The air stank of smoke and spoiled fish. Rot clung to the alleys of Greyward Slums like a second skin, sinking into rags and hair and lungs. Flies buzzed around a toppled barrel where something half-decayed festered.
Lio wrinkled his nose but kept walking. His arms were full, half a loaf of bread gone stiff, a bundle of wilted greens, and the heel of cheese he'd bartered from an old woman who owed him a favor. His stomach twisted with hunger as usual, but he pushed it aside. The food wasn't for him.
He ducked under the sagging arch of a collapsed wall, slipping into the hollow that served as a shelter. It was little more than three leaning boards and a roof of patched sailcloth, but inside, half a dozen small faces lit up at the sight of him.
"Lio!" squeaked Marla, her hair tangled like straw, her hands clutching her knees. "You're back!"
"Quiet, quiet," he hushed, lowering the bundle. "If someone hears you, they'll think I brought something worth stealing."
That earned giggles, thin and birdlike. Lio tore the bread into rough chunks, broke the cheese, and spread the food out on a cracked plate. The little ones pounced, grubby hands snatching their shares. He sat back against the wall, letting his empty hands fall into his lap.
"You're not eating?" asked Tomlin, the oldest besides Lio, his ribs showing through his shirt.
"I ate on the way," Lio lied easily. His stomach growled, betraying him, but the children were too busy gnawing on bread to notice.
He watched them instead, Marla with her cheeks puffed out like a squirrel, the twins arguing over who got the larger crumb of cheese, Tomlin trying to share his piece with the youngest, a boy no older than four. They were hungry, filthy, and too thin, yet that only seemed to make them more alive.
Then, a crash echoed down the alley, followed by laughter. Lio stiffened. Through a gap in the sailcloth, he glimpsed two men swaggering past, red rags tied around their arms. The Red Rats gang. One carried a cudgel, the other a wineskin.
"Stay inside," Lio whispered. He slid to the entrance, crouched low, every muscle taut. His fists clenched, useless but ready. If the Rats came too close, he'd draw them away. Better his bruises than the kids'.
The gangsters passed without noticing, still laughing. Their boots splashed in the filth and were gone. Only then did Lio breathe again.
"Were they looking for us?" Marla whispered.
"They're always looking," Tomlin muttered darkly.
Lio forced a smile. "Doesn't matter. They didn't find us."
He ruffled Marla's hair, ignoring the grime that clung to his fingers. She leaned into his touch, her trust absolute. They all trusted him like that. As if he were their shield, their knight.
A knight. The word echoed in his head.
He'd seen real knights only once, when a noble procession cut through the slums on the way to the city square. Their armor had gleamed, their banners snapped in the wind, and the crowd had scattered before their horses. From the legends, even a single knight could've crushed this whole alley with his mailed fist.
But knights protected people. Didn't they?
"I'll become a knight someday," Lio found himself murmuring.
Marla's eyes widened. "Really?"
He nodded, more firmly than he felt. "One day I'll wear armor and carry a sword. I'll build you all a house with real walls. You'll sleep in beds, not on dirt. And no one will ever touch you again."
The children laughed, not unkindly. It sounded like birds startled into flight, bright but fleeting. To them, his words were a story, no different than Tomlin's ghost tales.
But to Lio, it was a vow.
He clenched his fists, pressing the thought into himself like a brand. If no one else will protect them, then I will.
The bells of Highwall Cathedral rang faintly in the distance, muffled by the slum's crooked roofs. Lio looked toward the sound, though he couldn't see the spire. Nobles would be feasting, drinking, warm in halls of stone at that moment, while he could only feel his stomach craving for anything.
A shout shattered the thought.
Boots pounded against stone once more. A boy, maybe ten years old, tore around the corner of the alley, clutching something under his ragged shirt. His breath came in sharp gasps, his eyes wild. Behind him thundered the heavy steps of city guards, armor rattling, curses echoing off the walls.
"Stop, thief!" one bellowed.
The boy stumbled, caught himself, and kept running—straight toward the sailcloth hut.
Inside, the children froze. Marla's bread tumbled from her lap. Tomlin's eyes went wide with fear.
Lio was already moving, stepping into the alley as the thief skidded to a halt in front of him. Their eyes met, desperate brown meeting Lio's storm-grey. For a heartbeat, no words passed.
Then the thief whispered, voice raw, "Please. Hide me."
The guards' shouts grew louder. Metal scraped against stone as they turned the corner.
Lio's heart slammed in his chest. Behind him, the children stared, waiting. In front of him, the boy trembled, clutching stolen bread like treasure.
Every part of him knew the danger. Harboring a thief was a crime. To the guards, it made him no better than the thief himself. Punishable. Brutally.
But he also knew what it meant to starve. He knew the look in the boy's eyes.
He thought of Marla's trust, of Tomlin's quiet strength, of the vow burning in his chest.
He made his choice.
"Inside," he hissed, jerking the sailcloth aside.
The boy scrambled into the hut, vanishing among the children. Lio dropped the cloth back into place just as the guards stormed into the alley, breath steaming, blades already half-drawn.
Their eyes locked on him.
"Where did he go?" the lead snarled.
Lio's mouth went dry. His heart pounded, but he kept his face blank, his fists at his sides. He felt the children's eyes on him through the wall, their breaths held in silence.