Chapter 57：Childhood pt1

"Hey!" An angry roar came from behind. The small boy didn't look back, he kept running with all his might, tightly hugging the loaf of bread in his arms. He was nimble and quick on his feet and evidently knew the city well. The thin, lanky boy navigated the intricate alleyways with ease and successfully lost his pursuer. He didn't let his guard down though, the young boy kept running until he was at a place he felt safe in.

This place was his home. It consisted of a few wooden crates for shelter and rocks that held everything down. Seeing this place, the boy noticeably relaxed. He panted and gasped for bread and looked gingerly at the bread in his arms. He crawled into his crates and opened his mouth widely. With a big chomp, he ate into the bread, quickly devouring the entire loaf in a mere minute.

Having tamed the pangs of hunger that attacked his stomach constantly, the boy rubbed his stomach and let out a small sigh. He crawled out of his crates and created a water mirror in the air with his mana. It was small, unstable and crude but did its job.

The boy gazed into his reflection. His golden hair was dull and unhealthy, his delicate face covered in dirt and dust, and his most noticeable feature, his heterochromatic eyes were shielded from by the world by his long bangs.

Using the water mirror he just created, Dylan scooped some water out and cleaned his face. He wiped off all the dust and immediately felt much more refreshed. Dylan had only been living on the streets for about two years, so he still retained a preference to being clean and only dirtied his face to avoid revenge from the people he stole from.

"Mmm, I don't think I can go to the bakery anymore. The uncle seemed really angry." Dylan sighed. He knew from experience that once you've been caught stealing from a place once, you could never go back again, else the consequences would be dire.

"Hah, I'm still hungry." Dylan lamented. Just then, a stray cat jumped off the wall and landed beside him. In its mouth was a dirty meat skewer that someone has presumably dropped on the ground. The cat placed the skewer on the ground and meowed at Dylan whilst rubbing its head against him. "Hm? You want me to have this?"

The cat meowed. Dylan pat the cat on its head and smiled. "Thank you." He muttered and picked the skewer up from the ground. Blowing the dirt off the meat, Dylan grinned and ate half of the entire skewer in one bite. It was gritty and cold from being on the ground but was still tasty and filled with meat juices.

"Here. You can have the rest." Dylan pushed the rest of the skewer off the stick and placed the meat in front of the cat. The cat meowed at him, as if to say he could eat it. Dylan snickered and pat the cat. "It's alright. I'm full already, and besides, you're the one that found it."

After hesitating for a bit, the cat started to much on the meat. It let out a happy and satisfied meow at Dylan before directly laying on his lap. It meowed at Dylan, demanding for rubs. Dylan chuckled and gave the little majesty what it wanted. He pat the cat until it purred with satisfaction and curled up into a little ball in his lap.

Dylan smiled and looked up at the blue sky. It was an annoyingly bright day that didn't seem to showcase how cold and miserable everything was. Fortunately, the little cat was there to provide Dylan some warmth, or he would have frozen to death from sitting on the cold hard ground.

Suddenly, Dylan felt the ground vibrating. Sounds of marching men echoed in the small alleyway and they got closer and closer to where Dylan was sitting. Alert, both the cat and Dylan jumped up and looked left and right for a place to hide. The cat jumped up onto the wall and its black fur blended in with the grimy wall, but Dylan didn't have anywhere to go. He couldn't climb up and run away since there the footsteps were too close. Without much of a choice, the young Dylan dove into the wooden crates and closed the entrance with the lid, peeping through the small gaps.

The sound of footsteps have stopped but Dylan still didn't get out of hiding. Deep down he was panicking about who they might belong to. Did the bakery uncle call the knights on me? Did the local gang finally decide that they wanted to kill me? Or is there a criminal on the loose that just so happened to run this way? Such thoughts ran through his head.

While Dylan was patiently waiting for the arrival of the invaders with a bated breath, the presence of a familiar man made itself known. The man had greasy blonde hair that clung to his face. He wore rags for clothes and was covered in dirt and dust. He was missing an arm and was incredibly malnourished.

The man was called Peter. He taught Dylan how to survive on the streets while he was clueless and barely getting by. Without him, Dylan would have long died a dog's death on the streets or joined one of the toxic gangs made of slum dwellers. To repay him, Dylan sometimes gave the man some scraps that he'd found after he's satisfied himself.

Peter looked at the crates lined up along the wall of the alleyway. "Dylan! Come out, it's alright." He yelled.

Dylan didn't move. Another thing that Peter taught Dylan was that you could never trust anyone on the streets. Even the nicest person could one day turn their backs against you and sell you out for benefits. He had even admitted that when offered things, he would not hesitate to sell Dylan.

"Dylan! I know you're here, come out!" Peter yelled impatiently, walking on his bare feet towards the wooden crates.

Sensing the danger, Dylan lifted up the side of the crates slowly, careful to not make a sound. Behind the wood was a hole. The hole didn't lead to anywhere and was just a hole in the wall but it was big enough for Dylan to fit inside. After squeezing inside, Dylan put the wood back down and covered his mouth with his hands, just in time to avoid the intrusive Peter.

Peter looked inside and found no one. Annoyed, he kicked the crates and made it rattle. Dylan was frightened and almost let himself be discovered, but fortunately, Peter was too worked up to hear the tiny squeak that Dylan let out.

"Where's the boy?" An unfamiliar voice asked. It was deep and angry sounding. Unpleasant and rude.

"A-Apologies sir. He may have gone out scavenging for food. This is his base, I'm sure he'll be back soon." Peter stuttered in a panic.

"And when is that?" It was a female voice now. She sounded condescending and arrogant, as if it was an honour that she was even talking to a filthy beggar.

"This, I'm not quite too sure. It depends on his luck whether or not he manages to find food." Peter answered honestly.

"We've already given you the money yet you have not given us what we want. Is this not worthy of death?" The man growled with undisguised hostility and let out a frightening blood lust.

"M-My apologies! Please forgive me, great lord!" Peter cried in fear. Also shocked, Dylan accidently hit the wooden board that hid him. Hearing the sound, the man was instantly alerted and the sound of a sword being drawn was heard. He slashed at the wooden crates without hesitation and destroyed Dylan's house, also revealing Dylan.

Dylan looked at the man with widened eyes. He was both afraid and shocked at the sudden violence.

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Author: Nostalgic, ain't it? I wrote this just for you, Dylan.

Dylan: My street days aren't exactly a pleasant memory.

Author: What? You don't think the start of endless drama and family feuds is a pleasant memory?

Dylan: You've just spoiled the god damn story!

Author: Eh, people already know. I mean, you admitted that you weren't close with your family and became a knight just to avoid them and also, it's a pretty common trope so yah.

Dylan: Sigh, you're hopeless. This is why you procrastinate so much.

Author: Hey! Leave my bad habits out of this! Or else I'll reveal your childhood photos to Sherry! You don't want her to see the small and skinny and short and dirty and weak Dylan do you?

Dylan: IMSORRYPLEASEFORGIVEMEALMIGHTYAUTHOR!!!!!

Author: That's what I thought.