“See, that wasn’t too hard,” she tapped his elbow, but it elicited no response. “Well, Ander, my name’s Bella, it’s nice to meet you.”

“...”

“Okay, okay. Ander, would you mind telling me where you’re from? Are you local?”

The silence went on, but she did receive a response. Instead of speaking, Ander raised his left hand, despite the pain, and pointed it at his skin just above his right elbow. There lay the crest of Sylrel, burned eternal in his flesh

“Oh gods…” It was exactly what she was afraid of. The night he had staggered to their door, Leon had taken up the responsibility of washing the boy and dressing his wounds, along with her aid in the application of the bandages. The moment they laid eyes on the marks adorning his skin, their entire perception of who the boy had been changed. It was no ordinary homeless who had made it through their woodland trial. There was no definitive way to be sure of it, but with the crest printed on his skin, it was clear who he was: a survivor of the cursed city.

“Are these tattoos?” She reached a hand out to touch the marks but stopped just an inch before them. 

“...They’re burns…”

“I see.” 

What else could she say to him? She, as well as the rest of the gang, had all been poor at one point. They had all endured suffering, be it from the orphanage or from deep in the gutter. She had little knowledge regarding Sylrel and its destruction, but what little she knew of it was devastating, even for someone who had no ties to the lost village at all. Buried in his soul were the memories of a lost home and, seeing as he was alone in the alley where they found him, a lost family. 

“I’ll go fetch some more soup,” without a word to follow up his revelation, she took the empty bowl in her hands and stood up, casting a doleful look down on his frail form. It was hard to see past the blonde hair spilling over his face, but she swore she saw a small smile grow on his lips, only to fade back into his stoic front. Her lips were pursed to speak, but she never did, opting to turn back towards the door to her right. Ander still had the water at his side, but just to be sure, she called back, “Anything else you’d like me to get you?”

“...”

“...My knife… Where’s my knife?”

“It’s in the basket beside the nightstand, as with everything else you had.”

“...Thank you…”

The words were spoken with true reverence, a far cry from his original indifferent tone. With a smile, she levied open the door and slipped back into the hallway leading to the den. Down the length of the corridor she paced to enter into the stronghold’s main room. Before her, the eager ears of the group sat, ready to absorb whatever information she had acquired.

“Well?” It was Sylas who spoke first, leaning forward in his chair beside the hearth. “Is it true?”

“Is the boy from Sylrel?”

“He is,” she spoke softly, her eyes closed.

“Hmm, that adds a whole new layer of complexity to this,” Came Leon from his seat beside Thaddeus. “We couldn’t be sure just off the tattoos…”

“They aren’t tattoos. They’re burns.”

“Burns?” A layer of concern spread across the swordsman’s face, erasing the furrow from his brow. “How’d that come about?”

“I never asked,” she replied. “I felt no need to. He’s in no condition to talk, that’s for certain.”

“Did you happen to get a name?”

“He goes by Ander, although it may be a false one. Just a thought.”

“The validity of his name isn’t what we should be worried about,” Sylas course-corrected the conversation. “A homeless boy from Sylrel, *sigh*, who knows what he’s been through. When did that happen, roughly?”

“Six months ago was the earliest I caught word of it,” Nallia replied. Being of the fabled Nyx, there was little her ears didn’t hear. “It could be longer, though.”

“Bella, how closed off was he? You said he was in no state to talk, right?”

“That he isn’t,” she shook her head. “He was slow to respond, and when he did, he was quite distant.”

“That’s to be expected, though,” Thaddeus thought himself right to chime in. “If he’s coming in off the street, and a harsh winter moreover, I’d imagine he would be quite distant. He’s had no easy time in the snow, that’s for certain. If I were him, I wouldn’t be all that open to damn near anyone, even if they did take me in. It’s a harsh world, and he’s just come out of it.”

“You’re quite right,” Sylas spoke. “That’s what worries me. It changes a person, sometimes irreparably. What’re the odds he never comes around, especially to a gang of thieves who, not a few days ago, tried to leave him for dead in the middle of a forest.”

“If he bore resentment against us, he wouldn’t have come back,” Leon thought aloud. “That, or he simply pushed it down to have a chance at survival. One can’t be sure with such little to go on.”

“Whatever grievances he has against us, he will have to put them aside. We should focus on getting him back to good health, and by then, he may be more willing to speak to us.”

“And if not? Are we so keen on wasting resources on someone who may be a liability?”

“Is that how you see this?” Leon spoke with a strong tone to his leader, who scowled at the swordsman. “Setting aside who we are, he did what we asked of him. With whatever honor we have, should we not at least help him?”

“And what if helping him puts us at risk as well?” Sylas shot back. “Say he gets some strength back. What would we be able to do if he were to run off one day and spill to the authorities where the stronghold is?”

“I didn’t.”

The whole room looked over at Damien, who was sitting beside Nallia on the aged couch opposite the hearth. “I went through the same trial he did, and despite you all leaving me in the same spot, I found myself willing to join you.”

“As did I,” Nallia added. “And that was before our strapping young archer joined.”

“Quiet woman.”

“If it weren’t for the boy sitting in our guest room, I’d say we were due for an ethics revision,” Leon said to no one in particular.

“I suppose you aren’t wrong, Damien,” Sylas mulled over the archer’s testament. “I guess keeping an eye on him for a while is the only precaution we would need… That does raise my second question. Who’s he to take up under?”

“I have my hands full already with that one,” Thaddeus threw a finger in Damien’s direction, who sank lower into his seat, poisoned by the unjust persecution. “It’s really between you three, isn’t it?”

The three adults in the room, Bella, Sylas, and Leon, all sent looks in one another's directions. Being the core four of the brigade, they were the ones best fit to take up an apprentice.

“I’m in no state to train a magii, not that we need a second,” Bella removed herself from the lot, leaving Leon and Sylas the remaining choices. “I’ve still got plenty of mastery ahead of me.”

“To be frank, an apprentice wouldn’t be that bad…”

“Sylas,” Leon leaned forward, staring his leader in the eyes. 

“And based on his frame, single-handed weapons may be a better fit for him…”

“Let me train him, please.”

“Oh, is that eagerness I hear in your voice?” Sylas grinned, crossing his legs. “And why are you so ready to pick up an apprentice?”

“You’re our leader, you have responsibilities beyond ours,” Leon began. “I’d be best equipped to take on the extra burden. Besides, let’s be honest, Sylas, you’re not the greatest when it comes to patience.”

“And here I thought you were about to rain praises on me!”

“I implore you, I want this. Having a student would only make me a better swordsman.”

“But do we need another swordsman?” Thaddeus asked. “Sylas uses long hatchets, you use a longsword. We’re not soldiers, we’re thieves, lighter armaments are preferable in our line of work.”

“I carry a sword not because it’s easy, but because it’s my honor to do so. If need be, he can carry a lighter blade. I may be a thief, but I follow a path paved with pride, not in myself, but in my mastery of my craft. There’s much you can learn from a sword. A blade will temper you far greater than you can ever sharpen it.”

“I don’t need platitudes, Leon, I need effectiveness. I need him to be valuable.”

“Then value you will get,” the swordsman sent his leader a stoic look. “Please… Let me teach the boy.”

“If you so dearly wish to teach him, then he’s all yours, Leon. So long as he makes use of himself.”

“All of this talk leans on the idea that he’ll come around to us,” Bella said with a sigh, slowly approaching the hallway to the kitchen where the stew was stored. “I have faith in him, as anyone else would, with pity. But there’s no telling what the world’s done to him… To have wandered all the way from Sylrel to Vimbaultir, he must have been cast out from places along the way, that’s for certain.”

“Leave those who cry omen to their omens, and those who curse to their curses, it doesn’t matter here,” Sylas said. “Whatever burdens he carries, it’d be smart not to leave him with them for long. He should be kept busy, to whatever capacity he can.”

“Based on the piles of bear meat in our storage, I’d say that capacity is quite high,” Thaddeus scoffed.

“So it may be. Leon, when Bella feels him ready to learn, you can teach him.”

“That I will,” Leon nodded his head, sending thanks in Sylas’ direction.

“Until then,” Sylas stood up, patting down his pelt coat. “Bella, if there’s anything else he lets out, be sure to let us know.”

“That I will,” she replied as she paced towards the kitchen. “Let’s just hope there is anything else…”