People died in the slums every winter. The old, the weak, the broken, their bodies discarded to the side of the road, waiting to be thrown into the burial pit. Just in the alley adjacent to the factories, three heaps of dust and snow had formed against the walls, three people who would never open their eyes again.

  Yet, a heap cracked from movement.

  Chunks of snow cascaded down Kael's bloodied bandages. His blue eyes were wide open, but his mind still struggled. He had no cloak or fire. If his wounds didn't kill him, the frost should have.

  And somehow, he did not shiver.

  "What happened to me?" Kael watched his trembling palm, the junk flower still there.

  Blood didn't ooze from the stabbed side of his abdomen. His skin, reddened from the corrosive water, stung much less. He could even feel strength in his broken arm. The wounds were still there. They just... seemed racing to heal.

  He leaned against the wall, sighing in relief at the flower.

  I had the will to survive, but not the means. Mom... it doesn't make sense, but I understand why you endured.

  Thinking of his mother's smile, he grinned. Only for his lips to freeze midway and his heart to stutter.

  He could see it as if she stood alive before him. He could hear her voice. But his chest didn't warm. His most precious memories, his treasures—they were there, but they felt... empty. Even the junk flower didn't represent her presence, but her absence.

  No, no, no.

  Gripping his head, locks of dark hair jutting between fingers curled like talons, he felt pain worse than the strike of the spawn who had shattered his arm. He tried to grasp the lost warmth, to remember the feeling, but only found the cold reality. It was gone. Forever.

  What had robbed him of the thing that kept him moving forward in this cursed world?

  Garrick's Black Cask, Tovin and ash, that cursed ledger, his broken promise to his mom...

  Terrified by what he had become, he foraged the snow for the only thing he could vent on: the ledger. His fingers found nothing except an unusable piece of his father's cloak that continued to dissolve at the edges.

  Instead, a soft light pulsed beside him. When he turned, he saw not the soggy ledger from yesterday, but one of fine leather and engraved arabesques, titled in gold, and releasing a smell of leather he never knew existed.

  The Ledger of Shattered Truths

  With trembling fingers, he flipped the cover to the first page. The sky-blue ink felt heavy to read—the words heavier.

  Truth of endurance, anchor, cost... price.

  They drilled in his mind as he slid against the wall until the ground stopped him.

  Brannick's powers had a price. So did his survival. He paid without knowing, without a chance to negotiate. Was it the ledger? They didn't own one. Perhaps treasures like those he retrieved for Garrick were mediums to awaken powers? Unlikely. His father owned nothing before the mine collapsed, but still wrote about something awakening in him.

  Does the ledger show me what I paid? Or does it record what I become? What do stress and breaking mean? And how did it become like this? I can't let anyone discover it or notice that I have powers until I find out.

  A grumble tore through his thoughts. He tried to cling to them, but hunger stabbed at his stomach, reminding him that he hadn't eaten since yesterday evening. Speculations could wait until he fed himself.

  From the corner of his eye, he noticed a silhouette pass by the alley. People died for less than being seen wearing only bandages, and just thinking about being seen made him drop the ledger. Mysteriously, it stopped mid-fall and silently hovered beside him. Frowning, he gripped it and scrambled to Sister Harrow's shelter, glancing at the clock tower. It was around six A.M.

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  At the edge of the alley, a woman leaned to see Kael's back better. "Did that book... disappear and reappear?" She muttered, rubbing her tired eyes. When she thought about leaving, her basket swung, and her steps took her inside the alley. "I... want to know. He'll tell me if I ask, right?"

  Kael drummed on the double doors of the night shelter before workers, beggars, and children claimed the streets.

  Children cried or screamed about their disturbed sleep until an aged voice grumbled. "Return to sleep, children. I'll see which poor soul decided to disturb you."

  A couple of seconds later, the rusted metallic doors creaked open, just enough to let Sister Harrow through. She looked down on Kael, a brow raised, the corner of her lips rising. She still wore that embroidered dark dress, making him feel more wretched in his bandages.

  "Kael, my child. I knew poverty was not the fate Morvana wove for you."

  "What did she weave, then? Death, like the bones I saw? You knew where you sent me, but you sold it as a mercy. How many children did you fool? How many more to pay for your next dress? Let me eat something, anything. Then, I'll leave." Snorting, Kael walked inside.

  Before he could, Sister Harrow's arm barred him from entering.

  Something sparkled in the depths of her blue eyes, but unlike before, he didn't avoid them.

  "Does it matter if you found out?" She laughed with the finality of a corrupt official closing an account book. "That's how things are here, Kael. You're still young, still naive. Why would I provide shelter and enough food to keep children alive if they didn't earn me? Yes, I advertise the most talented to the Black Cask, the Ragged Crown, or the Sump Dogs. I thought you'd earn me the most after Nessa died. I advertised your reading skills, you know? But why would they need them when they could teach one of their trusted members? No, Kael. You're bad business. So, why would I let you return after cutting my losses?"

  Kael clenched his fist. He had deduced most of it. But ties with the three largest gangs? Sister Harrow was much more than the aged woman he knew.

  "I know you won't. I'll take my altars, a pair of pants, even hollowed ones, and a shirt." Kael crouched beneath Harrow's arm, but she moved it almost as fast as he did.

  He twisted to the right. Again, her arm blocked him. Frowning, he stepped to the left, slowly enough to catch Harrow's movements. They were fluid, too fluid for someone over sixty. That, added to his discomfort when he looked her in the eyes, made him freeze. Sister Harrow was like Brannick and him. She had powers.

  Sister Harrow walked inside and began to close the door. "The other children recycled your altars. Die in the cold, or starve in the sewers, but this shelter has nothing to offer you."

  The coppery taste of blood filled Kael's mouth as he bit his lip. He watched the Harrow's smirk vanish behind doors that grunted that he could never return to this place. She dared to let others touch the altars he built for his parents. He wanted to curse her, to threaten her.

  What good would it do? Cheap words from an angry, broken him. No, she would pay without knowing how or when. Tovin and Ash, as well. And Garrick. They wanted him dead? He would survive.

  He glared at the ledger tucked beneath his armpit. He had lost everything for it, even the warmth from his memories of his mom. He would understand it, use it, become stronger.

  "Kael? Is that you?"

  A soft voice tore through his thoughts. He turned toward a girl two years older than him, her auburn hair breaking the monotony of cold colors. She wore a brown scarf over her grey dress patched with green pieces, and the basket she always carried around the slums' central district swung from her arm.

  "Els?" Kael grumbled, locking onto her green eyes. "What do you—"

  His bitter tone died in his throat as she extended her scarf. Her eyes slipped upward, and a slight blush crept onto her grime-stained cheeks. "To cover yourself... I... I saw you in the alley and at the bar yesterday. Rough night? Of course... you're wounded. But aren't you cold?"

  "Guess." Kael tied the scarf around his waist, then walked away. His stomach hurt from hunger. The sewers. Not that it rejoiced him, he could perhaps compete to catch a rat... disgusting. Dangerous, too. The Ragged Crown knew Garrick lied about him stealing treasures, not the Sump dogs. They might still be after him.

  "Wait!" Els pointed her finger at the ledger. "That book—"

  "Keep your nose out of it," Kael interrupted her.

  Els's hand dropped, but the knowing look in her green eyes didn't fade. She glanced at the shelter's closed door, then back at his bandages. "Fine. Don't tell me now. But you can't stay in the cold like that. Come. I'll get you something to wear and eat."

  She fished a bronze crown from her basket with a bright grin that made Kael step back. "Why would you?"

  "Why would I answer when you don't? Just kidding. I promised Nessa I'd help you if you really needed it, but you know my motto: survival over mercy. So, I expect you to return everything. With interest, of course." Els winked, then began to walk as if she knew he would follow.

  "Are you sure? I have nothing, you know?" Kael narrowed his eyes.

  "Paper's expensive. I'm not teaching you that." Els shrugged.

  Els was... like a sister. Back when his mom was healthy, she taught the girl how to earn the little money she showed him. Did he trust her, though? No. Not after Ash beat him up, and Tovin stabbed him. Still, the promised food made him move. As for the ledger? He would never sell it. Something told him that even a hundred gold crowns were far from its true value.