She found herself in an alley, surrounded by exhausted children.

She felt tears rising to her eyes, rising to some surge of emotion whose cause and origin was already buried, quite irretrievably, in time-- for the girl whose memory could win it back was no longer there.

Instead, it was the B-rank Adventurer, famed for her charm and good looks, Vallorine, who now inhabited the body of the lost child.

Finding herself in such a place as another body, much less that of a child's -- she blinked in confusion -- the warm tears fell and ran down her cheeks -- her face flushed.

She had never felt so weak in her life. Her arms were heavy to lift. Her legs were numb. Due to her fasted state, her thoughts moved slowly and dreamily.

The streets behind the enshadowed walls were full of chatter and commotion -- they were in the mid of a City with all its color and bustle -- but the alley had a strange hush by contrast. The little fragile bundles surrounding her, that held the tired children, were oddly still, silent, cold. Some of them could be, in fact, void of life.

A couple of older children were going from dingy bundle to dingy bundle, patting the bodies, searching them for anything they could use or sell.

 

* * * * *

 

Five days had passed. 

A little bundle of rags that reached the floor, and trailed like the train of a crusty gown, moved along the aisles of a former church in the center of the slums, whose sacred architecture served now to shelter all most base and hideous inclinations of the impoverished.

Ahead of the little bundle, a group of children stopped before high doors that had used, decades past, to lead into a private courtyard, but now led into the outdoor offices of the leading "Association" in the district. The grand threshold used to dwarf grown adults, and now they made the children resemble little brown mice, sitting exposed in the middle of the floor.

The little bundle sat down by one of the columns.

"Where are you going?"

"We have an appointment with Trico today. We are going to his office."

"Trico won't see y'all little shits there. 'Tis hollowed ground, and to tread lightly there is to tread weakly, to tread unboldly, which is to say, to infect his high authority."

"Ah, sorry, sorry, we shouldn't have assumed. Apologies!"

"Hmm..." (the older boy looked at them wearily; then) "Wait there at one of the seats." (gesturing toward the pews behind them)

"...how long do you think he'll take?" (the only girl in the group ventured)

She could have said that one of their members was on the brink of death. She could have said they needed food now not later. But pity was not only absent in these streets, it was scorned. The emotion was not, as in higher social strata, a signifier of prosperity, good family, and a magnanimous nature, but the property of old whores, weak drunkards, and people who no longer strove to leave their wretched state,--only to attain some modicum of comfort in it... And least of all was pity felt by children, children who had made it this far.

"It'll take as long as it should dammit!" (cried the older boy)

"Of course! of course! excuse my impoliteness!" (the girl, bowing repeatedly)

"Hmmmmm..."

The older boy looked at them wearily once more, as though he were quite used to their type. Then, reaching a knob in the middle of one of the giant doors, he opened a little door embedded in the grand door itself and quickly shut it behind him.

The group of children conferred among themselves. Then, seeing no other option, they went to sit at the pews.

"If he dies, then he's too weak for us. We can only take the strong." (the girl, who appeared to be the leader of the group)

The others nodded with a childish show of resoluteness. "Too weak...too weak..." (they echoed bravely)

"But if fate should have it so, he shall receive the share that, in being a member of our "Startup" -- kin to our single Identity, cause, and desire -- was his by desert."

This seemed to bring the little ones some feeling of emotion. They looked at her admiringly, full of an incomprehensible confidence.

 

Hours passed.

The little bundle of rags on the floor had long been forgotten, and taken as just one more pile of rags in the abandoned church.

At the pews a few of the children had nodded off. A pair of them kept guard, used to a life of vigilance.

Throughout the church, grown adults -- their faces twisted by hardship, "harsh realities", alcohol, disease -- shambled slowly from alcove to alcove.

Prostitutes plied their trade at the outskirts, at the wall of confessional booths, and at the entrance to the crypt of a martyr, whose graven name had been rubbed illegible.

Thieves recruited comrades at an alcove where a fresco of the God of Weapons rising in flames from hell, was still preserved.

Stray seedy individuals and supplicants, like the group of children, were scattered amid the pews.

At the altar, a fat drunk slept.

But finally, the little door within a door opened again. The older boy they had talked to before stepped out. He was followed by another older boy, about 14 or 15, who sported a nun's coif (somehow he had managed to cock it to one side, like a newsboy cap) and wore it with great self-importance.

Little elbows flew. The group rose all at once, some of them stumbling from sleepiness and hunger, and bowed their heads to the Chief Financial Officer (CFO) of the Association.

"What you want?" (CFO)

"Brisk but sweet, brisk but sweet, m'lord. We want nothing more than, than the -- I won't say "owed" -- or "deserved" -- but was, once, one fortnight ago, most generously offered us! And 'tis for that, that this's that's appointment we keep." (the girl)

The gatekeeping boy rushed to the CFO's side and whispered something rapidly in his ear.

"Mm? The hog subjugation?" (CFO)

"Ah, yes! m'lord!"

"Mm...what the tails. The tails. The hog tails."

"Ah, m'lord --"

"The tails. Where the tails."

"'Tis...because the market price of the tails were so low...and the hide so heavy..."

"No tails?"

"We can gather them! We can do better!"

The CFO shook his head.

"We circulated the chance, expecting a whole hog. Even though you are so little, trustingly. But what do we get? A damaged hide? Like it was skinned by a cretin? Meat cut all wrong? What, did you think that hog ears were enough? Did you think we needed a gang of 6 year olds to do our subjugations?"

The girl could no longer reply. Her energies were entirely devoted to keeping a straight face in front of her followers.

"Trustingly! But betrayed! Betrayed! O, world!" (CFO)

With this, he turned and disappeared through the little door within a door, stepping gingerly over its heightened threshold.

The little children gazed at the colossal door of the door, raising their heads as they tried to take in the entirety of it. Though the CFO had used only the door embedded within, and though the great door was mostly ornamental, they seemed almost to think that it was the latter he had used and shut upon them.

The gatekeeping boy had stayed behind and now approached her.

"In the Lord's generosity of spirit, he bequeaths to thee these five rocks, stamped with the seal of the Association, redeemable at all participating outposts for any bracelet, sack, rag, umbrella, hat, and much much more of your choosing."

"What of sustenance?" (the girl)

"Mana sustenance? That's 3 silver coins."

She looked behind her. The youngest of the children, whom they had left lying on their plushest rags on the stone of the pews, had entered the blueish pallor that signified mana death.

"Nevermind..."

"That all? Well. Don't hesitate to reach out should, perchance, any our bulletins inspire, ebulliate, or remind. Our doors are always open." (he gestured to the entrance of the church behind them in the distance) "And we will find your usage."

He nodded dismissively and disappeared in the little door within a door.

The children, weakened by what had just happened, could barely go the few steps back to the pew, where they collapsed in a daze.