Chapter 11: Bound by Fate

Fox—that was the name by which this man was known. Real names had long since been discarded, buried in filth and chaos. The man, appearing to be in his forties, looked down imperiously at the young beggar. For a moment, he seemed taken aback by the boy's near-naked form beneath a threadbare blanket, but he recovered quickly and spoke.

"Well, well… I wondered who it might be. Turns out it's just a half-dead little rat. You rarely deal with us—what brings you here today?"

Without a word, the beggar flung aside his blanket and held out the infant girl nestled within. Oblivious to her surroundings, the baby gazed up at the beggar with emerald eyes, babbling softly in meaningless murmurs.

"Selling a girl. Twenty Suras."

Fox's treacherous face froze in an instant. He glanced nervously outside, then yanked the beggar inside and slammed the door shut behind him with a resounding bang. His eyes, now filled with dread, bore into the beggar and the child in his arms.

"...Little rat, where did you get this baby?!"

The beggar's gaze was cold, his right hand hidden behind his back while his left held out the swaddled infant.

"Traffickers don't ask questions. Twenty Suras."

Fox slid open a peephole and scanned the alley once more. Only after confirming it was empty did he exhale and turn back to the boy, a knowing smirk curling his lips.

"Little rat, are you aware? Last night, dozens of newborns vanished from the city. The city guard's in a frenzy. And as luck would have it, our 'honorable' mayor is currently hosting a visiting princess from a foreign land—just one night, en route home. With such chaos brewing, the streets are under tight scrutiny."

The beggar fell silent, his outstretched hand retreating slowly. His eyes flicked toward the back door—clearly, he was preparing to flee.

But Fox noticed the shift in his stance. He stepped in front of the door with a cruel grin. "The mayor's offered a hefty reward for any leads. I'm sure you've realized—if I hand over you and that baby, imagine how much I'd make."

"Need help, kid?"

A voice echoed in the beggar's mind—cold and dark. He felt the chain on his right wrist stir. A dagger's hilt now rested in his palm.

With a weapon in hand, the beggar grew calm. He concealed his right hand beneath the blanket, waiting for the right moment.

Fox remained oblivious. Or rather, from that eternally vacant face, one could discern nothing. With another sneer, he continued, "Relax. I'm not stupid enough to offer you up as a gift. Even an idiot could see that there's no way a scrawny rat like you stole nearly a hundred infants in one night. The mayor might think you're merely a pawn. But without a mastermind to blame, and with pressure mounting to solve the case, guess who'd be their scapegoat? That's right—me. And I'd be swinging from the gallows beside you."

Fox extended a greasy hand, grime embedded under his fingernails. "Now then, little rat. After everything I've told you, you must understand how dangerous it is to wander the streets with a baby. Hand her over, and be on your way. Go crawl back to your sewer."

The beggar stared at the hand—filthy, slick with oil. After a long pause, he pulled back the blanket once more and held the baby out.

Fox chuckled. A child is still a child, he thought. No matter how cold or clever, they still fear death, still fall for tricks. He stepped forward, reaching to take the infant. That large, filthy hand hovered above the swaddled girl—reflected in her jewel-like eyes.

He gripped the bundle—only to howl in pain.

He yanked his hand back, blood blooming from a gash on his wrist. A blade, impossibly sharp, had sliced him. The beggar had hidden it beneath the baby, striking the instant Fox touched her.

"You little bastard! You dare—"

Fox's curse died on his lips. A blast of icy wind swept through the room.

The beggar stood at the threshold, the open back door behind him revealing a world encased in frost. The baby in his left arm, his right still hidden beneath his cloak, his frozen stare fixed on the bleeding man.

"You think you can run? I'll kill you!"

Fox snatched a cloth from a nearby shelf and wrapped it around his wrist. He lunged.

"I'll go to the guard."

The beggar's words, colder than the wind, stopped him in his tracks.

One foot braced against the door, the beggar glared at him. Then he stepped forward, offering the child once more.

"Buy her. Or I take her to the mayor. I'll tell him you hired us—many of us—to steal baby girls, ready to smuggle them out of the city."

"You…!"

Fox's eyes widened in terror. He dared not move. The back door was custom-built with multiple auto-locks—it would take at least thirty seconds to reopen if shut. Thirty seconds the boy could use to vanish into the snow.

Fox was cornered. A child's testimony might carry little weight, but a known criminal like him, caught in such a net, could hardly protest innocence. Especially not under a mayor desperate for a quick resolution.

And so—he smiled.

Clutching his wounded arm, he forced a jovial tone. "Ah, come now. Why make this ugly? We're all just trying to survive. Fine, I'll buy her. Twenty Suras, was it? Done."

He reached for his wallet, only to find, after rummaging through coins, that he had but seventeen Suras. Face twisted in dismay, he looked up.

"My young friend, you see…"

"Two hundred."

The beggar pushed the child forward once more.

"Two… hundred? But you said—"

"Before you told me about the missing infants—twenty. After you told me—two hundred."

"But… I only have seventeen—"

Without hesitation, the beggar withdrew the baby and reached for the door.

This time, Fox panicked for real. His composure broke, his eyes pleaded. The man who had survived the darkest gutters now seemed ready to fall to his knees before a street urchin.

He begged—once, twice, again and again—but the beggar ignored him. As the fifth plea passed unanswered, the boy stepped toward the snow.

The winter sun—feeble but blinding—bathed the infant's face, glinting through her eyes into the boy's.

"Wuu… wua…"

The baby reached for him, her tiny hands trembling.

But—

"Wuu… cough… cough cough…"

The cold pierced her frail body. Her cheeks flushed red, and her emerald eyes fluttered shut. A fit of violent coughing shook her tiny frame.

The beggar's icy eyes blurred with a sudden haze. He tucked her into his chest, carefully shielding her hands under the blanket. All the while, one foot still held the door ajar, and his gaze never strayed from Fox—warning him not to approach.

"Oh? Sick, is she?"

Fox's eyes lit up with a shift in tone. The groveling vanished; he straightened.

The beggar finished wrapping the child, holding her close against his skin. Then he looked up, expression hard.

"Ah, my dear 'young master,'" Fox sneered. "If the girl's sick, then forgive me—I won't be buying."

The beggar said nothing, but didn't shut the door. He was waiting, listening for Fox's hidden intent.

Fox sauntered to a torn sofa, crossed one leg over the other, and lit a cigarette. After a luxurious puff, he sneered.

"Go to the mayor if you like. But I won't pay a coin for a dying brat. Every business can be done—except one that loses money. She's burning up, isn't she? Probably fevered for days. I doubt she'll survive the next snowstorm. Two hundred Suras? For that? Not a chance."

The beggar pondered for a long moment before speaking, voice low and cold.

"Her mother was beautiful. When she grows up, she will be too. She'll make you a lot of Suras."

"Beautiful?" Fox snorted, smoke curling from his lips. "What do you know of women, runt?"

He exhaled a ring and scoffed. "Even if her mother was lovely, who says the daughter will be? And she's just been born—it'll be ten years before she's of use. I'm to raise her for a decade? And with her illness? No one will take in a sickly child out of pity. I won't spend a single coin."