The journey back to Ripple was different. It was nothing like the trek I had made when I first came to Humreet. That time, every step had been swallowed by silence, the solitude of the road pressing against me. But now, I wasn't alone.
Joey trailed behind me like a restless shadow, never more than a few paces away but never close enough to suggest comfort. He had agreed to come, but it was clear he trusted me about as much as he trusted a snake in tall grass. His suspicion showed in every twitch of his fingers, every sharp glance over his shoulder. He flinched at the sound of a rustling leaf, crouched low when a bird burst from a branch, and eyed the forest as though it were a living beast ready to lunge.
He was a creature of alleys and crowded streets; the wilderness was an alien kingdom to him.
"We're here," I said at last, pointing to the small, weathered cabin with its crooked chimney and moss-covered roof. A thin ribbon of smoke drifted into the evening sky, carrying the scent of woodsmoke and damp earth... comfort to me, unease to him.
Joey stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide. "This is it?" His voice cracked, raw with disbelief. "You live out here?"
"It's a nice place," I said, a smile tugging at my lips. "It's home."
I pushed open the creaky wooden door, and the familiar warmth embraced me: a crackling fire, shelves lined with jars and odd trinkets, and Grandpa sitting at the table, carefully polishing an old sword whose shine never faded no matter how many years passed.
His head lifted when I entered, his eyes sharp even through the haze of age. Relief flickered across his face..., until his gaze fell on the boy behind me. In an instant, the air thickened. His hand drifted, almost unconsciously, toward the sword resting against the counter.
"You're back," he said, voice steady but edged with caution. His eyes didn't leave Joey.
"Grandpa," I said quickly, stepping between them. "I want you to meet my new friend. I brought him here to help out at the shop."
Grandpa's gaze narrowed. He studied Joey the way a wolf studies another predator... calculating, wary.
The boy wasn't ordinary. His hair, a deep shade of dark blue, was ragged and unkempt, hanging unevenly across his forehead as if it had been cut with a rusty knife. His eyes, a piercing crimson red, glinted warily in the firelight, too sharp for someone his age. Combined with his lean frame and guarded posture, he looked less like a guest and more like a cornered street rat ready to bite.
"Friend?" Grandpa muttered, his tone low, like distant thunder. "He looks like a rat caught in a trap."
Joey bristled, crimson eyes narrowing into slits. "Name's Joey," he spat, his voice a gravelly growl. "And I'm not a rat."
For a moment, I thought the tension might snap like a bowstring. But I stepped closer to Joey, my hand gently brushing his arm. I let my Aura of Belonging flow, not forcing, just inviting... soft warmth, the same current that had carried me all these years. A wordless message: You're safe here.
Joey's shoulders slackened. His fists uncurled. He didn't step forward, but he didn't bolt either.
"I know what you're thinking, Grandpa," I said, voice steady. "But he's not what he seems. He's quick, resourceful, and he knows how to get things that are hard to find. He could be a real asset to the shop."
Grandpa didn't answer right away. His eyes shifted between us..., me with my calm insistence, Joey with his wary distrust. What he saw in Joey's face must have reminded him of something, because his gaze softened, if only by a fraction.
At last, he leaned back in his chair and exhaled slowly. "Alright, boy," he said to Joey, his tone gruff but no longer hostile. "You can stay."
The tension broke, though it still lingered in the corners like smoke after a fire. Joey blinked, caught between disbelief and suspicion.
"How did you find him?" Grandpa asked me, his voice more curious now than accusing.
"He's like me, Grandpa," I answered simply.
Grandpa's brows rose, and then, to my surprise, a faint smirk curved his lips. "I see… So, do you plan on collecting people like you now?"
I chuckled, scratching my head. "That's not a bad idea, Grandpa. It's my dream to have a big family someday. To give people a home, like you gave me."
For the first time in a while, Grandpa's stern face softened. He smiled, faint but genuine. "Hmph. Dream big, boy."
Joey, still standing awkwardly near the door, looked at us both like he was witnessing a language he didn't understand. His eyes flickered... confusion, disbelief… and something else. Hope.
That night, the cabin was quiet, save for the low crackle of the fire in the hearth. Joey lay stiffly on the small bed across from mine, his crimson eyes wide open, staring at the wooden ceiling.
The blanket was too soft. The mattress was too soft. Everything was too soft. He was used to stone floors, damp alleys, and waking at every sound in case someone tried to slit his throat or steal his food. Here, the silence pressed on him harder than the city's chaos ever did.
He shifted uncomfortably, gripping the blanket in his hands. It smelled faintly of soap and woodsmoke. Clean. Safe. Alien.
He glanced at me. I was already asleep, breathing slow and even, as if I had no reason in the world to be on guard.
Joey scoffed under his breath, though it lacked its usual edge. Idiot. How can you sleep so easily? Don't you know people can betray you the second you close your eyes?
He turned to face the wall, clutching the blanket tighter. For the first time in years, his body didn't ache from the cold ground, and his stomach wasn't twisted with hunger. The bed felt strange, but the strangest thing of all was the quiet part of his heart that whispered maybe... just maybe... he could get used to this.
Sleep took him before he could fight it off.
The next days passed in a blur of adjustments. Joey, despite his initial hesitation, began to help around the shop. He had the quick hands of a thief, but those same hands proved nimble when tallying coins and organizing supplies.
At first, I had to guide him:
"Each sale gets recorded here," I explained, showing him a worn ledger. "Name, product, price. Then, at the end of the week, we add everything up."
Joey frowned. "So, like… keeping score?"
"Exactly," I said, grinning. "But the score here decides whether we eat stew or stale bread."
I taught him the basics of accounting—how to separate costs from profits, how to notice which goods sold fastest, and which gathered dust. "See this?" I pointed to a column. "The magic crystals sell fewer units, but the profit is high. Meanwhile, the herbs sell quickly but for less. Balance is everything."
To my surprise, Joey picked it up faster than I had. Numbers that once made my head spin seemed to dance for him. Within days, he was the one pointing out, "We should raise the price on the healing salves, they're selling too fast. Means people are willing to pay more."
I blinked at him. "You're a natural at this."
He smirked, that street-smart grin of his. "When you're broke, you learn quick what's worth stealing, and what isn't."
Grandpa laughed at that, a deep, unexpected sound that filled the cabin. "Maybe this rat isn't useless after all."
Joey rolled his eyes, but I caught the faintest smile tugging at his lips.
And just like that, Ripple gained a new rhythm. I trained, swinging my sword and meditating by the river, while Joey handled the shop with sharp eyes and quicker wit. He wasn't family yet... not fully. But every night he stayed, every laugh he shared, every ledger line he filled in, he drifted closer.
Closer to us. Closer to home.