"You really rented a house?"
Richard's voice cracked with disbelief, and for a moment even he looked embarrassed by his own words. He had only said that line earlier to give the boy some hope, a nudge to push him away from the slums. But deep inside, Richard had been certain it was impossible. Children didn't simply walk into the city, strike a deal with landlords, and walk out with keys in hand— unless it was one of those rotting, rat-infested shacks in the gutters where crime festered like mold.
Yet here Dusk was, standing before him with calm certainty.
Richard exhaled slowly. This kid… he's something else.
"Oh…" Richard's brows pinched together as the realization struck him. "So you got the house that witch lived in. Hmmm." His tone shifted, somewhere between surprise and unease. "She left Lightfall Mountain for six months. We only caught her when she came back. Her friend found out her suspicious activities and reported it to the Church."
He studied Dusk carefully, watching for a flicker of fear or hesitation. But the boy's expression remained unreadable.
"We searched her house," Richard continued. "There was nothing in there. Whatever she was hiding, she must've destroyed or moved."
"Lightfall Mountain?" Dusk muttered, his tone low, thoughtful, as though tasting the name on his tongue. It was familiar, like a melody he'd heard in a dream but couldn't place.
"It's a mountain east from here," Richard explained, gesturing vaguely toward the horizon. "Not far. But dangerous if you don't know its paths."
The boy fell silent, the weight of the name lingering in his mind. Richard didn't press further. Instead, he clapped his hands lightly against his sides, shaking the moment away. "Come on. Since you've got yourself a roof, I'll show you the work I promised."
---
The two made their way through the church's stone corridors, the air cool and heavy with the faint scent of incense. Sunlight filtered through colored glass windows, splashing the floor in fractured patterns of red, blue, and gold. The church was alive with murmurs of prayer and the shuffling of boots, yet somehow, in Richard's presence, it felt quieter— steadier.
They stepped out into the side courtyard where the bustle of daily labor hummed. Children carried water jars, clerics sorted books, and priests gave instruction. Richard led Dusk through the flow of bodies and down a narrow passage that opened into a modest kitchen annex.
The smell of boiled broth and herbs greeted them. Inside, an old woman hunched over a table, chopping carrots with a steady rhythm. Her gray hair was tied into a messy bun, and her apron bore stains of countless meals. Despite her frailty, her movements carried the sharp precision of long habit.
"Mother Elara," Richard greeted.
The old woman looked up, eyes narrowing slightly. "You're here for food, boy? Too late. Breakfast is over."
Richard coughed. "Training ran long and no I am not here for food." Then, quickly shifting the topic, he placed a hand on Dusk's shoulder. "This is Dusk. He'll be helping you from today onward."
Elara's gaze swept over the boy, pausing long enough to make him shift slightly on his feet. "Thin as a reed," she muttered. "But better than nothing. My hands aren't as fast as they used to be."
Richard gave a polite nod and leaned closer to Dusk, lowering his voice. "This will be your duty. Helping her chop vegetables, fetch supplies, serve meals. Simple things, but important."
Dusk tilted his head. "That's… the job?"
Richard avoided his eyes, scratching the back of his neck. "Well, yes. You see, the truth is…" He hesitated, cheeks coloring faintly. Damn it. A knight apprentice shouldn't look like a liar in front of a kid. He straightened his back. "At the moment, there aren't many open positions in the church. The cleaning jobs, library duties, even guard rotations —they're all filled. But I gave you my word. And a knight's word is his bond."
His voice firmed as he said it. "So this is the best I could arrange. The woman who handled this duty before fell ill. Her daughter refused to continue the work. You'll step in."
Dusk's brow furrowed, as if weighing something.
Richard's lips pressed thinly. "It may not sound glorious, but it's a start. Besides, even knights must learn to serve before they lead."
Dusk's expression shifted. "No... I am grateful for the job. I am not sure if I can do well."
Elara snorted. "He'll learn quickly enough if he's not useless."
"Alright. I do my best " Dusk bowed.
Richard allowed himself a small breath of relief. "Good. Then from today onward, you'll report here in the mornings."
He took a step back, adjusting his cloak. "Oh, and before I forget— your wage. You'll earn two thales and ten fins per week."
He said it casually, already turning to leave.
But Dusk froze. His eyes widened, the words hitting him like a hammer.
Two thales. Ten fins.
He repeated it silently, his mind spinning.
In the city he came from, he had worked for months— sleepless, hungry months— just to scrape together forty fins. And here… in just two weeks, he would earn more than that.
His throat tightened. He clenched his fists, trying to ground himself in the present moment. This is real. This is happening.
Richard, unaware of the storm behind those steady eyes, walked forward toward the archway. His voice carried back. "Do your best, Dusk. Don't disappoint me."
---
The rest of the day blurred into motion.
Elara wasted no time. She thrust a knife into Dusk's hand and guided him to the cutting board. His fingers fumbled at first, too slow, too cautious, but her sharp words snapped him into rhythm.
"Not like that, boy! You're slicing for a stew, not carving wood. Faster!"
Sweat beaded on his brow as he tried again, chopping in steady patterns. Slowly, the mountain of vegetables dwindled beneath his knife.
Then came the pots. Heavy, steaming, full of broth that sloshed dangerously as he carried them across the kitchen. His arms shook, but he refused to falter. The old woman gave no praise, only curt nods that carried more weight than any spoken thanks.
By evening, he was exhausted. His fingers ached, his shoulders burned, yet something inside him felt strangely light. For once, his work was not simply survival— it had meaning. Each bowl of stew he helped prepare went into the hands of hungry children, wandering laborers, and weary travelers. He saw their smiles, their gratitude, and it carved a warmth into his chest.
Richard's words echoed in his mind. Even knights must learn to serve before they lead.
Dusk looked down at his calloused hands, a small flame of determination burning in his chest. This was just the beginning. He might become a Knight one day like Richard. The only reason he was so determined because he heard rumours about the Knight's salary.