Leo was already rising from his chair.
So was Ysolde. So was Aarav, though he wasn't entirely sure when he had stood up. The noise from outside had the quality of something that demanded witnesses — urgent, layered, too specific to be mere street commotion.
They moved to the window.
The road below told the story without needing explanation. Two policemen stood in the middle of the lane, batons raised. Between them, a man in ragged clothes was crumpled against the ground, arms raised over his head in the instinctive geometry of someone who had run out of options. Each blow landed with a dull, terrible sound. The man was screaming — not words at first, just sound — and then the words came, broken and desperate, sorry, sorry, I'm sorry, repeated like a prayer to people who weren't listening. A loose ring of bystanders had formed around the scene, watching with the particular stillness of people who understood they were not the ones being hurt today.
Leo leaned slightly toward the open window. "Um, excuse me, Mr.," he called down to a man standing on the road below. "Can you tell me what exactly happened?"
The man looked up. "Two refugees tried to steal food and money from a house," he said, with the flat tone of someone reporting weather. "Police caught them. One tried to resist and flee." A pause. "He didn't make it. The other one's getting what you're seeing now. As for the exact details, I'm not sure."
The window went quiet.
Ysolde exhaled slowly. "May God forgive them," she said, her voice low, "and save them."
Aarav said nothing.
He stood slightly behind the others and watched. Rajan and Veer were at his sides, equally silent. On the road below, the beating continued for another few minutes — measured, methodical, the kind that was meant to be seen as much as felt — before it finally stopped. The refugee was hauled upright. The man's clothes were torn further now, and blood tracked down his face from somewhere above his hairline. He was not resisting anymore. He let himself be pulled.
The crowd dispersed, one by one, with the practised ease of people returning to interrupted days.
The window emptied of its audience. Leo turned back to the room first, and the others followed.
---
Aarav sat down at the table.
He looked at his plate. The food was exactly as it had been — warm, generous, unreasonably good. He picked up his spoon and then set it down again without using it.
A man just died. For food. A refugee, like us, died for stealing food.
His hand was not entirely steady.
Leo noticed. Of course he noticed.
"See — you guys, as long as you don't commit any crime, even a small one, police won't do anything to you," Leo said, his voice carrying the unhurried steadiness of someone who meant every word of it. "Although always be careful. Don't worry, we are good people. You can eat your lunch without worrying about anything."
Aarav looked up. Leo's face. Ysolde's face. Nick's mother. The same expression across all of them — open, unhurried, carrying none of the calculation he had been quietly bracing for.
Good people my ass. The thought arrived flat and without apology. Your police just killed a random guy who only wanted some food. A poor refugee. Good people.
He picked up his spoon and ate anyway.
"Mr. Leo," Veer asked carefully, "is this... normal? For a refugee?"
"No, not really," Leo said, with the assurance of someone stating a simple fact. "As long as one doesn't commit any crime, police won't do any harm."
Rajan's brow creased slightly. "So even if they just steal food or money, police will kill them?"
"Well, that's a bit complicated." Leo set his cup down. "Usually, if the refugee doesn't try to resist or flee, chances are that the police would only arrest them. In most cases police don't kill the refugee — but yes, sometimes it happens. But don't worry, there are good people as well."
Aarav said nothing. He chewed his bread slowly and looked at his plate.
"Now, now." Ysolde's voice cut across the table with the brisk authority of someone who had decided the conversation had served its purpose. "Finish your lunch properly, otherwise you will die of malnutrition and hunger."
Aarav looked at her. Then he picked up the bread and ate.
---
They finished. Plates cleared, hands washed, the table returned to its quiet afternoon order.
"Ms. Ysolde," Aarav said, before she could move away, "about the description and the language..."
"Yes, yes, I remember." She was already drying her hands. Then, without particular transition: "You don't have a home, I assume?"
"Yes, ma'am." A brief pause, and something quieter moved behind Aarav's composed expression before he spoke again. "It's painful for us to say this, but right now we neither have any house to stay nor money to spend." He sighed.
"Well, that's a problem for you." Ysolde glanced toward Leo, who was already pulling on his coat. "Leo might be able to help you get a rental house."
Veer turned toward Leo immediately. His expression did most of the work before a single word left his mouth — earnest, slightly desperate, the look of someone who had been holding a particular hope carefully for the last hour and was now placing it, carefully, in front of another person. "Mr. Leo, would you kindly help us? Of course we would return your favour."
Leo regarded him for a moment with the calm of a man who had already made his decision before being asked. "Well, I do have a friend and he is a landlord. I would ask him if he can give you any rent. I would be able to give you the information in the evening — come to my shop at that time." He adjusted his collar. "Right now I have to go. I can't close my shop on a busy day like this. Well then, excuse me."
He left with the unhurried competence of someone returning to a life that ran on schedule.
"Well then," Ysolde said, settling back into her chair, "now your condition for the house is settled. Let's discuss the other things."
"Ms. Ysolde," Aarav said, "before that — would you mind explaining the Translation Collars you gave us?"
She tilted her head slightly, as though reassessing him. "Ah, yes. Those are called Magic Translators. That item is usually used by merchants, police, and military. I just happened to have some." She folded her hands on the table. "The major use is communication — as you know, not all people speak the same language."
Magic Translators. Aarav turned the words over carefully in his mind. There is really magic in this world. I was right. Used by merchants, police, military. She used to be a military healer — that explains why she has these.
"First of all," Ysolde continued, settling into the rhythm of someone who had organised her thoughts well before speaking, "a warm welcome to you three in the Kingdom of Eloria. Eloria used to be an empire around two hundred and ten years ago. After that it split into two kingdoms — Eloria Kingdom, that you're currently in, and Silva Kingdom, that you're from." She paused briefly. "Later on, Eloria made new policies and advanced themselves, where on the other hand Silva Kingdom fell into the hands of evil and dictatorship. Eloria and Silva have already fought four major wars so far, that you are already aware of. Currently, the Nobara Family is the ruling family of the Kingdom, and our capital city is Astralon."
She said the last part with the easy confidence of someone sharing what she assumed was common knowledge — context, not revelation.
What she did not know was that for the three people sitting across from her, not a single word of it was familiar. Not Silva. Not Eloria. Not the four wars, not the Nobara family, not the city of Astralon. They had arrived in this world carrying nothing but themselves, and every sentence she had just spoken was a piece of a map they were building in real time, in silence, behind composed faces.
"Thank you for the detail, ma'am," Aarav said. "And for the language — where can we learn it?"
"To learn the language, you can learn it by speaking more with the people and attending the night classes offered by Temples or Churches," Ysolde replied, with the matter-of-fact warmth of someone who had given this advice before and meant it each time. "By doing so you can learn to read and write within two months. Remember to learn it properly — it would be more helpful to you in the future than almost anything else."
Aarav, Rajan, and Veer listened without interrupting. When she finished, they thanked her — genuinely, without the performance of gratitude, the kind that came from people who understood exactly what the information was worth.
Ysolde then moved on to other things — currency, basic customs, the small practical knowledge that books never covered but that separated people who survived a new place from people who didn't. The conversation stretched on for several more minutes, comfortable and unhurried.
Finally, Aarav leaned forward slightly.
"Ma'am," he said, "I know Mr. Leo already explained the situation regarding police and refugees. But I would like to ask you again — if someone is not resisting, would they simply be arrested? Would they later be released? And is it the same for regular citizens?"
Ysolde's expression shifted. Not dramatically — just a settling, the way a face does when it is preparing to say something honest rather than comfortable.
"Well, to tell you the truth, what Leo said was partially correct — police usually do arrest them," she said quietly. "But you see, there is a bit of discrimination. Police usually don't kill a citizen for the same offence even if they resist or try to escape, because they are under the protection of the law and they get released with the help of a lawyer." She held his gaze. "Although refugees are also under the protection of the law, some police kill them just because they were resisting. And they don't usually release them easily. Most of the refugees don't have enough money to hire a lawyer or to negotiate with the police. Even if the police kills a refugee, they don't get charged for it — the higher-ups don't give any value to it."
She said it without bitterness. That was somehow worse than if she had.
That's pretty bad. Aarav held her gaze and kept his expression neutral. There is clear discrimination even where the law exists. We have to be very careful from now on.
A brief silence sat over the table.
"Thank you, ma'am, for the information," Rajan said, his voice carrying the weight of someone who meant every word of it. "And thank you for the food and the help you have given us. We would definitely return the favour. Well then — we would leave. Please excuse us."
---
They gathered at the front door, pulling on their shoes in the narrow entryway. The afternoon light had softened while they weren't looking, the shadows outside longer now than when they had arrived.
Ysolde had come to see them off. Behind her, Nick and Liza were already waving — enthusiastically, unreservedly, with the particular energy of people who had decided in their hearts that these strangers were worth seeing again. Nick's mother offered a quiet smile from further inside.
Lily stood slightly apart from the others.
She was watching the three of them with the same careful, unconvinced expression she had worn through most of lunch — not hostile exactly, but measuring. The eyes of someone who had not yet decided, and was not going to be rushed into deciding. She did not wave.
Her gaze met Aarav's.
Aarav looked back at her for a moment, and then, finding no useful response available to him, gave her a slightly awkward smile — the expression of a man who had no idea what to say to a young woman who was quite clearly suspicious of his continued existence.
She must be in her rebellious phase. He was already turning away. She definitely doesn't trust us. Are we really like those? Come on, young lady — learn something from your younger siblings.
They waved their goodbyes and stepped out onto the road.
Behind them, the door closed — quickly, decisively.
Lily turned to Ysolde the moment it shut. "Granny, I know your judgement is pretty accurate," she said, "but aren't you trusting them a bit too much?"
Ysolde looked at her for a moment. Something soft moved behind her sharp eyes.
"Well, I was pretty sure that they were not bad people," she said. "And they even saved your brother." A brief pause, and then a small smile that had nothing to do with the present moment. "Besides — isn't Arlan's face similar to your Grandpa when he was young?"
Lily opened her mouth. Then closed it.
"Fine," she muttered, the word carrying the particular weight of someone making a reluctant concession. "I really hope that they are not bad people."