Always Wanted to be a Baker
The mountain wind carried the warm aroma of baking bread across the city. Workers labored endlessly, pulling row after row of fresh loafs from massive ovens to feed the growing crowd. Though the sun was just rising into the sky, everyone was drawn from their beds by the promise of wheat.
The Rakkor culture prized strength above all else. The bakers would normally be considered members of the weak servant class, but even the strongest warriors must still eat. The necessity of bread for Rakkor society allowed the bakers a unique position of reverence among both the upper and lower castes. A baker had respect, from the paupers to the priests.
From his vantage point atop an opposing building, a young street urchin watches both the rich and poor congregate in one of their seldom shared rituals. The boy had no family. No name. No claim to the deeds of his ancestors, if there were any at all. He had no proof he even had the blood of a Rakkor, and thus was shunned by all. The Rakkor did not believe in orphanages or shelters and viewed vagrants of all ages as parasites. If the guards found him, he would either be exiled or killed for all he had stolen to stay alive. Just being out in the sunlight was a massive risk.
The bakery was alight, doling hard crusts and soft, fluffy rolls to the people. But the eye of the boy was on something special. It was the morning of the Summer Solstice, and the city would be spending the day praying and feasting. As tradition, bakers would produce sweet biscuits with the Solari Emblem stamped atop in sugar. It was perhaps the only time of year the Rakkor would permit the consumption of sugar. Laden trays were brought to the crowd, which shifted as eager children surged forward. The boy swallowed drool. Convincing the bakers to sell to him would be impossible, they would assume the money stolen. So he waited.
Children jostled and fought their way to the front, burning hand and tongue cramming the melting cookies into their mouths before they could cool. The adults smiled and laughed at the spectacle, then stuffed golden coins into the pockets of the waiting bakers. They didn't care if they overpaid. The strongest children would get more than their money's worth, while the weakest burdened the family. Such was the way of Rakkor life.
The swarm parted to allow a fat (a rarity among the Rakkor) baker bring biscuits to those unfortunate trapped in the back of the crowd. His right leg moved with a severe limp, the result of a war wound. Apparently his connections to the bakery had spared him from the culling of the crippled. The urchin boy was in motion at once, darting down from the roof and sprinting out from the cover of shadow. He was a very talented runner by necessity.
Spectators shouted as the large baker suddenly toppled onto a group of hapless children too slow to run. The silver tray banged against the street with a harsh metallic peel, and for a moment the audience was stunned. Save for one filthy boy made of mud and rags, who was busy scooping as much of the fallen payload as he could into a burlap sack.
Something in the minds of the crowd clicked into place, and it transformed into an enraged mob. Guards seemed to materialize from thin air, quickly closing a net of bodies around the area. But the boy found a hole in their formation and made a bid for freedom. The electric shiver of a narrowly dodged grasp urged out the his last hidden reserve of energy. He didn't dare look back, scrambling up the stone brick wall, hands and feet finding brief purchase before pushing off in his mad desire for ascent. A magnificent crash of armor told him that the pursuing guard was far too large to use the same footholds he did.
The orphan laughed with mirth in the light of the radiant dawn as he leapt across rooftops, inbound to his den-like hideaway to enjoy a hard earned breakfast. That was until a swift force barreled into him from behind, sending biscuits (and his final baby tooth) scattering off the roof onto the streets below. The urchin spat grit and blood from his mouth, and rolled over to look at his attacker. A girl around his age towered above him, the rising sun cresting her head to form a halo. Her auburn hair and amber eyes burned as if crafted from flame. Her posture and cleanliness told him that she was a member of the upper class. The spreading pain in his spine suggested the Sun Warrior Caste.
"You have committed a grievous crime, made even more egregious on this sacred day. Before I bring you back for your judgement, you will explain yourself to me."
The boy was suddenly filled with unexpected shame. Since he could remember, he had violently raged against his lot in life. The vicious beatings of merchants, guards, and even other thieves had taught him to be ruthless, to strike when they are weakest and take all you can carry. But five seconds with this pretentious girl and he felt like he wanted to cry. He could feel his lip quivering.
"I-I have to. I have to eat. T-to survive."
The girl softened her expression."Well, what are your parents profession? Why aren't you working with them?"
The boy said nothing. Hot, fresh tears burnt tracks in the grime on his face, joining the blood running from his lip.
This time, the girl spoke in a gentle whisper. "My name is Leona. What is yours?"
"I don't have one."
Her hand found his and pulled him to his feet. "Well, in time I am sure you will be given one."
She smiled at him. It was the most beautiful sight the boy had seen in his entire life.
...................
BEFORE THE JUDGEMENT
Summoner 1: "Your battles have the makings of legend. They say you are unstoppable, the living manifestation of Rakkor might. A vessel for the holy power of the sun, gaining the name Pantheon."
Summoner 2: "Yet you have killed many in the name of Solari. Countless dead soldiers, broken families, orphaned children. An ocean of blood and bodies lies at your feet. Are you truly mindless, a mere weapon to be wielded by others? Do you not have any hesitations, any regrets?"
Pantheon scratched the stubble on his chin. "Well, I've always wanted to be a baker..."
