A Brand New History

How should I put it?

This was, of course, Ian's handiwork.

He had not helped a thief.

Rather, as a soul from China, Ian understood.

Anyone who stole food had been driven by necessity. The boy had not taken the easily accessible cash box and had only wanted something to eat, which already showed that he truly had nowhere else to turn.

"Good deed for the day, complete!"

Ian withdrew the faint magical fluctuations that had been almost impossible to detect—the ones controlling nearby moisture and dust to form a "slippery sheet," as well as moving the coin from afar.

Keeping a perfectly normal expression, he finished the last bite of chicken pie and tossed the paper bag into a nearby bin. To him, it had merely been a small effort—a silent, unnoticed intervention. The boy might have been in the wrong, but hunger was a more primal driving force. A coin and a well-timed "accident" might give him a chance to choose otherwise, while also sparing him the worse consequences of being caught in public.

Of course.

This was only an insignificant interlude in a long night.

Ian's attention was soon drawn by a new fragrance. He spotted a stall selling mulled wine and hot cider, steam rising from large copper pots as cinnamon sticks and cloves bobbed in the dark liquid.

"The mulled wine from before was pretty good."

It was the perfect match for a cold night. Ian promptly bought a cup of hot cider and held it in his hands. The slightly scalding ceramic cup warmed his palms, while sweet steam carrying the scent of alcohol and spices slipped into his nose. One sip was tart, sweet, and warming, soothing him from his throat all the way down to his stomach and driving away every trace