They had returned home.
Vael's house stood in one of the most dangerous corners of Pagad—a decaying urban sprawl where homes were made of old wood, rusting steel sheets, and prayers that the next storm wouldn't tear it all down. Everything was built too close, as if the buildings leaned on each other just to survive. Poverty clung to every wall. Crime whispered in every alley.
Vael and the boy he had rescued stood quietly in front of their door. The boy looked up, confused, as Vael raised his hand and knocked—not in a normal rhythm, but with a specific code. In Pagad, you didn't open your door for just anyone. That kind of mistake could get you killed.
From inside, a girl's voice echoed faintly.
"Pat?"
"It's me, Kira," Vael replied softly. "Open the door, please."
The door creaked open.
Standing there was a girl—red hair slightly messy, sharp brown eyes narrowed in irritation. She was twelve, but the boy beside Vael could already sense she wasn't the type to be taken lightly.
"You're late again, Pat," she said, crossing her arms.
Pat—a name Kira had given to Vael, short for Father. Not by blood, but by choice.
Vael scratched the back of his head with a guilty smile. Look at my short-tempered, cute little dragon, he thought to himself.
"Hehe… sorry, Kir."
Kira didn't let up. "You always say that. What if I was in trouble while you were gone?" she snapped, voice rising like a firestorm.
Despite the scolding, she stepped aside. Vael and the boy entered.
The boy hesitated at the threshold, unsure. The warmth, the light, the simple scent of rice cooking—it felt… wrong. Or maybe, too right. He wasn't used to comfort. Not anymore.
Vael placed a hand on the boy's back, gently guiding him forward.
"Don't be scared," he said. "This is your home now."
The boy took small, hesitant steps. He kept glancing around, expecting the warmth to disappear like a trick. But it didn't.
Kira eyed the boy. Her expression shifted slightly—not disgusted, but… concerned. She had been where he was once. She understood.
Still, her tone remained blunt.
"Hey, what's your name?"
The boy said nothing.
She frowned. "Hey, are you mute?"
The words came out sharper than she meant. Frustrated, she turned to Vael.
"Pat, what's his name?"
Vael rubbed his neck, then looked down at the boy and gently patted his head.
"Don't mind her," he said softly. "Kira gets mad easily. She's feisty, quick-tempered, but she's good inside. You'll see."
He stood and nodded toward the hallway. "How about you clean up first? I'll help."
The boy nodded slowly.
Kira, still watching, rolled her eyes but smiled faintly. She turned and walked toward the kitchen.
As she moved, a quiet thought passed through her mind.
If Pat hadn't lost his daughter… maybe he would've never found me. Maybe I would've been sold to someone far worse. Someone cruel. Someone who buys people just to break them. I would've paid him anything to escape—if I still had the strength to.
---
In the small bathroom, a green plastic basin was filled with water. It wasn't fancy. Nothing in their house was. But it was clean.
Vael knelt beside the boy and helped him wash. His touch was gentle, respectful. He spoke lightly, asking the boy small questions—where he was from, if he had siblings, what food he liked—but the boy didn't answer.
He kept his gaze low, lips pressed shut.
Eventually, Vael asked just one question.
"What's your name?"
The boy froze.
A memory flashed in his mind—violent, sharp, and suffocating. A woman yelling. A hand raised. A slap that echoed through a cage. His name, screamed like an insult. Like something filthy.
He remembered what they used to call him. But that name didn't belong to him anymore. That name was a chain. He didn't want it.
He didn't want to be that boy anymore.
"I… don't know," he whispered.
Vael's breath caught.
That answer wasn't just pain. It was erasure. It was the sign of someone who no longer wanted to live as the person they were forced to be.
The old man placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"Then I'll give you a new name," he said. "A name that belongs only to you. From now on… your name is Clied."
The boy—Clied—looked up at him with wide eyes.
And then, for the first time… he smiled.
It was soft. Shy. But real.
Vael smiled back.
At that moment, Kira knocked on the bathroom door. "Hey! You two done yet? Dinner's ready!"
They both laughed—quiet, tired, and a little surprised at themselves.
Clied dried off and changed into clean clothes. Then he followed Vael into the small kitchen, where Kira had set out simple bowls of rice and soup. Nothing grand. But to Clied, it was more than food.
It was family.
They sat together. Three broken souls, stitched together by fate, slowly learning how to become whole.
And for the first time, Clied ate a meal not as a slave…
…but as someone who mattered.