The road to Humreet stretched out in a dusty ribbon beneath my boots, each step pulling me further away from the quiet woods and creaking porch I called home. It had been a week since I left Grandpa behind. Seven days of trudging through forest paths and countryside roads, trading greetings with the occasional farmer, and spending nights under the kind of stars you only see when the world around you is dead silent.
My pack was light but carefully prepared. A few days' worth of dried jerky and flatbread, several small beast crystals from our shop to sell, and, most importantly, the handwritten list of herbs Grandpa had shoved into my hand like it was the crown jewels. "Don't you come back without these," he had said, eyes sharp. "Or I'll tan your hide myself."
Humreet was said to be a trading hub, a crossroads where caravans from all across the kingdom stopped to peddle their wares. Spices from the east, weapons from the dwarves, silks from the southern isles… Grandpa had told me plenty of stories about the place, though always with the same warning tacked on at the end: It's noisy, crowded, and full of fast hands. Keep your pouch close, kid.
At the time, I thought he was exaggerating. I'd handled goblins and orcs by now. What could a city do to me?
The moment I passed through Humreet's southern gate, I learned exactly what.
The world didn't just wake up—it exploded.
The streets were alive with more people than I'd ever seen gathered in one place. Merchants shouted like their lungs had been forged in bellows, each trying to drown the others out. Horses whinnied as they pulled carts loaded with grain, fabrics, and barrels of salted fish that reeked like they'd died twice. Children dashed between legs like tiny thieves-in-training, while city guards in polished armor barked orders to keep the tide moving.
And the smells. Saints above, the smells. Fresh bread baking somewhere nearby, rich spices that stung my nose, sweet candied fruits on skewers—all of it battling the less pleasant scents of sweat, horse manure, and fish guts.
I adjusted the strap of my pack and muttered, "Grandpa wasn't kidding. This place is… loud."
Apparently, the city took that as a challenge, because a vendor immediately leaned over his stall, grinning wide. "First time in Humreet, boy? Come, come! Finest roasted boar in all Atlas! Only three silvers for a skewer!"
My stomach growled like it wanted to shake hands with him, but I shook my head. "No, thank you. I just ate."
A lie so flimsy even my gut booed me for it. But I wasn't about to blow my silver before finishing the task Grandpa sent me for. If I went home with nothing but an empty purse and a greasy smile, the old man would have my hide mounted over the fireplace.
I wove through the maze of streets, following the trail of spice and smoke until the sound of haggling voices swelled like crashing waves. That was how I found the market square.
Stalls packed shoulder to shoulder displayed everything imaginable: shimmering bolts of fabric, crates of glowing crystals, racks of dried meat, cages of squawking birds, even a man selling "cursed rocks" that looked suspiciously like normal rocks with bad paint jobs.
Finally, I spotted a portly merchant whose table overflowed with dried plants, neatly tied in bundles. Jackpot.
I approached and set one of Grandpa's crystals on the table. His eyes widened instantly. He picked it up and rolled it in his palm like it was the first gem he'd ever seen. "Hmm… fine beast crystal. High purity. Where'd you get this, boy?"
"My grandpa hunts," I said, keeping my tone casual.
He raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical, but didn't press. Instead, he leaned in and said, "Eight silvers for it."
"Eight?" I tried not to choke. "That's robbery. It's worth at least twelve."
The merchant smirked. "Twelve? Do I look like I'm made of gold? Ten. Final offer."
I crossed my arms, forcing a smirk of my own. "Eleven, and you throw in a pouch of moonleaf."
His eyes narrowed, calculating. Then he laughed. "Hah! Bold one, aren't you? Fine. Eleven and the moonleaf. Deal."
We shook hands, and just as I tucked the herbs into my pack, a loud commotion broke out nearby.
"Thief! Stop that brat!"
The cry drew half the market's attention. In a narrow alley branching off the square, a group of furious shopkeepers had cornered someone.
A scrawny boy, maybe thirteen at most, stood pressed against the wall. His rags barely qualified as clothes, his hair was so tangled and dirt-caked it might've been a bird's nest, and his eyes... sharp and desperate... darted like a cornered animal's.
One baker, red-faced and sweating, twisted the boy's arm behind his back. "Don't lie, you little rat! I saw you snatch my pouch!"
The other shopkeepers closed in, their faces not just angry but… disgusted. The kind of look people saved for cockroaches and spoiled meat.
My gut twisted. This wasn't my business. I came here to trade, not to get involved. But then the boy's eyes met mine.
I knew that look. The wild search for escape, the hopeless defiance. I'd seen it in the mirror once, long ago, before Grandpa found me.
My feet moved before my brain caught up.
"Hey!" I called, stepping into the alley.
The shopkeepers turned, glaring. The baker sneered. "What do you want, boy? You his partner?"
The ragged kid snapped immediately, voice sharp. "I don't know him! He's not with me!"
I raised my hands. "He's not with me," I echoed, "but maybe we can all… calm down?"
The shopkeepers snorted, ready to laugh me out of the alley. "Calm down? This rat tried to steal from me!"
I steadied my breath and reached inward, to that subtle warmth I'd come to recognize. My strange gift. I didn't push it like a command..., I just let it ripple out like water in a stream, softening the edges of the air.
The baker's grip slackened. His scowl faltered. "I… guess there's no need to get rough. We can talk this out."
The boy wasted no time. With a sharp twist, he slipped free, bolted past me, and sprinted down the alley. His feet barely touched the ground.
"Wait!" I called.
He stopped at the mouth of the alley, eyes narrow with suspicion.
I offered a small, crooked smile. "I don't know who you are, but… I think you could use a place to stay. I've got food, a bed, and a family. If you want it."
His lip curled in something between a sneer and a laugh. "Family? You're crazy. I don't need a family." He turned like he was about to disappear into the market, but paused, eyeing me from the corner. "And what makes you think you can trust me?"
"I don't know," I admitted. "But Grandpa says trust is something you build. And maybe you just need a chance."
For a long heartbeat, we stared at each other, the crowd behind us carrying on as if the world hadn't paused here in this grimy little alley.
Finally, with a scoff, the boy vanished into the tide of people.
But something told me this wasn't the last I'd see of him.