The merchant had just finished assisting a fellow caravan member with lifting a particularly heavy crate of iron nails into the back of his wagon. As the lead rider, he felt he had a responsibility to the other members of the group and took it upon himself to personally ensure the entire caravan was ready to depart. His gaze swept over the line of wagons, confirming everything was in order before he turned and returned to his cart at the front.


    The merchant peaked through the canvas covers of his wagon for one final inspection, checking that his goods were securely packed and ensuring the adventurers that he was transporting were settled. The compartment was cramped, but the adventurers didn''t seem to mind much. Most of them were simply relieved to find a caravan travelling in the same direction. Still, out of courtesy, the merchant decided it was best to ask. "Everyone comfortable?"


    One of the more extravagantly dressed adventurers shot the merchant a sharp scowl, but another member—a stout woman in her mid-twenties—quickly chimed in with an infectious grin. Her perkiness easily overshadowed her companion''s glare. "Oh, don''t worry about us," she said, her voice cheerful. "We''re just glad we don''t have to walk the trip. Now, that would have been uncomfortable."


    It always worried the merchant when the adventurers he was grouping with were the casual sort. To him, their easygoing attitudes spoke of unreliability. In that sense, he found more comfort in the company of the scowling, well-dressed adventurer—at least he seemed to take things seriously.


    He decided to subtly prod the group a little just to be safe. "Does anyone in your party have any abilities to spot mokoi or monsters before they come, or should one of you ride up front with me to keep an eye?"


    The fancily dressed adventurer sneered, clearly seeing through the merchant''s intentions; but to the merchant, that sharp perception from the only miserable party member only confirmed his preconceptions. A merchant was always more comfortable with enemies.


    The annoyed adventurer was unable to vocalize his disdain as the woman spoke before any sound could escape from him. "You don''t need to worry. Our friend here-" she patted the fancily dressed man on the shoulder. "Is a very skilled auspex; there''s nothing around here whose soul string can escape his sight."


    The news eased much of the merchant''s worry. The ability to peer into the soul sea, even in the slightest, was an incredibly rare skill—and one that made him feel significantly safer with these adventurers.


    Now that his concerns were alleviated, the merchant smiled at the group. "Well, in that case, we''ll be heading off now; enjoy the ride, and please …at least ask before stealing some of my produce." The adventurers chuckled at the jest, and with a nod, the merchant made his way to the coach''s seat.


    There was one last interruption waiting for the merchant before the caravan could finally embark. A little girl was standing at the head of the frontmost wagon, sharing a half-rotten fruit with one of the horses. She was a tiny little thing; the merchant couldn''t imagine that the girl could be any more than eight years old. She had a long tangled web of knotted, curly black hair that tumbled over her shoulders, and the child wore a long silver silk gown, which at one point must have been an extremely valuable article of clothing. Once valuable, it had gotten old, dirtied, tattered, riddled with holes, and stained in countless unsavoury colours. The original shade of silver was naught but a memory save for the few hidden, untouched crevices of the robe, which hinted at its long-lost lustre.


    The merchant suppressed a sigh, his eyes drifting to the rising day star, which seemed to mock him with every precious minute that slipped away. He forced his cheeriest, most insincere smile and approached the child. "Excuse me, little lady," he began, his voice laced with polite urgency. "I''m grateful you''ve shared your fruit with my horse, but we''re about to depart soon. I''ll need to ask you to step aside now."


    The little girl turned toward the source of the voice, and it was then that the merchant saw her face—or rather, the thing that had taken its place. Her features were obscured by a strange porcelain mask, crudely adorned with what looked like finger-painted drawings. The mask was uneven, the colours smeared, as though it had been crafted in haste or out of some unsettling whimsy.


    A giant handprint in yellow paint marred the surface of the mask. The base of the hand rested over the porcelain mouth, while six yellow fingers stretched to the right, crossing the eyehole and ending in six distinct fingerprints, each outlined in purple. A yellow thumb crossed over to the left, leaving its own purple-accented print next to the left eyehole. Beneath it, an upside-down purple triangle hung, adding to the strange markings. From the palm, a purple, headless snake seemed to wriggle up toward the mask''s forehead.


    But the mask wasn''t just a face covering—it extended further. A horn-like protrusion jutted from the top left, its bone-white colour fading into pitch-black at the tip. This horn was a three-dimensional cylinder, curving out to cover a sizable portion of the side of her head, adding an unsettling dimension to the already bizarre appearance.


    What fascinated the merchant most, however, was how the mask stayed affixed to the girl''s face. There were no visible strings or fastenings of any kind. It simply seemed to be glued on, and it never shifted, no matter how much the girl moved her head, as though it were an inseparable part of her.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    The little girl spoke softly, nearly a whisper; the voice was soothing like a calming song, or it would have been if her dialogue wasn''t so stilted as if she were struggling to form them in a language not entirely her own. Her thick accent was unfamiliar, one the merchant couldn''t place. "Um, sorry, Mister," she murmured, "but I... waiting. For you."


    The merchant cocked an eyebrow to the strange child before him. "And why were you waiting for me?"


    The girl stroked the horse a few more times while she let it finish eating the rotten fruit. She pondered a while in search of the right words to answer the merchant. "I. want go with you. To… different place."


    "Do you even know where I am going?"


    The little girl shuffled in place avoiding making eye contact with the merchant. "No… but it not important. I can pay."


    The merchant found it humorous how her saying she could pay had been by far the most fluently well-spoken thing she had said so far. "Little lady, what is your name?"


    The girl hesitated for a while, unsure how to respond before her mask faced the merchant head-on in a way that he could only assume was an attempt at eye contact, and she answered. "Vow."


    "Okay Vow, can you tell me where your parents are?"


    The girl shifted slightly, the silence stretching between them before she spoke, each word coming slowly as though carefully chosen. "Daddy is dead...but not, maybe?" she seemed unconvinced by her own words, repeating words without comprehending their meaning. The girl continued, "And I meet never... Mommy. Daddy say, I not having Mommy."


    The merchant mentally facepalmed at his blunder. As a native of Bemean, he often forgot that he was no longer in his homeland—he was in Aegis now. The country was still reeling from the devastating mokoi invasion; starving families and wandering orphans had become an all-too-common sight. In Aegis, it was customary to avoid questioning such things; it was simply how it was now.


    Now that the merchant thought about it, that was probably why the girl wore her mask. She was likely trying to cover a scar, maybe a slave brand, or an injury from a run-in with bandits; in Aegis, the possibilities were unfortunately endless.


    The merchant shook his head, trying to stay focused. "Well I still have a seat up front available if you can pay."


    The girl''s eyes lit up with excitement. "I can!" She rummaged through her oversized robe and pulled out a staggering number of gold coins, shoving her hand eagerly toward the merchant.


    The merchant stared at the coins, bewildered. "What do you want me to do with this?"


    Vow replied with nearly shouted enthusiasm. "It pay!"


    "Little lad- Vow, you can''t pay with gold. No one will accept gold as a currency around here… probably not anywhere, for that matter. I don''t know why you thought it would."


    Vow''s shoulders slumped in disappointment, her voice heavy with defeat. "Explains very much..." She looked up at him again, searching for some kind of answer. "Why... gold not money?"


    The merchant''s heart nearly shattered. To see such a young girl, unaware of something so fundamental, struck him deeply. She must have lost her family when she was just a child, gone without education or care for who knew how long. He sighed, a pang of sorrow in his chest. "Ever since the Golden Country transmuted a limitless supply of gold in 3980, twenty years ago, gold has lost its value as a currency."


    The girl''s face fell in obvious distress at the revelation. The merchant''s heart ached for her, but if he helped every destitute waif he came across, he would have gone destitute himself years ago. As he was about to make up some excuse to shoo the child away, a rustling from the back of the cart caught their attention. The cheery female adventurer leaned out and called over, "Let the poor thing on. I''ll pay for the kid."


    Despite the mask, Vow was an open book, her face lighting up with the news. "The thanks! I pay you back in footar, fyuter?" the girl played with the butchered word, the cogs visibly turning in her mind, and like a light bulb, it hit her, "In future time."


    The adventurer sported an infectious smile. "Sure thing, kid, no problem."


    Vow eagerly clambered onto the wagon, needing a boost from the merchant to make the tall clearance, and found her seat in the front. As Vow was bundling the overhanging cloth of her oversized silver cloak on her lap, the merchant took the carriage bridle in hand and with a lurch of the rope, the horses set off.


    It wasn''t long until the cheery adventurer poked her head through the wagon covers, catching the attention of the merchant and the girl.


    When the small child saw the woman, she extended her hand and spoke with that odd halting cadence. "The thanks for save! I name Vow. And. You name?"


    The woman easily accepted the offered hand with a firm shake. "No worries, little Vow. You can call me Consanguine."


    Vow''s mask lifted slightly, a clear indication of her bright smile beneath, and then she exclaimed with delight. “Consanguine is friend!”


    Consanguine gave Vow a warm smile, but a sudden jab at her side made her flinch. "Sorry, Vow, give me a minute, will you?" She slipped back into the cart to confront her finely-dressed companion, who had nudged her. When she turned to face him, she was taken aback to see his usual sneer replaced by a look of anxious worry. "What''s wrong?"


    Her partner was unfortunately shoved in a tight corner between stacked crates of fruits that obscured his view of the front of the carriage. He leaned in close to Consanguine''s ear, his voice low as if he hoped no one else could hear. "Whoever just boarded the carriage... they''re dangerous. I can''t feel any soul strings from them at all."


    Consanguine couldn''t help but laugh at the worry on his face that was brought on by that little girl. "What are you talking about? It''s just a kid."


    The man''s eyes bulged at the revelation, but his concern did not waver. "What! How young?"


    Consanguine shrugged, her voice light. "I don''t know, seven? Maybe eight? What do you mean you can''t feel her soul strings?"


    "I''m not claiming to have the deepest sight into the soul sea, but there''s no normal human who can get this close to me without me catching at least a glimpse of their soul string. For devadoot''s sake, I can''t even detect a fate line on her."


    Consanguine didn''t really know how to respond. Her partner spoke like he was describing an all-powerful evil, not a hungry child. "What does that mean?"


    "I don''t know; the only thing I can think of that can evade me this well is either a spirit, a high-class mokoi, or maybe a devadoot."


    Consanguine''s usual smile found its place back on her face. "Or a child. You must be getting really rusty."