The Next Day
Dusk made his way toward the familiar stack of newspapers tied in bundles near the alley wall. This daily ritual should have brought a sense of comfort—the sharp smell of fresh ink, the sound of fluttering paper, the quiet banter of older boys half-joking, half-complaining about the early hour. For him, it was more than just work. It was a rhythm that gave his day structure, a place where he belonged, even if only on the fringes.
But today, something was off.
The usual clamor was missing. The boys, who normally teased one another and threw folded papers like balls, stood in a hushed, uneasy group. Their silence carried weight. No one met his eyes.
Dusk slowed his steps, feeling the shift before a word was spoken. "What's wrong?" he asked lightly, trying to mask the unease crawling up his spine.
One of the boys nudged another forward. "Go on, tell him."
The boy who'd been pushed scowled at his friend before turning toward Dusk. His smile was awkward, forced. "Little Dusk… you won't be getting newspapers anymore."
Dusk tilted his head, confused. "Huh? Did today's quota fill up already? I can come earlier tomorrow."
The boy hesitated, eyes darting toward the group. He sighed, shoulders slumping as though the words weighed him down. "No, kid. It's not just today. You won't be getting newspapers ever again."
A cold jolt ran down Dusk's spine. His chest tightened. "Why not?"
The boy lowered his voice to a whisper. "Boss doesn't want trouble. Word is that Chief Guard Robert hates your guts. Said it's better not to get involved."
For a second, Dusk stood frozen, like the world had tilted beneath his feet. Then, with practiced instinct, he forced a smile, casual and bright. "I see. It's okay, Brother Tim. Thanks anyway." He waved, turned the corner, and disappeared.
The moment he was out of sight, the smile shattered like glass.
But he wouldn't give up. Not yet.
He ran to his next job—earlier than scheduled—hoping to work before whispers caught up to him.
"Sorry, kid. You don't need to come here anymore."
The words landed like a punch to the gut.
He didn't stop.
Bakery. Rejected.
Butcher. Rejected.
Courier station. Rejected.
Each door slammed like a nail in a coffin. With every rejection, he felt something inside him wither. These weren't just jobs. They were his lifeline. Food for Dawn. A roof, however frail, over their heads.
By the time he reached the scrap yard, his heart was pounding with desperation. He figured if nothing else, he could dig through dumpsters, gather broken copper wires or rusted bolts, and sell them. He'd done it before.
But even that was gone.
The old man who ran the yard didn't even let him speak. "Orders from above. We're not buying from you anymore."
Dusk clenched his fists so hard his nails dug into his palms. The rejection didn't just sting—it hollowed him out.
It was more than bad luck. It was a message.
The city had turned on him. Completely.
The River near the city
As he walked away, the sun bore down with merciless heat, but his skin felt cold, his insides frozen. He drifted through the streets like a ghost, no destination, no anchor, until his feet carried him to the riverbank—a place that still felt untouched, unjudging, free.
Without hesitating, he stepped into the current.
Cold water closed over him, numbing his skin and silencing the storm inside. He let himself sink, deeper and deeper, until the world above blurred into muted ripples.
And then, underwater—where no one could hear—he screamed.
The cry ripped from his chest, bubbling out in a rush of pain. His lungs burned, his shoulders shook, but he welcomed it. He didn't want to hear himself cry, because if he did… he might never stop.
At last, instinct dragged him upward. He burst through the surface, gasping, eyes red, throat raw. For a long moment, he floated on his back, staring at the endless blue sky, feeling smaller than ever.
But when he finally pulled himself out of the river, his face was blank. By the time his clothes dried under the noon sun, he had scrubbed every trace of weakness away. Dawn must never see his despair.
It's Noon again
At the church's food line, he smiled as he handed his sister a portion of curd rice. His voice was light, cheerful. A performance honed by necessity.
Dawn nibbled quietly, her small frame hunched as though afraid to take up space. Dusk's heart twisted, but he never let it show.
Around them, slum dwellers whispered in low voices, trading rumors like currency.
"They say people are heading to Ram City," one man muttered, eyes darting. "The Church's building something new. Hiring laborers, paying good coin—if you can make the trip."
Dusk froze, his spoon hovering mid-air.
"Why so sudden?" asked another.
"Luminar inspection's coming up. They want it finished before then."
Dusk's heart thudded. A real job. A fresh start. His gaze slid to Dawn, who chewed silently, her cheeks thinner than ever. A flicker of hope sparked inside him.
With no work left in Lightrest, Dusk wandered the alleys like a shadow. His mind raced. Ram City could mean survival. But the obstacles loomed tall.
The road was long, crawling with bandits. The journey would take two days, maybe more. Dawn could never walk that far.
A cart was necessary. But they had no money.
And if they left their allocated shanty, even for a single day, someone else would seize it. Their only shelter, gone.
Stay, and they would starve. Leave, and they might not survive the road.
He kicked a pebble and watched it skitter into the gutter. The choice was a noose tightening either way.
"Dusk…"
The familiar voice pulled him from his spiral. He turned to see Ash standing there, a basket in her hands. Fresh bread, a bottle of milk, even eggs—luxuries he hadn't seen in weeks.
"Big Sister Ash," he greeted automatically, his smile polite, practiced.
She held the basket out. "Take it."
He hesitated. His pride screamed at him, demanded he refuse. But Dawn's sunken cheeks haunted him.
"Thank you," he whispered, taking the basket with both hands.
Ash blinked, clearly surprised. "I… thought you'd refuse."
"My sister's hunger matters more than my pride," he said softly. The words hurt, but they were true.
Ash looked at him differently then. She remembered how he once refused her money when her brother ruined his food. But now, for Dawn, Dusk had swallowed his pride. He was already acting like a grown man.
"If only you weren't from the slums, I'd already—" She stopped herself, biting her lip.
"Did you say something, Big Sister Ash?" Dusk tilted his head.
"Nothing." She straightened quickly. "Thank you. For yesterday."
Dusk's grip tightened on the basket. He leaned in, voice low. "Be careful. Guard Robert… he said he's coming for you again."
Ash paled instantly. Without another word, she turned and ran, skirts fluttering like wings in flight.
Dusk watched her go, his jaw tight, his heart pounding with frustration he couldn't voice.
Lightrest wasn't just shutting him out —it was hunting him down.
Ram City wasn't a chance anymore.
It was survival.