The boy's gaze lingered on the body for a moment longer.
Then, slowly, he lifted his head.
Something felt… off.
His eyes shifted toward the village.
A few houses away, shadows moved under the dim light of torches.
Guards.
Their armored figures pushed through doors without hesitation, voices sharp and impatient as they barged into one house after another.
"Search every corner!"
"He couldn't have gone far!"
The sound of wood slamming against walls echoed faintly through the night.
They were looking for someone.
The boy's eyes narrowed slightly.
Then he looked back at the man lying in front of him.
Understanding settled in.
So it's him…
As if sensing his gaze, the man's eyes slowly opened.
Barely.
His breathing was uneven, shallow, each breath sounding like it could be his last.
Yet those fading eyes locked onto the boy.
There was something in them.
Not fear.
Not anger.
A silent plea.
The boy stood still, watching him.
He didn't like getting involved in trouble.
Didn't care for others.
Didn't want unnecessary risks.
But leaving a dying man right in front of his house—
especially when guards were searching nearby—
was trouble itself.
He let out a quiet breath and stepped forward.
Grabbing the man's arm, he tried to pull him.
The body barely shifted.
Too heavy.
Far too heavy for his thin, battered frame.
His grip tightened as he tried again, his muscles straining, but the result was the same.
Nothing.
Annoyance flickered across his face.
He glanced down at the man and spoke, his voice low but firm.
"…Are you planning to die here?"
A small pause.
Then, with a hint of irritation—
"…Or will you at least help me move you?"
For a moment, there was no response.
Then—
The man's fingers twitched.
Slowly, painfully, he forced his body to move.
It looked unnatural, as if every part of him resisted the motion.
With trembling effort, he pushed himself up.
His legs shook violently, barely able to support his weight.
The boy moved closer, placing the man's arm over his shoulder.
He could feel the weight immediately.
Heavy.
Unstable.
Like holding onto something that could collapse at any second.
"Move," the boy muttered.
They began walking.
Slowly.
Painfully.
Each step dragged against the ground, leaving faint marks in the dirt.
The man stumbled more than he walked, his body swaying with every movement.
The boy gritted his teeth, adjusting his stance to keep him from falling.
They reached the back of the hut.
Beyond it—
the forest.
Dark.
Silent.
Hidden.
Branches scratched against their clothes as they pushed inside.
The air grew colder, heavier.
The sounds of the village faded behind them.
After a few minutes of slow, uneven walking, the boy stopped.
A large tree stood before them.
Its thick trunk was almost completely hidden behind dense bushes.
A perfect place.
The man's body gave out the moment they reached it.
He collapsed against the base of the tree, his breathing ragged and weak.
The boy looked at him for a moment.
Then—
his eyes shifted.
Without hesitation, he crouched down and began searching the man's clothes.
The man's eyes widened faintly.
Even in his weakened state, he understood what was happening.
The boy…
was looting him.
For a brief moment, disbelief flashed across his face.
Then it faded.
Replaced by something quieter.
Acceptance.
He didn't resist.
Didn't speak.
Perhaps he knew—
he wouldn't live long enough to need it.
The boy found a few coins.
Cold metal pressed into his palm.
Not much.
But enough.
He stood up.
Glanced at the man one last time.
Then turned and walked away without a word.
By the time he returned to his hut, the guards had moved closer.
Just two houses away now.
Their voices were louder.
Sharper.
The boy stopped.
His mind worked quickly.
Calm.
Precise.
Then—
he picked up a jagged stone from the ground.
For a brief second, he stared at it.
Then slammed it against his own head.
A dull crack echoed softly.
Pain burst through him instantly.
Warm blood trickled down his forehead.
His vision shook, but he didn't stop.
He struck again.
And again.
Until the blood was enough.
Until it looked real.
His body swayed.
Weak.
Unstable.
But he forced himself to stay conscious.
Then—
he fell to the ground.
And screamed.
"Help…!"
"Someone… help me!"
The response was immediate.
Footsteps rushed toward him.
Metal clanged.
Voices overlapped.
The guards arrived within seconds.
Weapons drawn.
Eyes sharp.
They froze when they saw him.
A small boy.
Skinny.
Covered in blood.
"What happened?" one of them demanded, stepping forward.
The boy looked up, his breathing uneven, his voice trembling just enough.
"Someone… someone tried to enter my house…"
"I shouted…"
"He grabbed me… and threw me…"
He raised his hand weakly, pointing toward a nearby rock.
The guard's expression darkened.
"Which way did he go?"
The boy hesitated for just a moment.
Then slowly lifted his hand again.
Pointing toward the opposite side of the forest.
A brief silence passed.
Then—
"Move!"
The guards rushed off immediately.
Not a single one stayed behind.
Not a single one questioned further.
The boy remained on the ground.
Still.
Silent.
After a few seconds—
his breathing steadied.
His eyes slowly closed.
Not from weakness.
Not from pain.
But because—
everything had gone exactly as planned.
......
The guards' footsteps faded into the night.
The boy stayed still for a moment, listening.
When it was safe, he slipped quietly into the forest and he glanced at the man from a distance making sure he is till there.after sometime he went towards the village.
He needed ointment, bandages, and bread—for the man, not himself.
Moving carefully through the dark, he reached the village.
Lanterns flickered in windows, and the streets were nearly empty.
At the apothecary, he exchanged a few coins for a small jar of ointment and some bandages.
From the baker, he took a loaf of bread. He left without drawing attention, moving like a shadow through the quiet streets.
Back in the forest, he found the man leaning weakly against the tree.
The man's eyes opened as he saw him.
"Why… why are you back?" he whispered, voice weak.
The boy set the bread and supplies down without a word and began carefully applying the ointment.
The man studied him, disbelief and caution in his eyes. "You didn't… steal anything?"
The boy didn't answer.
The man shook his head slowly.
"I thought you were just another street urchin… and yet, here you are, helping me."
The boy tore a piece of bread and handed it to the man.
Silence fell for a moment, then the man asked, curiosity overtaking him: "What's your name, boy?"
The boy looked up, calm.
"Leo."