1.1

Flint sat against an alley wall, his black hair matted with dirt against his forehead. His caved cheeks and dark under-eyes were caused by starvation. No matter how much he'd begged for work that day, nobody had even a shoe for him to shine. After all, who would interact with a cursed halfworlder despite all the rumors?

Indeed, Flint was the result of a selfish otherworlder and a naïve native woman. But he'd loved his mother despite her foolishness. When his father returned after 8 years, drunken and delusional, his mother refused to give herself over to him once more. And so his father used his powers against her, the same powers bestowed upon him to protect the world from evil. He even had the nerve to act surprised when his old flame fell down in a bloody mess, folding on the ground like a used bandage-wrap.

Flint had observed it all from the other room. He watched as his father's look of surprise changed to anger, and how he'd kicked his mother's limp body in rage before storming out. Looking back, Flint realized that his father probably never even knew of his existence. His mother never got the chance to tell him. Flint hated otherworlders.

A growl from Flint's stomach snapped him back to reality.

"No work means another day of thievery," he mumbled to himself. "Baker Gray is likely taking his lunch around this time. He'll leave his storefront unattended like always."

Flint wrestled himself up against the alley wall, his joints creaking in protest. Water, too, would be nice. As Flint hobbled through the crowded street, he combed his hand through his hair. His damned black hair paired with his crimson eyes marked him as a cursed halfworlder. His hair he could cover, but his eyes were a challenge. Not to mention, concealing one's identity as a cursed halfworlder was punishable by death. And death sentences for his kind were slow -- excruciating.

***

Flint passed some higher end stores on his way to the bakery. The tome store, the magical gear store, and the alchemy workshop were the ones that caught his eye. He'd always wished he could enter and just browse for a bit, but he would certainly be removed in an instant.

When Flint reached the bakery it was just as he'd thought. Free pickings. He quickly grabbed a loaf in either arm and, looking over his shoulder, began to run away on his creaky legs. Only a moment later, he made impact with a large man's gut and fell to the ground. When he looked up, he saw none other than Baker Gray. He didn't think it possible for his stomach, which was already eating itself, to feel any worse. He was wrong.

Baker Gray's face turned crimson at the sight of his signature bread in the hands of a filthy street-rat. He grabbed Flint by his hair and began to drag him back towards the shop. Flint's mind began to race as the spectacle began to attract the attention of those on the stone road around them. He'd been careless -- caught for the first time in years. Flogging was the minimum sentence for thievery. With no access to medical treatment, the wounds inflicted on him by the flogging would quickly fester. In his current condition, he wouldn't survive a week. It was over. All these damned years of struggling for nothing!

As he watched baker Gray reach for the whistle he kept by his stand at all times, he began to struggle wildly. Grunting and crying, he weakly tried to break out of the baker's grip.

"Stop that, vermin!" Baker Gray shouted, clutching Flint's hair tighter and rattling him back and forth. "Accept your punishment like a man."

"You don't understand!" Flint yelled, pushing the baker's leg. "They'll kill me! They'll really kill me!"

"Vermin like you are always dramatic. They'll flog you, that's it." Gray said, grabbing his whistle and put it to his lips.

As he took a deep breath in preparation to release the squeal that would signal Flint's end, a voice called out from the road.

"Stop! I'll pay for those loaves."

Flint's heart fluttered. A rare do-gooder. He looked up to see a boy who must have been around his age. The stranger wore expensive leathers with a gray-green cloak and a fine broadsword strapped to his hip that must have cost a small fortune. However, these features were among the least shocking to Flint. The boy's hair was black, his eyes a dark brown, and his skin uncommonly pale.

"Otherworlder," Flint whispered to himself.

Baker Gray noticed it shortly after Flint did, loosening his grip on Flint's hair slightly and giving a short half-bow.

"I beg your pardon otherworlder, but the money isn't the problem," Gray said, sighing. "It's about setting an example. For some reason, these street vermin seem to think my shop is an easy target! And why bread, there's stands that sell fruit, meat-"

"I'll pay double," the boy interjected, pulling out a bulging coin purse.

Gray paused, eyeing the purse for a moment.

"I'm sorry, but like I said, this isn't about the money," he said, waving a hand dismissively.

"Triple," The boy said, already pulling coins out of the purse.

"Ten times the price and I'll let the boy go," Gray countered, a greedy smirk creeping onto his face.

A bidding battle. What would the boy counter-offer?

"Done," The boy said, quickly shelling out twenty coppers and handing them to Baker Gray.

Flint's breath caught in his throat. Just like that? No bartering? Just how wealthy was this otherworlder?

It took Flint a moment to realize he'd already been released. Baker Gray chuckled, pouring the coppers from his hand into his own coin-purse.

"Keep the bread and the boy," he said aloud, then under his breath whispered, "fool."

If the otherworlder had heard Gray's last comment, he didn't let it show. Instead, he turned to Flint, offering an open hand and lifting him to his feet.

"Come with me. You look to be in need of a bath," he said, turning his back and walking briskly down the road.

***

Flint ladled the piping hot water down his back. The inn-keeper had warned him to let the bath cool a little, but the water was too inviting. He rubbed his bread-filled stomach with soap, watching the dirt that had crusted his skin for so long become part of the muddied water. It felt as if his bones were thawing after having been frozen-through for years. He took a deep breath. Contentment. A rare feeling indeed.

He thought about the otherworlder. He'd hated them for so long. Some days his hatred of them had even been what had kept him going. The thought of exacting revenge on his father one day had became a regular source of motivation for him to draw on. He'd heard that otherworlders were all devils in sheep's clothing from other street-rats like himself, but maybe they weren't all so bad. Today he was alive and well-fed because of one.

A knock on the door forced him from his blissful trance.

"Come in," Flint said.

The otherworlder peeked his head into the bath and smiled warmly.

"You know, I never caught your name."

"It's Flint."

"Flint, nice to meet you, I'm Hiroshi. I want you to know I don't usually help everyone I see like that, but you're different."

"Different how?"

"You're like us, aren't you?"

Flint paused for a moment, considering his answer. He wasn't really from the other world -- his father was. But the details weren't too important at the moment.

"I'm like you in that I'm different."

"That's enough for me. And I talked it over with the others. It's enough for them too."

"The others?"

Flint reached into his pocket, grabbing a wooden badge and tossing it to Flint. It portrayed a Griffin with a goblin in its beak. A party emblem.

"Flint, how would you like to join the Griffins?"