The market square of Humreet was alive in a way that made the night feel younger than it was. Lanterns hung from ropes strung between rooftops, their flames swaying in the breeze like restless spirits. Merchants still bellowed their prices long after the sun had gone, desperate to catch the last coins of the day. Children darted between stalls, clutching candied fruit in sticky hands, while drunks spilled laughter and ale across cobblestones that smelled of roasting meats, incense, and horse dung.
I should have been comfortable here by now. I had been to this market dozens of times. Yet my eyes kept sweeping across shadows, cutting toward side streets and rooflines. My hand rested near the hilt of my sword out of habit. I wasn't afraid of the crowd. I was looking for him.
The boy.
The thief who had bolted from my grip yesterday. Quick-footed, sharp-eyed, like a stray cat too used to being kicked. I'd told myself he was gone for good, melted into the underbelly of Humreet like smoke. But deep down, I knew better. Some people don't disappear. They circle back, testing if the world will push them away again.
And sure enough, I heard him before I saw him.
A crash, the sound of a barrel toppling. Angry voices. A scuffle.
I turned down a narrow lane between two taverns and froze.
He was there, pinned against a wall. But not by angry shopkeepers this time. These were different men. Four of them. Hard eyes, scarred faces, knives at their belts. They moved with the confidence of predators. Not desperate beggars, but organized thieves.
"Thought you could skim a little from our haul, eh?" snarled the tallest of them, a bald brute with a deep scar cutting his lip into a permanent sneer. He shoved the boy hard against the wall, the stone scraping his shoulder.
"I didn't take anything!" the boy barked back, his voice as defiant as it was shaky.
Another man chuckled darkly, drawing a dagger that glinted in the lantern-light. "Bad liar. And liars pay in blood."
My body moved before my brain finished arguing.
"Hey!" My voice rang through the alley.
Four heads snapped toward me.
The boy's eyes widened when he saw me, disbelief flickering there, quickly masked by a glare. But beneath the layers of distrust, I swore I glimpsed relief.
Scar-Lip snarled. "This doesn't concern you, boy. Walk away."
I lifted my hands slowly, but my voice stayed steady. "Four against one? Doesn't seem fair. Let him go."
Their laughter was low and cruel, bouncing off the stone walls. "Cute. You his babysitter?"
I let my hand fall to the hilt of my sword. I hadn't drawn it yet, but the weight of the steel grounded me. "No," I said, my tone clear enough to cut through their mockery. "I'm his friend."
That word hung heavy. Friend.
The boy stiffened. The thieves sneered.
Scar-Lip lunged. His speed was surprising for a man his size, but I had been training for this my whole life. I sidestepped, let his momentum overreach, then drove my elbow into his ribs. The impact reverberated up my arm. He stumbled back, cursing.
The others moved in. My blade whispered free, cutting the air in a clean arc..., not deep enough to draw blood, just close enough to make them hesitate. My aura thrummed faintly, spilling a calm edge into the chaos. It wasn't power enough to split stone like Grandpa, but it was enough to make men question if I knew more than I showed.
"You don't want this fight," I said, voice low but unwavering. "Not today."
The aura carried the weight of the words. They faltered, confusion flickering over their anger. Scar-Lip clutched his ribs, wheezing. He spat at the ground, his pride wounded deeper than his flesh.
"Fine. Keep your little rat. He's not worth the trouble."
They backed away, muttering curses as they slipped back into the veins of Humreet.
Silence rushed in, broken only by my own heartbeat. I lowered my sword slowly, my arms trembling from the surge of adrenaline.
The boy slid down the wall, breathing hard. His eyes narrowed at me like I was the fool here. "You're an idiot," he rasped. "You could've been killed."
"Yeah," I admitted, forcing a crooked smile as I offered him my hand. "But I wasn't."
He stared at it for a long moment. His lips twitched, as if the gesture itself offended him. Then he slapped my hand away and stood on his own. But he didn't run.
"Why?" His voice cracked, raw in a way that cut sharper than a blade. "Why do you keep stepping in? You don't even know me."
The answer was simple, sharp, sitting in my chest all along. "Because I used to be you. Hungry. Alone. No one to trust. If my grandpa hadn't found me, I'd probably be dead by now. So when I see you… I see me."
The boy's mouth opened, then closed again. His jaw tightened. For a heartbeat, I saw his eyes glisten before he blinked it away.
"You're crazy," he muttered.
"Maybe," I said, grin softening the edge of my words. "But I meant it. Come with me. You don't have to steal anymore. We've got food. A shop. A home. You'd have… a family."
That word again. Family.
He froze. The bustle of the market beyond the alley carried on... haggling voices, horses clopping, laughter spilling from taverns, but here it felt like the world was holding its breath.
Finally, he looked back at me, voice barely above a whisper. "Nobody's ever said that to me before."
Then, as if ashamed of his own hesitation, he squared his shoulders and forced his tone flat. "My name's Joey."
The warmth that bloomed in my chest almost hurt. I smiled. "I'm Alden."
Joey gave a short, sharp laugh... half-bitter, half-relieved. "Fine. I'll go with you, Alden. But don't think it's because I need you. I just… owe you, alright?"
"Whatever you say." I let the smile linger, softer now. "Welcome to the family."
This time, Joey didn't argue.