiffness of the Little Kid's muscles, the awkwardness of a body malnourished and underdeveloped. His legs shook slightly from exertion, and he caught himself against a wall before anyone could notice. The weight of this body was different. He couldn't rely on brute force, as he might've in his former life.

"This kid…" Akshran muttered under his breath, glancing down at his hands again. "You were smarter than you looked, but you didn't know how to use your real assets, did you?"

He could feel the raw intelligence the boy had possessed—his clever hiding spots, his ability to navigate the underbelly of Jhaari—but there had been no overarching strategy, no long-term game. The Little Kid had survived through sheer cunning, but survival wasn't Akshran's goal. He wanted power. And that required planning.

A stall near the edge of the market caught his attention. It was a small bakery, busy with customers, and the baker—an older man with a worn apron—was bustling between the front and back of the stall, too busy to keep track of everything. Akshran observed the pattern of the man's movements. He'd leave the front unattended for short intervals while serving customers, giving Akshran an opening.

'There,' he thought, his lips curling into a slight smirk.'But rushing in now would be a mistake. Let them look somewhere else first.'

The next part of his plan fell into place. He needed to create a distraction—a way to turn everyone's eyes elsewhere.

Slipping between stalls, Akshran spotted a group of children near a fruit cart. They were scruffy, probably street rats just like the Little Kid had been. He moved closer, unseen, and whispered under his breath, "One of you should grab the apple from that cart. The owner's too busy flirting with the woman by the bread stall."

The nearest boy, no older than ten, glanced around, surprised to hear the voice but saw no one. His greedy eyes darted toward the fruit cart, and after a few seconds of hesitation, he bolted forward, grabbing two apples before anyone could react. The cart owner shouted in alarm, chasing after the boy, creating the chaos Akshran needed.

In the confusion, Akshran slipped past the distracted baker, his hands working quickly and deftly. He grabbed a loaf of bread, tucking it into his knapsack before vanishing back into the crowd.

'Perfect,' he thought, feeling the thrill of executing his plan so smoothly. The adrenaline buzzed in his veins. The Little Kid might've used similar tactics, but this? This was precision. This was mastery.

Akshran ducked back into the narrow alley, pulling out the loaf and examining it with satisfaction. It was still warm, fresh from the oven. He could already taste the satisfaction of feeding this frail body, strengthening it with every bite.

'This body will learn to move the way I want it to. Adapt.' Akshran took a bite of the bread, chewing thoughtfully. He leaned back against the wall, lost in thought.

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"This world isn't just about survival, Little Kid. It's about power,You never saw the bigger picture." His eyes flickered with the hunger for more than just food. "But I do."

A deeper plan began to form in his mind. He needed to learn more about this city, Jhaari. Who held the real power? Who could be manipulated? Deception was a tool sharper than any blade. And now, with this body, Akshran had the perfect disguise—a young, unassuming street rat that no one would expect.

'They won't see me coming.'

He smirked, the cold calculation in his eyes betraying the boyish face he now wore. This was just the beginning.

Akshran leaned against the rough brick wall of a narrow alley, his sharp eyes observing the marketplace with calculating precision. The stale scent of sweat, spices, and desperation hung thick in the air, mingling with the sounds of barter and bickering. His body still ached from hunger, the small loaf of bread he'd stolen earlier barely enough to quell the gnawing emptiness in his stomach. But hunger was no longer a concern—it was an opportunity.

He watched the people move, a tangled web of motivations and vulnerabilities. Every glance, every twitch of a hand, was a story, and he, the master reader, could decipher them all. A baker arguing with his wife over a misplaced coin—an easy mark, distracted and on edge. A nobleman's servant fumbling with too many packages—overburdened and ripe for deception. But Akshran's target today was more specific, more deliberate.

His gaze settled on a stout merchant, his gold rings glinting in the sunlight as he sold overpriced trinkets to gullible buyers. The man's laughter was too loud, too forced. Akshran recognized the signs: overcompensation, insecurity, and greed in equal measure. Perfect.

He stepped out from the alley's shadow, his body adopting the fluid, light-footed gait of the Little Kid—quick, unassuming, and unnoticed. His face, however, was that of a seasoned predator beneath the boyish exterior. As he approached the merchant's stall, Akshran allowed a slight smirk to twitch at the corners of his lips. This would be fun.

"Good sir!" Akshran called out, his voice trembling slightly, perfectly mimicking the weak timbre of a street urchin. "Might I trouble you for a small favor?"

The merchant looked down at him, the condescension already forming in his greasy smile. "What is it, boy? Can't you see I'm busy making a living here?" His tone was laced with derision, the way all men in positions of perceived power spoke to those beneath them.

Akshran widened his eyes, letting them shimmer with a false innocence. "I…I couldn't help but notice how you handled that nobleman earlier. The way you convinced him to buy that trinket… It was… masterful, truly." He let the words hang, the flattery worming its way into the merchant's fragile ego.

The merchant's grin broadened. "Well, it's a skill, isn't it?" He puffed out his chest, his rings clinking together as he gestured grandly. "People like me, we know how to sell to fools. It's all about reading them, you know? Knowing what they want."

Akshran nodded enthusiastically, as if he were absorbing great wisdom. "Exactly! That's what I was thinking! You must be so clever to see through them like that." His voice dipped, conspiratorial. "I could use someone like you."

The merchant blinked, taken aback by the shift in tone. "Someone like me? For what?"

Akshran allowed the smirk to return, but he tempered it with a hint of humility, like a child too clever for his own good but too shy to admit it. "I overheard a bit of gossip while I was fetching water. Something about a group of thieves planning to rob your stall tomorrow night." He let the words drip like poison, slow and deliberate. "They think you're easy prey."

The merchant's face flushed, his hand instinctively tightening around the nearest trinket. "What? Thieves? Here?" His eyes darted around, his composure cracking.

Akshran nodded gravely. "They said you'd never see it coming. But I think you're too smart for them. That's why I came to you."

The merchant was visibly rattled now, his mind racing. Akshran could see the thoughts flickering in his eyes—the rising panic, the bruised ego, the frantic need to protect his wealth. It was all too predictable.

"Perhaps…" Akshran continued, his voice a soft murmur, "perhaps you should move your stock somewhere safer. Somewhere they wouldn't expect."

The merchant leaned forward, his voice dropping to a hiss. "Where would that be, boy? Tell me!"

Akshran raised his hand, as if imparting a great secret. "There's an old storage house near the west gate. No one ever goes there anymore. It's quiet, out of the way. I could help you move everything there tonight—just to be safe."

The merchant's mind was too clouded by fear to see the simplicity of the trap being laid for him. He nodded vigorously. "Yes! Yes, that sounds perfect." He fumbled in his pockets, pulling out a handful of coins and thrusting them at Akshran. "Here, for your trouble. Help me tonight, and I'll give you more."

Akshran took the coins, a wicked gleam in his eyes that the merchant, in his frenzy, failed to notice. "Of course, sir. I'll meet you after sundown."

As the merchant hurried off to pack his wares, Akshran slipped back into the alley, his smile widening into a dark, amused grin. It was almost too easy, really—people were such simple creatures, driven by fear and greed. All it took was a whisper in the right ear, a nudge in the right direction, and they'd dance to his tune without ever realizing it.

He chuckled softly to himself, running a thumb over the coins. "Thank you, Little Kid," he muttered under his breath, "for such a malleable face."