Rook walked for hours.
He had no destination, no plan, and no idea what he was supposed to do next. The streets blurred together, alleys turned into markets turned into alleys again, and the sun slowly sank lower in the sky as the afternoon dragged on.
'I cannot go home like this. If I go home now, Tess dies.'
That was the only thought that kept him moving. Every time he considered giving up, every time he thought about turning around and heading back to the Lowfields, he imagined his sister lying in that bed, waiting for medicine that would never come.
So he kept walking.
The capital was different in the lower districts. The streets were narrower here, the buildings older and more worn, and the people looked at him with suspicion instead of indifference. His academy uniform stood out like a torch in the dark, marking him as someone who did not belong.
'I should find somewhere to change. Or at least take off the jacket.'
But he did not have anything else to wear, and walking around in just a shirt would make him look even more out of place. So he kept the uniform on and tried to ignore the stares.
A few times, he considered approaching someone for help. A merchant, maybe, or a guard. But what would he even say? He was a commoner from the Lowfields with no money, no connections, and no way to prove he was anything more than a beggar in stolen clothes.
'Think. There has to be something I can do.'
But no matter how hard he tried, he could not come up with a single option that did not end with him either arrested, beaten, or thrown out of the city entirely.
The sun was almost gone by the time he found himself in a narrow alley between two run-down buildings. He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, just for a moment, just to rest.
'Maybe I should sleep here tonight. Figure out what to do in the morning.'
It was not much of a plan, but it was better than wandering aimlessly until he collapsed.
He was about to slide down to the ground when he heard voices coming from deeper in the alley.
"Come on, old man. Just hand over the coin and we will let you go."
He opened his eyes.
Further down the alley, four men had surrounded an older figure in simple clothes. The old man had his back against the wall, his hands raised slightly, and his expression was calm in a way that did not match the situation at all.
"I am afraid I do not have any coin to give you," the old man said. His voice was steady, almost polite. "You are welcome to search me if you do not believe me."
One of the thugs laughed and pulled out a knife. "Oh that is real funny. How about we search your corpse instead?"
Rook did not move.
'This is not my problem. I am a commoner in the capital with no status and no protection. If I get involved in something like this, it is over for me.'
The thug with the knife stepped closer to the old man, and the others spread out to block any escape.
'Just walk away. There is nothing you can do here.'
The old man glanced in Rook's direction for just a moment, almost like he was curious to see what Rook would do.
Then the thug raised his knife.
Rook's body moved before he made a decision.
He crossed the distance in a heartbeat, grabbed the thug's wrist, and twisted hard. The knife clattered to the ground, and the thug screamed as his arm bent at an angle it was not supposed to bend.
The other three froze for half a second, just long enough for Rook to drive his elbow into the second thug's throat. The man went down choking, while Rook was already spinning to face the remaining two.
"What the hell—"
The third thug swung at him with a club, but Rook ducked under it and slammed his palm into the man's chest. The impact sent him stumbling backward into a pile of garbage, and he did not get up.
The last thug looked at his three friends on the ground, looked at Rook, and then looked at the old man who was still standing calmly against the wall like nothing had happened.
He ran.
Rook watched him go, then let out a slow breath. His heart was pounding, and his hands were shaking slightly, but the fight had lasted maybe ten seconds at most.
'That was stupid. That was really, really stupid.'
He turned to face the old man, ready to apologize or explain or do whatever he needed to do to get out of this situation without making things worse.
To his surprise, the old man was smiling.
"Well," he said, brushing some dust off his sleeve, "that was unexpected."
Rook did not know how to respond to that. "Are you alright?"
"Perfectly fine, thanks to you." The old man looked down at the groaning thugs on the ground. "Though I suspect they will be feeling that for a while."
"I should not have gotten involved. I just..." He trailed off. He did not have a good explanation for why he had done what he did.
"You saw someone in trouble and you acted," the old man said simply. "There is nothing wrong with that."
'There is everything wrong with that. I am supposed to be keeping my head down, not getting into fights in back alleys.'
But he did not say that out loud. Instead, he just nodded and started to turn away.
"Wait."
Rook stopped.
The old man was looking at him with an expression that was hard to read, something between curiosity and interest. His eyes moved over Rook's uniform, then back to his face.
"That is an academy uniform. But you are out here, in this part of the city, looking like you have nowhere to go." His tone was not accusatory, just observational. "Why is that?"
Rook considered lying. He considered making up some story about getting lost or taking a shortcut. But something about the way the old man was looking at him made him think that would not work.
"I got rejected," he said. "My documentation was not good enough."
"I see." The old man nodded slowly. "And now you are wandering the streets, trying to figure out what to do next."
"Something like that."
"Hmm." The old man was quiet for a moment, seemingly thinking about something. Then he smiled again. "Walk with me."
Rook hesitated. "Why?"
"Because I think I might be able to help you." The old man started walking toward the mouth of the alley, stepping casually over the thug who was still clutching his throat on the ground. "And because you look like you could use a meal."
Rook stood there for a moment, trying to decide if this was a trap, an opportunity or just some old man who felt like repaying a favor.
In the end, he followed.
He did not have any better options.