Borne of Soul’s Blood

The bell above the bakery door chimed, its cheerful jingle cutting through the warm hum of activity inside Sweet Haven. Clara Mulberry, the bakery's owner and self-proclaimed queen of confections glanced up from her clipboard. Her eyes landed on the figure standing just inside the door—a young child, about eleven years old.

They weren't with a parent, she noticed immediately. No adult trailing behind them, wondering how they were going to pay for one of the store's overpriced baked goods. Just the kid, clutching a folded piece of paper in one hand and wearing an empty smile and a pair of warm light brown eyes with a golden copper tint.

Clara sighed and set the clipboard down on the counter. The sign said closed for interviews, can't these people wait?

She had a soft spot for kids—how could she not, running a candy store and bakery? But this? This was ridiculous. Eleven years old? That should be more than old enough to read the sign.

She almost considered telling them to come back tomorrow. The only thing that stopped her was the yellow folder in the kids' arms that read "application".

The kid stopped in front of the register, chin raised like they had something to prove, lightless amber irises staring into her purple contacts.

"Alright," she said, crossing her arms and leaning against the counter. "I assume you're here for the interview?"

The child nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

Clara raised an eyebrow. "You do realize this is a job interview, right? Not a school project or some kind of dare?"

"Yes, ma'am," they said again, their voice steady. "I brought my résumé." They unfolded the paper and handed it over.

Clara blinked. It was a resume alright. It was handwritten, neatly formatted, and even included references. She didn't know whether to laugh or be impressed. Instead, she glanced back down at him, her skepticism warring with a tiny flicker of curiosity.

"Well," she said slowly, "you've got my attention, kid. Let's see if you can keep it. Have a seat."

The kid didn't hesitate, following after Clara as she sat down at a table. Reaching her, the kid pulled out the chair across from her. Clara studied them for a moment longer, then leaned forward. "Alright, first question: why on earth should I hire a twelve-year-old to work in my bakery?"

The kid smiled, or at least tried to. It was uncanny like a beast trying to portray humanity. Luckily, their confidence was as sweet as the scent of sugar in the air. "Because I'm exactly what you're looking for."

Clara arched a skeptical brow, resting her chin on one hand. "Oh, really? And what exactly am I looking for?"

The kid didn't flinch. "Someone who works hard pays attention, and doesn't let people down. I'm all of that. And I work cheaply."

Clara stifled a laugh. The kid's bravado was almost charming, but she wasn't convinced. "You're awfully confident for someone who probably just learned cursive."

"I'm confident because I know what I'm worth," the kid shot back, their tone steady but not cocky. "You won't find anyone else who needs this job as much as I do."

Clara tilted her head, curiosity fully piqued now. "And why do you need this job so badly? Babysitting not cutting it?"

The kid didn't hesitate, their fingers brushing the edges of the yellow folder. "I'm homeless and want money."

The words hung in the air like dark chocolate icing on a fresh donut—heavy, and impossible to ignore. Clara's sharp retort softened in her throat. Yeah, money is a common reason for wanting a job, but no one ever says it as bluntly as this. Plus the kids are homeless, and it could cause massive health violations.

But... she can't just push the kid away. Something told her it would be best for her to listen in to what they had to say.

"Well," Clara said after a moment, sitting back in her chair, "that's... quite the pitch. But this isn't an easy job. You'd have to be here early, before school—if you're in school—or stay late cleaning up. You'd be on your feet for hours, dealing with demanding customers and even more demanding recipes. Think you can handle that?"

"I can handle anything," the kid replied without missing a beat.

Clara let out a low whistle. "Alright, tough guy. Let's see if that's true. Starting tomorrow, you'll come in for a trial shift. If you're half as good as you think you are, I might just keep you around."

The kid's face lit up, their smile genuine this time. "Thank you, ma'am. You won't regret it."

"We'll see about that," Clara muttered, shaking her head as she stood. "But, I can't just send you off on your own... do you have a place to go where you'll be safe, and can get some sleep. You're going to need it."

The kid shook their head yes. "The cemetery is a few blocks away, there's a nice old guy who offered to let me stay there."

Clara blinked slowly. That was the cemetery where old man Kraven lived. She knew him from the time he gave her tetanus after trying to stab her with a rusty shiv.

As the kid got up to leave, Clara called out one last time. "Hey, why don't you stay here? Just so you'll be on time for your first shift"

They paused in the doorway, turning back with those same dull Amber eyes— they were like fires without fule.

"I do not wish to impose—" Clara quickly interrupted as if something were taking hold of her. "— you won't. I have a room I want to rent to guests upstairs, but it's unfurnished so I guess you'd only be able to live there for free."

The kid stared at her silently, thinking over her offer. A long thirty seconds passed before the child gave her their answer.

"Sure," they said. "I'll stay."

The words lingered between them, tentative yet weighty. Clara gave a short nod, more to herself than to the kid, before gesturing toward the staircase tucked behind the counter.

"Come on, I'll show you the room. It's nothing fancy, but it's warm, dry, and beats sleeping in a cemetery."

The kid followed her without hesitation, their steps eerily quiet on the hardwood floors. Clara couldn't help sneaking glances at them as they walked. There was something peculiar about this kid—something that went beyond their ragged appearance and those strange amber eyes. They moved with a kind of stillness like they were deliberately trying to take up as little space as possible.

Clara opened the door to the upstairs space and flipped on the light. The room was small and sparsely decorated, with pale yellow walls and a single window that overlooked the back alley. The only furniture was a dusty mattress propped against the wall.

"It's not much," Clara admitted, crossing her arms as she stepped aside to let them in. "But you can make it yours. I'll find some blankets and stuff in the storage closet."

The kid stepped inside, their gaze sweeping over the room. "It's perfect," they said simply, and for the first time, their voice carried a note of something Clara couldn't quite place—relief, maybe, or gratitude.

Clara hesitated in the doorway, watching as they set their yellow folder on the windowsill. "Alright," she said, breaking the silence. "I'll leave you to get settled. But I meant what I said—if you're late tomorrow, this deal's off."

The kid turned to her and nodded, their expression like that of a new blackboard, completely blank. "I won't be late."

Clara gave a small, approving grunt before heading back downstairs. She tried to shake the strange feeling settling in her chest—a mix of unease and reluctant protectiveness—but it clung to her like powdered sugar on a fresh donut.

That night, as Clara wiped down the counters and prepared to lock up, she found herself glancing toward the staircase more often than she cared to admit. She didn't know what she'd just gotten herself into, but something about the kid's blunt honesty and quiet determination made her want to see where this would go.

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Upstairs, the kid sat cross-legged on the mattress, staring out the window at the flickering streetlights. The yellow folder lay open beside them, its contents neatly arranged. Among the papers was a single photograph—a faded snapshot of a family standing in front of a college campus. The kid traced a finger over the image, their expression unreadable.

"Are you sure that this is the right idea, good Hunter?" Hummed an echoing voice.

The child nodded their head, placing the picture on the window.

"Yes. My memories may be old, but the flame has seared them in my mind, the realm of Midgard is where my mother and father are fond of staying."

Moonlight passed over the roof of the connecting building and into the room, casting a shadow over the young child.

Ghostly hands formed around the child's neck, wrapping them in a hug.

"May your journey be successful ... my beloved Consort..."

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DGW: Thank you all for reading. If you have any suggestions about this story feel free to share them with me. Doesn't matter what it is I will think it over.

Tools used: Grammarly Spell Check, female name generator, and the FANDOM app.

Thank you Lunar_Lunatics on wattpad for inspiring me to write this story. They are a great writer and very cool person

Word Count: 1600