Rummaging through the abhorrent contents of a worn-down dumpster, a young boy covered in dirty bandages and tattered clothing could be seen scavenging for scraps. Illuminated only by the dim moonlight, Kleptis rummaged through the disgusting pile of discarded items thoroughly. Having not eaten a proper meal in the past couple of days, and despite the extremely draining feeling of starvation, the young boy continued to diligently search for anything of value to sell—knowing it was the only way to eat something other than the mushy leftovers that sewer rats indulged in.
Coated in layers of grime and soot, Kleptis continued scouring until eventually, his ashen gray eyes lit up beneath his dirty, unkempt black hair. Clasping his hands around what he thought to be the handle of a rusty metal object, the boy mustered whatever strength he had left and began pulling.
"Hnnngggg..." Planting his feet firmly against the bottom of the dumpster, Kleptis pulled with all his might. However, despite his best efforts, the object remained firmly lodged in place. Worse yet, his hands scraped against its rough, rusted surface. His small, calloused hands were, once again, covered in blotches of his own blood.
"...Oww..." Hissing in pain, the boy looked down at the palms of his hands. Although he was already quite acquainted with the feeling of pain, he still couldn't stop his eyes from watering whenever he experienced it. "...It stings."
Wiping away the tears with the back of his hands, the boy tore off some of the bandages wrapped around his arms, revealing a litany of previously healed scars, wounds, and bruises. It had been a little more than a week since he had received them from an elderly woman in District 13. He was incredibly thankful for the woman's generosity in treating him after he had been mutilated by a man and left sprawled out on the streets.
Kleptis had stayed with the elderly woman for what he considered to be a month. During those days, he did whatever he could to help, seeking to repay her kindness through labor—following what he had once been taught while living with another family. But, contrary to what he had expected, the elderly woman implored him to stay, continuing to nurse him back to health.
The young boy remembered those days fondly, when his worries about food and shelter had begun to, albeit slowly, fade away. In their place came a new concern: the health and safety of the grandmother. Given the choice, he would've stayed by her side until the end of her days, nursing the kindhearted woman in the same way she had once done for him. Although he had only known her for around a month, she had influenced his life more profoundly than anyone else ever had.
Kleptis wanted to stay.
And yet... this wish, born of sincere, loving gratitude…
Was taken away by the cruel hands of [Fate].
Last week had seemed like just another day. He had grown accustomed to living with the elderly woman—taking care of household tasks like cleaning, cooking, and occasionally helping, whom he now called Grandma Aurora, move around. After finishing sweeping the floors, Kleptis was just about to start cooking supper when he heard a knock on the door.
Quickly dusting himself off, the young boy unhurriedly approached the door. It was unusual to have a visitor so late in the day, but Kleptis wasn't too fazed. He assumed it was simply someone visiting Grandma Aurora—perhaps a friend or family member.
Turning a corner, he was surprised to see Grandma Aurora already opening the front door. This shocked him. He knew she had difficulty moving around, even with her old wooden cane. It was one of the reasons he always escorted her when she needed to go anywhere. Not once had he seen her where he didn't expect her to be.
Until that day.
It was almost as if... she had been expecting them.
As Grandma Aurora opened the door, Kleptis saw two figures standing in the entrance. From a distance, he could only make out a few distinguishing features. On the left stood a daunting metallic figure towering over the doorway. On the right, a young man with long white hair tied in a ponytail. Both wore long white robes embroidered with rigid lines of lustrous gold.
Kleptis would later come to know them as members of The Index, an infamous syndicate and one of the Five Fingers. The young man was what people referred to as The Messenger. These Messengers only visited those who had received a Prescript—a scroll containing a list of instructions that the recipient must follow.
To this day, Kleptis never learned what Grandma Aurora's Prescript contained. All he knew was that, on the day she received it, his peaceful life with the kindhearted and loving Grandma Aurora had ended.
That was the last day she treated his wounds... and told him to leave and never come back.
'Had I... done something wrong that day?' the boy thought to himself, snapping out of his train of thought as the dirty, ragged bandages touched his skin. The stinging sensation, along with his rumbling stomach, reminded him of his present situation.
Returning to the dumpster, Kleptis stuck his arms inside again. Wrapping his hands around the rusted metallic handle, he gave another attempt to pull out whatever was buried beneath the waste. Metal scraps—even rusted ones—were worth just enough to buy a stale loaf of bread and a bottle of water. That was all he needed to regain his strength and search for any place in need of laborers.
"I... just... need... to..." Finally, after all his effort, his body fell backwards as the object came loose and flew from the heaps of garbage.
Falling onto his back, the object in his hands struck the ground with a loud, muffled clang. Vibrations reverberated through his entire body as he held on tightly.
It took several moments for him to recover from the impact and the vibrations. He felt nauseous. Nevertheless, he wobbled upright and brought the prize he had worked so hard for in front of him.
What greeted him was the rusted remains of a broken kettle. Thanks to its missing lid, Kleptis saw that its hollow interior was filled with coagulated garbage.
'Huh... I guess that's why it was so heavy.' Inwardly scratching the back of his neck, Kleptis stood up.
"Hopefully, this'll be enough to buy food or water."
It wasn't the best thing he could've found—but it was still something. He knew all too well that finding anything of value in these dumpsters was already a stroke of fortune, however little it may be.
After all, he had spent the whole day scavenging the area.
He was happy.
…
Stumbling down a dark alleyway, Kleptis hugged the rusty kettle close to his chest. He was on the verge of collapsing from exhaustion. His eyes barely registered the path before him as he struggled to stay awake.
"...Just... a little... bit... more..."
But the young boy couldn't take another step.
With one final movement, he collapsed onto the ground, hugging the kettle like a stuffed animal. Starvation and exhaustion had finally overtaken him.
Moments passed, and a figure began to approach from the lightless shadows of the backstreets.
The humanoid figure came forward with measured steps, dragging behind it a pair of long, rigid knives. Despite its human-like appearance, something about it seemed... wrong.
It was as if it wasn't human at all—but rather something pretending to be.
Standing before the unconscious boy, It raised the knives it had lifelessly dragged, aiming them at Kleptis.
Inches away from striking, something flashed from the shadows and deflected the blades. Alarmed, the figure jumped back, preparing for a fight.
But what it saw made it quickly reconsider.
Emerging from a thin veil of translucent green mist, a woman appeared before the boy. Brandishing paper-like daggers in both hands, her mere presence caused the humanoid—commonly referred to as a Sweeper—to hesitate.
One glance at her shifting, ambiguous form, and the Sweeper knew it would meet its end if it dared to engage.
Without hesitation, it fled.
Lowering her weapons, the woman turned around. Looking over Kleptis' frail body, she set her blades aside and knelt beside him. Placing a hand on his chest, she remained still for a moment.
"..."
She let out a sigh and withdrew her hand.
The boy known as Kleptis... was going to die.
Clasping her hands together, she raised them above her head—ready to bring them down toward the boy's heart.
But just before her fists made contact, she stopped.
"...May you find solace within me through this act of sin, Little Wisp."
Letting her hands fall, the woman stood and looked over the boy's lifeless form.
But she was no longer the shifting figure of a woman.
What stood there now was a hazy reflection: a young boy with dirty, unkempt black hair, covered in tattered rags and yellowed bandages.
The 'Mint' Fantôme had gained another wisp.