As they approached the outskirts of Iron Messa, Yumiko observed the unsettling emptiness of the area—streets were deserted, and narrow alleys lay abandoned.
They scanned the surroundings for signs of vegetation, but only dead bushes and a few scattered patches of green hinted at life.
"Yumiko, doesn't look like anyone's actually living here," Chiaki remarked, stepping cautiously to the front, her gaze sweeping the barren streets.
Yumiko rubbed the back of her head, briefly revealing her right eye as a stray lock of hair shifted in the breeze before falling back into place. "Yeah… you're right. The storm's calmed a bit too. Guess we'll just wait it out here."
Razor managed to drag herself closer, finally forcing herself upright. She quickly grabbed the water bottle clipped to Chiaki's belt and gulped down its contents.
Chiaki barely reacted, observing her quietly before scanning the area more closely. "Looks like this place is pretty run-down. Water's scarce—practically none—but there's got to be some survivors around here somewhere."
It wasn't long before Razor spotted someone peeking from behind a crumbling wall—a child, clearly hoping not to be noticed.
"Hey! You!" Razor's shout echoed through the empty streets, drawing Yumiko and Chiaki's attention immediately.
"Come back here!" Razor lunged forward, arms outstretched, but the boy screamed and bolted, "Mamma! Please! It's a monster!" He shouted as Razor rounded the corner, followed closely by Yumiko and Chiaki.
They skidded to a halt, coming face-to-face with a small group. The child cowered behind a thin woman, her frail frame barely shielding him.
The people looked unhealthy, worn down by hardship and neglect. Razor opened her mouth to scold, "You little—" but Chiaki stepped forward, calm and authoritative, gently blocking her.
"What's going on? Are you the only ones left here?" Chiaki asked, her tone steady.
The woman coughed but managed to speak. "I can't believe my eyes… we thought we'd never see anyone again."
Her words left the group, even Razor, momentarily puzzled. It was clear that others had survived in this harsh environment, but their numbers were tiny compared to the bustling towns they once knew.
The people were trapped in a harsh, unforgiving environment. Not a single face bore a hint of joy, a reality that weighed heavily even on Chiaki.
Many of the survivors slouched listlessly on the ground, their frail frames barely holding themselves upright. A few lay on makeshift beds, some nursing wounds, others too weak to rise. Their clothes hung loosely on emaciated bodies, and sunken eyes told of hunger, sickness, and exhaustion. Every movement was slow and laborious, and even the smallest task seemed to drain what little strength they had left. The air itself felt heavy with despair, and Chiaki couldn't help but feel the weight of it pressing down on her chest.
One of the men, gaunt and barely standing, spoke up, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation. "Are you here to steal the last scraps we have left? You selfish pirates! Don't you see we've got children starving and thirsty, lying hurt in front of you? Leave us be!"
A few others murmured in agreement, voices cracking with fear and frustration. "We've already lost so much…" one woman whispered, clutching a sickly child to her chest. Another man stepped forward shakily, his thin arms crossed over his chest. "If you take anything else, we'll have nothing left… nothing at all!" The group's collective tension was palpable, a mixture of dread and defiance as they faced the outsiders.
"What? No—absolutely not!" Chiaki exclaimed, projecting her voice so everyone nearby could hear. "We didn't come here to take anything. We just needed shelter from the storm."
Murmurs ran through the crowd, some voices still laced with suspicion. "You expect us to believe that?" one thin man muttered, shaking his head. "Storms come and go, yet people like you show up, barging into what little we have!"
A frail woman stepped forward, frustration clear in her tone. "We've barely survived on scraps and rainwater, and now outsiders just appear because of a storm?" Others nodded or murmured angrily, pointing to their meager supplies and the sick children around them. The tension in the air thickened as the survivors tried to reconcile their distrust with the newcomers' explanation.
Yumiko raised her hands slightly, addressing the crowd. "Really, we didn't come to take anything. We just need shelter for a little while. And besides, one of us is hurt—we need a safe place to rest."
The villagers exchanged uneasy glances, whispers rippling through the group. "Hurt? Who's hurt?" one woman asked, her voice edged with curiosity and caution.
"Yeah, what do you mean?" a thin man added, narrowing his eyes. "Are you trying to trick us?"
Children peeked out from behind their parents, eyes wide with confusion, while some of the adults muttered nervously among themselves, clearly uncertain whether to trust these strangers.
"Well… he's not here with us at the moment," Yumiko explained, her tone steady. "We had to leave him by the boat—one of our friends is looking after him. I know it sounds vague, but please, you have to believe us."
The man shook his head, voice heavy with frustration and worry. "Believe you? Look around! We're barely surviving as it is. The children are hurt, hungry, thirsty… and there's nothing we can do. No water, no food, no real shelter. The land's dead, the trees are gone, the earth's dry… how are we supposed to help anyone else?"
A hush fell over the group as others murmured in agreement, their eyes reflecting exhaustion and hopelessness. Some parents clutched their children closer, resigned to their harsh reality, while a few silently wiped dirt and grime from their faces, too weary to speak.
Chiaki stepped forward, her voice calm but firm. "Listen, we didn't come here asking for help. That's not why we're here," she said, scanning the desperate faces around her. "We just… wanted shelter from the storm, that's all. And I can help some of your children—I'm a medic. I can heal their wounds, make them feel a little better."
A few of the parents shifted uneasily, exchanging skeptical glances. "Stay away from the children!" one of them barked, protective and wary. "We don't know you. We don't trust you!"
Yumiko raised her hands slightly, showing she meant no harm. "We understand your fear," she said softly. "But we're not here to take anything from you. We only want to help. Please… just give us a chance to show you that."
Another parent muttered under their breath, shaking their head, but Chiaki didn't back down. She knelt slightly, meeting the eyes of a few of the older children. "It's okay," she said gently. "I'm here to help. You won't get hurt."
The tension hung thick, but Chiaki and Yumiko stayed steady, hoping their sincerity might finally reach someone willing to believe them.
From across the narrow, sun-beaten street, a small boy came running, his feet kicking up clouds of dust with every frantic step. Tears streaked his dirt-smudged face, and his voice cracked as he shouted, "Omar! Omar got hurt! He can't move!" The sheer panic in his words echoed against the crumbling walls of the abandoned buildings, carrying down every empty alleyway of Iron Messa.
The group of survivors froze for a brief moment, their worn faces twisting into expressions of fear and dread. Then, like a chain reaction, they sprang into motion—adults pushing past each other, shouting warnings, and calling for anyone able to help. "Quick, someone go! Help him!" one mother yelled, gripping her younger child tightly as she ran. Others followed, some stumbling over debris, their bare feet scraping against jagged wood and stones, hearts hammering with urgency.
Yumiko's eyes widened as she took in the scene. "We need to get there—now," she said, sprinting forward, her boots clattering against the cracked pavement. Chiaki adjusted her grip on her medical satchel, face set with determination. "We didn't come here for trouble, but we can't let a kid suffer." Razor, ever chaotic but oddly reliable in situations like this, scrambled after them, claws clicking against the ground as she bounded over rubble.
The streets blurred past them, twisted and narrow, littered with broken carts, overturned barrels, and shards of glass glinting in the dim light. Dust and dry leaves swirled around their ankles as the boy's panicked cries guided them like a beacon. Each turn revealed more worried faces—neighbors and children peering out from behind cracked walls, frozen with concern, yet hesitant to step into the chaos.
The citizens crowded around Omar, their eyes wide with worry, murmuring anxiously to each other as they leaned over him. The boy's small body shook with sobs, his clothes smeared with dirt and blood, a shallow gash visible on his arm and shin. A man pushed closer, his voice trembling, "What happened, Omar? Who did this to you?"
"I… I found water!" Omar gasped between tears, clutching his arm. "I tried to get it, but… something attacked me!" His voice cracked, and his small hands curled into fists as he shivered from shock.
The man's face paled as he glanced at the wound, clearly unsure of how to help. "Water…? Here? But—how…? We can't—"
Before he could finish, Chiaki pushed gently through the tense crowd, kneeling in front of Omar with her hands ready to work. "Step back, please! Let me help him!" she called, her voice calm but urgent.
"Don't touch him!" a woman shouted, stepping forward protectively. "Stay away! He's our child!"
"Wait, listen!" Yumiko interjected, holding up her hands in a soothing gesture. "We're not here to harm him. We just want to help. Please, trust us for a moment!"
Razor moved alongside, her claws out but not threatening, creating a physical barrier between Chiaki and the panicked citizens. "Back off, people! She knows what she's doing!" she barked, her voice wild but commanding, forcing the adults to hesitate.
Chiaki's focus never wavered, her hands glowing softly as she placed them over Omar's wound. A faint hum of energy surrounded her, and slowly, the gash began to close, the bleeding stopping as the boy's shivers subsided. His sobs quieted, replaced by hesitant sniffles, as the warmth of her healing touched him.
The citizens murmured nervously among themselves, some leaning in to watch, others keeping their distance. "I don't know… is this safe?" a man muttered, eyes wide.
"Just… give her a moment," Yumiko said, her voice calm yet insistent. "She's helping him. Nothing else will hurt him if we don't get in the way."
As Chiaki finished her work, Omar's tears slowed, his breathing evening out. He looked up at her, eyes still wary but trusting, while the citizens gradually relaxed, the tension in their shoulders easing as they realized the boy was safe—for now.
Chiaki placed a gentle hand on Omar's shoulder, smiling warmly. "You should be fine now, Omar. Don't worry anymore," she said, her voice calm and reassuring.
Omar blinked in surprise, still sitting on the ground for a moment, then slowly tried to stand. He lifted his leg cautiously, pressing his hand against the wound where he'd been hurt. "It… it's gone?" he asked, eyes widening as he realized there was no pain, no blood.
A small grin spread across his face, and he let out a delighted laugh. "It really worked! I'm… I'm okay!"
Chiaki stood, brushing off her knees, and smiled at him fully. The citizens around them stared, some mouths slightly agape, others exchanging incredulous glances as they took in the scene.
The citizens murmured among themselves, voices a mix of astonishment and cautious skepticism.
"Did… did she just heal him?" one woman whispered, clutching her shawl.
"I've never seen anything like that in my life," an older man muttered, eyes wide as he looked at Chiaki.
"Can… can she really do that?" a young mother asked, peering down at Omar as he bounced on his healed leg.
Others nodded or exchanged glances, still unsure, but curiosity and a hint of hope flickering in their expressions.
Yumiko stepped forward, arms slightly raised, addressing the crowd. "Do you believe us now?" she asked, her tone calm but carrying an edge of triumph.
Murmurs ran through the people again—some nodded slowly, others blinked, still trying to process what had just happened. Razor gave a playful shrug, her wild grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Told ya. Nothin' to worry about if we handle it right," she said with her usual chaotic energy, making a few of the adults shift uncomfortably between awe and disbelief.
Omar bounced slightly on the spot, laughing as he tested his leg again. "I'm really okay! Thank you!" he shouted, looking up at Chiaki with a mix of relief and excitement.
Omar's laughter was cut short by the sound of hurried footsteps. His parents pushed through the gathering crowd, their faces pale and streaked with tears.
"Omar!" his mother cried, nearly collapsing as she threw her arms around him, clutching him as if he might vanish if she let go. His father wrapped them both in a desperate embrace, trembling as he pressed his forehead against his son's.
"You're safe," his father whispered, voice breaking. "You're really safe…"
Omar hugged them back tightly, grinning. "I told you I'm fine now! Look, I can stand, I can walk!" He hopped lightly on his leg, his parents' grip tightening in disbelief and relief.
They finally turned to face Chiaki, their expressions heavy with conflicting emotions. His mother's eyes glistened as she bowed her head, guilt mingling with gratitude. "Thank you… thank you for saving our boy. We—" her voice cracked, "—we didn't believe… and we said things out of fear. We're sorry."
His father followed with a solemn nod, placing a hand over his chest. "We misjudged you. I see now… we were wrong."
The crowd hushed, watching closely. All eyes shifted to Chiaki, waiting for her response.
To be continued...