Inheritance

Maybe signing a slave contract wasn't just a bad idea, it was the worst decision of my life.

In this city, where daughters were sold to brothels and sons to alchemists, the only inheritance my father left me was his beer tab and gambling debts. By comparison, perhaps I was lucky.

Still, I forced a smile and skipped along, pretending this wasn't the beginning of the end. My father's debts had cut off any chance of freedom, and now they were cutting into my life.

My life flipped the day a shady man approached me as I begged in the market square.

He got uncomfortably close, my eyes couldn't even register the sight of the silver glint his dagger let out before I felt the pressure of the cold steel resting against my neck. I froze, trembling, as the street buzzed around us, merchants haggling, children playing, boots dragging against the cobblestone, but not one person looked in my direction.

No one cared.

"Forty gold, boy," he repeated, his voice low and dangerous. "Or we'll have to pay for ya in yer own blood."

Releasing the scruff of my collar, he slid the dagger back under his coat., "Don't bother runnin', we'll catch ya no matter where yer street rat life takes ya. Save yerself the beatin'."

After giving me his advice, he walked away, blending into the crowd. Even if I reported this joke to the Civic Enforcement Association, those dogs of nobles wouldn't lift their pinky finger for a street rat like me with no power or influence, even if it was to save my life.

My frail body wouldn't allow me to find work, not even as a porter to carry monster corpses back to the Adventurer's guild and merchants along with the other boys with death wishes.

My only way of earning coins was through begging on the streets of the market square which only gave me 1 silver weekly if the civic patrol did not chase me, which was only enough to feed myself without starving. 

There was a time when I wondered about the shame of begging, but I understand it now. What shame? My father had none. I certainly won't either. There's only shame in failure and death, and my father must have known that when he chose to run.

Ever since that day, I'd been getting harassed by some sort of loaning agency daily, threatening my life. daily.

Although I was no stranger to life-threatening events, it was a different feeling when it happened to me so directly. I had thought I was unafraid of death, but my rapid heartbeats, shivering body, and clammy hands betrayed my rational mind.

The feeling of cold steel pressed against my throat did not disappear even as I slept onthe street side.

I was scared. At thirteen, I wasn't sure if I was ready for this kind of world.

A week later, another man stopped my daily begging on the streets of the city, telling me to follow him, and I wondered if they had finally decided to kill me as I walked behind him with my head down.

Maybe they would sell me off to some 3rd rate alchemist in the market for experimental subjects, or I'd become monster bait. Cold sweat drenched the back of my shirt at that thought. 

There was not even any way to run away from this city. I was too weak to kill a rabbit, much less acquire food and evade predators on the way to Tisik, the city closest to the one I'm currently at, Aandal.

"Kid, yer father sent me to give you a lifeline." A deep voice entered my ear.

Looking up at the man, I wondered what my father, a degenerate who gambled himself and his son into debt so deep that he ran away and I'd drown, had to give. I felt hope, other than my mother's sun necklace, this would be his only gift to me.

"The payment of ten gold coins will be repaid over eight years of work at Cansite Mine," the man said, his tone as casual as if discussing the weather. "Indentured servitude at Cansite? That's a better fate than most." The man cackled.

"Ten gold. eight years." The words dropped like stones into the pit of my stomach. I couldn't even picture that much gold, but I could see the mine clear as day, jaws of stone yawning wide, swallowing men whole.

My fists clenched at my sides, nails biting into my palms as I bit back the words screaming in my head. Was this what my fool of a father had left for me?

To be a temporary slave at a death camp like The Cansite Mine? Cansite. They'd joked about it in the alleys, how men left with backs bent like old boughs and lungs rattling with dust. A mine that ate people whole.

The word 'lifeline' seemed like a cruel joke as it left his mouth, a promise wrapped in chains. Eight years of work, in a place where even grown men didn't survive three. A death sentence masquerading as a second chance.

Compared to an alchemist or monster, what was given to me was just a slower death. I had no words of response to the man who laughed as if he told the funniest joke ever said. My father was a drunkard who gambled everything away, including my future. I resented him for that, but there was no one left to blame. 

Calming down from his laughter that had been grating on my ears, he glanced at me without turning back. "As a reward for giving me a good joke to tell the guys at the pub, I'll throw ya a bone. They say there's an artifact in the mine. Find it, and ya might shave a few years off"

Maybe this man had no shame to turn and give me hope while laughing simultaneously. An artifact? Maybe. Or perhaps it's just a tale to keep fools like me from giving up too soon

The streets of Aandal bustled with life, the air was thick with the smells of sweat and burning incense. Merchant carts rattled past, their wheels clattering sharp as the distant ring of blades against grindstones. The city felt alive, yet I was nothing but a remnant who had never left a mark, nor to have anyone know my name.

Various people passed by, men and women who were adventurers with sheathed swords at their hips and spears on their backs, wearing nice clean clothes, leather and metal armor, haggling merchants selling spices that burned my nose, bread and silverware, while children ran around playing or running errands. 

My clothes drew glances of disgust, the crowd parting as if avoiding my existence. I usually never walked in the wide open like this, usually resigned to stalking in the corners of alleys.

I felt like hiding and slipping away into the crowd to escape both their gaze and that man who was sealing my fate. Gripping my torn, dirty trousers to the point that there was almost yet another rip and smoothening my patchwork shirt, I shook my head and forced a smile. There was no point in hiding, they would certainly find me sooner or later, even if I did manage for a year or two.

Ten minutes later, we stopped before the Civic Compliance Bureau. It was easy to recognize as it towered over the surrounding buildings, a monolith of stone and steel, its towering walls casting long shadows over the streets below. It felt less like a building and more like a cage. A large, arched doorway stood with a centered posture. Mosaic glass decorated the top of the building, reflecting light. The doors were wrought with iron, I even doubted that I would be able to open them.

Hesitating to enter the building, I asked the man, "Mr, do you mind if I pray quickly to the Goddess?"

"Praying to Luminaris, ya got rocks in yer head, kid?" the man sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. "I guess ya might as well beg for a miracle. Maybe yer gonna be the next Saint."

The man's words pricked at my belief. The one thing my father had imparted to me was his belief in Luminaris. If a man like that could believe in something, maybe it had some power.

Clasping my cold, trembling hands around the steel sun necklace, I closed my eyes and prayed with a tremor in my voice, "Oh, Goddess Luminaris, if you truly watch over us, grant me a way out. Or is your light meant only for those with coin and power, like those powerful noble and knight families? please prove our thoughts wrong. Please.…" I looked up towards the sky once more with anxious eyes and there was no response from above.

Everyone knew of the stories of powerful heroes who prayed to their god, and the power of blessings conveniently descended in their time of need, but I wasn't special enough for The Goddess Luminaris to take pity on. I wasn't a hero. I wasn't even someone special enough for the goddess to care. Maybe she wasn't even worthy of belief anymore.

The metal handle of the door was heavy, not even being able to open it halfway I slipped through the crack I created. Even the air felt heavy like it was pressing me into the marble floor. My breathing quickened.

Looking around and finding the man, I took up a position behind him glancing around. 

The air was thick with the bitter tang of ink and damp stone, and the floor beneath my feet felt cold even through my thin wooden sandals, the uneven tiles threatening to trip me with every step. 

We were in a spacious room, dimly lit by large iron lanterns on either side. There was no decor, only quaint dark grey walls. In the middle of the room stood a desk and a woman with a strict appearance, staring into a book. 

Civic Patrol officers were present with men's arms bound in rope-like restraint, I could've only assumed they were due for public execution or prison.

Instead of waiting, we walked straight into the interior beyond the woman, as she turned to the man guiding me with a gentle smile for a moment before turning back to her business-like appearance.

The building opened up into corridors linked with thick wooden doors adorned with a plate showing the name and title of the person beyond it, each guarded by a watchful eye. The walls were covered in dull paintings. Turning left and left again down the winding corridors, we stopped in front of the door.

The nameplate gleamed dully under the lantern's light.

'Mr. Dorothy, Bondmaster.' 

The title hung like a noose over my neck. The man opened the door, and pushed me into the room that smelled of ink.

 Behind the desk sat a figure with hollowed cheeks and tired eyes that gleamed with cold calculation. He looked up at me, his thin lips curled into a smirk.

"You must be the next consignment," he said, his voice a silken dagger.