Gifts of the Ghost

"Thanks a lot, mister." Julius's voice carried genuine warmth as he lowered his head.

Five days. That was all he'd labored in Khalid's workshop, yet the weathered craftsman pressed an additional twenty percent of the agreed wages into his calloused palms. The coins clinked together—a sound that might have been music to another's ears, but to Julius, it whispered of debts unpaid and kindness undeserved.

Khalid's reasoning was simple enough. The boy arrived with the dawn, departed with the dusk, and greeted every customer as though they were nobility gracing his humble threshold. More than that, when Julius's strength was called upon—lifting leather hides that would strain two grown men, or steadying the heavy workbench whilst Khalid carved intricate patterns—the lad moved with a fluid power that left the old craftsman marveling.