In the western reaches of the northernmost continent lay Frostpoint, frostbitten and unforgiving capital.
Along Millner's Row, a pale boy fought his way through a bundled crowd, elbows sharp as broken glass, barely fast enough to dodge complaint. A few curses were muffled behind wool scarves, a rough hand grazed his collar.
Then he slipped into the warmth of a Bakery.
Inside, the harsh world outside faded beneath the scent of fresh bread and the glow of a small stove. The frost coating the windows caught the morning light like a fractured crystal.
'Damn Frostpoint.' The boy thought as he rubbed warmth back into his fingers. 'No city should look this pretty and feel this hostile.'
"Morning, Mr. Durren! Y'know, I wasn't even planning on stopping by, but I smelled the bread from down Millner's and couldn't resist."
Behind the counter stood an aging man with a flour dusted apron. His beard was half gray, half dusted with flour.
"Really?" the baker said, puffing up slightly. "Of course you could smell it. I make it fresh every morning. Who could resist the sweet scent of my sourdough?"
"Whoa, let's not get ahead of ourselves," the boy said, flashing a grin. "I'm sure there's someone out there who'd pass on it. I mean, nose blindness is a real thing. Scientific even... Probably."
Durren sighed and leaned on the counter. "There you go again, being a smartass. One of these days, Veyn, you're goin' to-"
"Yeah, yeah, I know. One of these days I'll get caught, learn respect, and probably be recruited by the city watch."
He rolled his eyes. "Anyway, how much for a loaf of that world famous bread?"
The baker crossed his arms. "Three coppers."
Veyn paused. "Three? Wasn't it two last week?"
"Everything's gone up," Durren muttered. "Flour costs more. Fuel costs more. Hell, I have to bribe two different watch patrols just to keep my oven lit without them confiscating half my stock for the war effort."
Veyn didn't argue. What was the point? The war had a way of raising prices, especially for gutter rats like himself.
'Right... the war.' Veyn thought, not bothering to hide his lack of enthusiasm. "Remind me again who we're fighting? Some rebellion across the bay or maybe those people with better treehouses than us?"
Durren gave him a sharp look.
Veyn raised his hands. "I'm just asking."
He knew damn well who they were fighting. He'd stolen three different versions of the same newspaper last week. But there was an art to playing stupid, especially when it made people drop their guard. Folks were always more generous when they thought you were too dumb to be dangerous.
As the baker huffed and turned to check the back oven, Veyn quietly slipped a fresh loaf into his jacket and quickly hid the bulk beneath his coat.
"Tell you what," he said casually, "a loaf and a slice of that chocolate cake in the window. Yes, that one, I was absolutely eyeing it when I was walking down 53rd." He said, purposely contradicting what he said earlier.
Durren turned back, brow raised, eyes narrowing beneath his flour dusted brows.
"What? No. Three coppers for the loaf, that's final. And I thought you said you smelled it from down Millner's? Not from 53rd? And how could you even smell anything in this cold anyway?"
Veyn put on a guilty look, lowering his head slightly. In the same motion, he swiped a muffin from the counter and shoved both hands into his coat pockets.
"I-I was just trying to be nice," he mumbled.
Durren hesitated. The boy looked so pitiful, thin, cold, paler than most Karethari children, with that hungry sharpness lurking behind the charm. The baker's expression softened.
"…Fine," he said with a sigh. "You can have the loaf and the slice of cake."
Veyn's face lit up like a candle flame in a draft. "Really!? Thanks so much! But, uh..."
"Yeah?"
"Well, remember how I said I thought it was two coppers?"
"…Yeah."
"Well… turns out I only brought two coppers."
"You what!?"
Before the man could finish, Veyn tossed the coins onto the counter, grabbed a second loaf from the front display, and on his way out swiped a fistful of chocolate cake like a hawk diving on prey.