The first thing Caius learned about Eldenbrook was that hunger made it impossible to think elegantly.
He walked the market in search of a job, trying to look capable rather than desperate. His noble clothes had been replaced by plain trousers and a stained shirt, but his posture still betrayed him. He stood too straight. He looked at people as if expecting them to answer when he spoke. The village noticed.
At a construction site near the eastern road, a foreman listened to his request and looked him up and down.
"Ever carried stone?"
"No, but I'm willing to learn."
"Then learn somewhere else."
Caius tried a bakery. The owner, a round-faced woman with flour on her sleeves, apologized and explained that her husband handled the heavy work. At a stable, a boy younger than Caius told him they did not need help. At a tavern, the innkeeper refused to let a stranger sleep in the storeroom even if he worked for free.
Each rejection was ordinary. That was what made them so exhausting. There was no villain to defeat, no secret passage to discover. There were only closed doors, polite smiles, and the steady pressure of an empty stomach.
By late afternoon, he had carved three small animals from fallen branches with a borrowed knife. He arranged them on a scrap of cloth near the fountain: a sparrow, a wolf, and a dragon with one crooked wing. He waited for customers.
People glanced at the carvings and moved on.
A child stopped. "That dragon looks sick."
"Then it is a very realistic dragon," Caius replied.
The child laughed and ran back to his mother. Neither of them bought anything.
As the sun sank, the market began to empty. Caius's pride told him to pack the carvings away and try again tomorrow. His stomach told him tomorrow was too far away.
He approached a group of travelers and offered to carry their bags to the inn. They declined. He asked a shopkeeper whether he could sweep the floor in exchange for supper. The man said he had already paid someone. He offered to clean horse stalls and was turned away because the stable was closing.
When night arrived, Caius found a narrow space between two buildings where the wind was less severe. He folded his cloak beneath his head and tried to sleep. Every sound woke him. Every shadow looked like a person coming to drive him away.
He had once thought poverty meant having fewer choices. Now he understood that it could mean having no choice that mattered.
At dawn, he returned to the market. His knees ached, and his mouth tasted dry. He extended his hand toward strangers and hated himself for it.
"Spare a coin, please."
Most people ignored him. Some looked through him as if he were part of the street. One man in blue robes dropped a copper coin without slowing down. It struck the stone with a bright, delicate ring.
Caius stared at it before picking it up.
One copper. A tiny piece of metal that could buy almost nothing. Yet the moment it touched his palm, relief loosened a knot in his chest. He had earned no respect, but he had received proof that he still existed in someone else's world.
By midafternoon, he had collected a few more coins. He bought a small loaf from the bakery, its crust hard and one side slightly burnt. The smell made his mouth water. He carried it to the alley behind the shop, intending to eat slowly and preserve half for the evening.
"Oi, fancy boy."
Three beggars stood at the alley's mouth. Their clothes were ragged, their faces narrow with hunger. The tallest one looked at the loaf in Caius's hands as if it were an insult.
"I don't want trouble," Caius said.
"Then you should've stayed out of our alley."
One grabbed his wrist. Another tore away the bread. Caius twisted to free himself, but the third shoved him against the wall. His shoulder struck stone. The loaf disappeared between the three men, who ate it quickly and laughed at his helplessness.
Caius lunged after them. He managed one step before his knees buckled.
They left him with crumbs in the dirt.
For a long time, he sat against the wall and stared at his empty hands. Rage burned in him, but it had nowhere useful to go. He could fight them when he was stronger. He could learn their routines. He could find a weapon.
But right now, he was too hungry to stand.
The village clock chimed six times. In the square, the fruit vendor wiped her apples, smiled at a customer, and repeated the same phrase she had said yesterday.
Caius watched her, a cold thought forming.
This was not merely a place where he had to survive. It was a place that could choose what survival meant.
That night, he slept beneath the baker's wooden crate. He dreamed of the Veyne dining hall, of clean sheets, and of Lilia declaring that ice cream could solve every problem in the world.
He also learned to observe the town without staring. The best clues appeared when he stopped demanding them. A baker left the back door unlatched for exactly three minutes while moving flour sacks. A boy crossed the square carrying two buckets, always turning left at the fountain. The old man's toy cart cast a shadow that pointed in the wrong direction, despite the sun's position. These details did not provide food, but they gave Caius a map of the trial's habits. He marked each one mentally. If the village was a machine, then even its false routines had gears—and gears could be studied.
He kept the coins inside a folded scrap of cloth rather than in his pocket. It was a small precaution, but after the bread had been stolen, he no longer trusted a simple knot or a hidden pocket to protect what he needed. At every intersection he checked who was behind him, not because he wanted to become paranoid, but because he needed to learn the difference between caution and fear.
When he woke, the memory hurt more than the hunger.