The icy wind howled, whipping Kaelxi’s roughspun tunic into a ragged flap. The ill-fitting sack barely covered her torso, leaving arms and legs bare to the biting snow. Fat snowflakes dusted her golden hair and brows, frosting them white.

Kaelxi struggled upright. Her tiny, bare feet were crimson and numb. *Maybe that’s good*, she thought. *At least I won’t feel the stones cutting my soles.*

Leaning against a wall, she staggered out of the garbage heap, swaying toward a distant glow. Night and storm clouds blurred together—no telling time or weather. The light seemed near, yet impossibly far. She crawled on, strength gone. *Just keep moving. To survive.*

Crawling. Struggling. Advancing.

The sweet scent of bread hit her. The glow was right there.

"Oh my! Poor child, what’s happened to you?"

Kaelxi lifted her head. An aproned old woman stared down, eyes wide with shock.

"I’m... so hungry... so cold..."

Gruntingly, the woman carried Kaelxi into her bakery, settling her by the stove. Kaelxi perched on a stool, stretching her hands toward the flames. Firelight danced in her moss-green eyes. The woman draped a woolen blanket over her shoulders, gazing with tender pity.

"Poor thing. Starving, aren’t you?"

Kaelxi rubbed her stomach, giving a tiny nod.

The woman patted Kaelxi’s fluffy hair. "First batch of bread’s almost ready. You’ll eat soon."

"May I ask your name?"

"Alisha. Call me Granny Alisha."

"Thank you, Granny Alisha."

"What a good girl."

Before the city woke, Granny Alisha—baking as usual at dawn—had taken in the Elf child collapsed outside her shop.

Dawn broke. Sunlight couldn’t pierce the storm clouds, but streets brightened. The city stirred. Bread would soon be ready. A new day began.

Kaelxi stayed on, helping Granny Alisha in the bakery. She refused wages—rent ate most profits, and the old woman had saved her life. Still, Granny Alisha insisted on five copper coins daily. *Enough for three loaves each. A full day’s meal for most.*

Six quiet months passed. Neighbors knew the bakery’s sunshine-bright Elf girl. Folks walked extra blocks just to buy bread and glimpse her smile. Kaelxi hated the attention—she still couldn’t accept this Elf body—but sales rose. *A small blessing.*

Her life seemed peaceful. But Kaelxi craved wealth.

That first night, she’d crawled a full kilometer from garbage heap to bakery. *I saw that faint light from so far.* Her Rogue awakening that night had saved her—enhanced vision cutting through the blizzard.

Stealing from nobles? Too risky. In this lawless world, aristocrats’ private punishments were brutal. And this body... *Ugh.* The thought of noble hands on her skin made her shudder. *"Ew."*

But Rogues adapt. *Where there’s a will, there’s a shady way.*

Every afternoon, Granny Alisha sent her to dump day-old bread scraps. Burnt crusts were trash to Cesecity’s citizens—but gold to beggars. Kaelxi built loyalty by secretly feeding them in the slums.

During guard-shift changes, she’d hire beggars as "queue-fillers" at the city gates, collecting tidy "entry fees." For richer targets, she’d tail them through alleys, confident she could lift wallets unseen. She avoided nobles—too dangerous—and never hit more than one mark per day. Death had taught her caution. And pain terrified her.

She targeted Blackiron Rank adventurers or small merchants: flush with coin, but slow to chase if caught.

Today, outside the gates, she spotted a Blackiron mage. His crumpled robes and exhausted eyes screamed easy prey. The Adventurers’ Guild badge on his chest glinted—*fat sheep*. When he pulled out gold coins, Kaelxi’s breath hitched. *Mine.*

After he entered Cesecity, the beggars dispersed. Kaelxi followed, crouched low on rooftops. Then he wiped sweat from his brow—and nearly spotted her.

Thirst clawed her throat. She ducked behind a chimney, gulping from her waterskin.

*Gulping... gulping...*

"*Haaah...*"

Roof-walking while drinking? Bad idea. As she tucked the skin away, her foot caught on a tile ridge. She fell forward—hands trapped behind her back—landing chest-first on the roof.

*Thud.*

Her soft curves flattened against the tiles.

"*Yaaah!*" She scrambled up, wincing, sweat beading on her forehead. She chugged more water, then glared down at her heaving chest.

"Useless lumps! I’ll cut you off someday!" She slapped them hard.

*Slap!*

*Ripple ripple.*

"*Eeew!*" She winced again, rubbing the sting.

*Cut them off?*

*...Would it hurt?*

*—Too much.*

*...Later.*