For the first time in what felt like forever, Tamura left Mourncrest Manor without chains.
Not physical ones, at least.
The gates opened beneath a clear afternoon sky. Beyond them waited Xathia Prime: bright roofs, high towers, and streets crowded with people who belonged to themselves.
Tamura stopped at the threshold.
Mugen walked past him with both hands in his pockets. "If you're planning to escape, try not to stare at freedom like you've never seen it before."
Tamura followed. "I have seen it."
"Through a window. That doesn't count."
They had been told the outing was a reward for surviving their first assignment. Freya had called it recovery. Vayra had called it proof that Mourncrest cared for its talents.
Mugen had called it suspicious.
He was right.
"We're being watched," he muttered.
Tamura felt the eyes too. One presence followed from the roofline to their left. Another kept pace behind windows across the street. Two guards dressed as merchants lingered near every intersection, never close enough to appear connected.
No chains.
Just a longer leash.
"Four," Tamura said.
Mugen glanced at him. "Six."
"Where?"
"The woman selling blue cloth hasn't sold anything in three streets. And the drunk behind us has been pretending to drink from an empty bottle."
Tamura looked back.
"Don't," Mugen said.
The fake drunk immediately turned away.
Mugen sighed. "Very subtle."
The market district swallowed them before Tamura could answer.
Noise crashed from every direction. Vendors competed across wide stone roads, each shouting louder than the last. Colored awnings stretched between buildings. High elves sold bottled lights that floated like captive stars. Beastkin smiths hammered curved blades while sparks scattered beneath their stalls. A faerie no taller than Tamura's hand argued with a baker over the price of honey.
It was loud.
Overwhelming.
Alive.
Then Tamura smelled roasting meat.
He stopped walking.
Mugen continued three steps before noticing. "No."
"I did not say anything."
"Your face did."
The stall displayed skewers glazed with red spice, crisp-skinned birds, sausages, and cuts of meat Tamura could not identify. Steam rolled across the counter.
"It smells good," he admitted.
"Everything smells good to you."
"It does."
"That is a problem."
They approached the counter. The vendor took one look at Tamura's unblinking stare and placed a protective hand over the nearest tray.
"Are you buying something," he asked, "or intimidating my inventory?"
Mugen checked the small coin pouch Freya had given them. "We'll take two-"
"Everything."
The voice came from directly behind them.
Both boys turned.
The stranger looked as though sleep had defeated him years ago and he had refused a rematch. Brown skin carried a pale undertone beneath the market light. Faded brown hair escaped in every direction, untouched by comb or discipline. Dark circles rested beneath eyes that were far too alert.
His clothes were expensive.
They were also wrinkled.
His grin was the most suspicious thing about him.
"Everything," he repeated, dropping a heavy stack of coins onto the counter. "Feed the children properly. They're both tragic."
"I'm not a child," Mugen said.
The man gasped. "It speaks."
Tamura blinked. "What?"
"And this one is confused. Somehow worse."
The vendor began wrapping food before anyone could change their mind.
Mugen studied the stranger's hands, belt, and stance. No visible weapon. No noble crest. No fear of the guards pretending not to watch.
"Who are you?"
The man's face brightened. "Excellent question. I was beginning to think neither of you would ask."
"That was not an answer."
"You're observant too."
They left the stall carrying more food than three people needed. Tamura began eating immediately. Mugen lasted half a block before giving in.
The stranger walked beside them as if invited.
He had not been.
"You two are interesting," he said through a mouthful of bread.
"That is rarely a compliment," Mugen replied.
"It was meant as one."
Several people turned when he spoke. He seemed incapable of using a voice suited for normal distances.
"Can you be quieter?" Mugen asked.
"Yes."
A pause.
"Will you?"
"No."
Tamura looked at him. "Why?"
The stranger grinned. "Because irritating people is one of the few pleasures nobody has successfully taxed."
He talked as they crossed the market. About a merchant who sold fake dragon teeth. About a temple that charged worshippers extra for front-row prayers. About Mugen's expression, which he claimed had been carved by an unhappy mason.
Then he looked at Tamura.
"You look like life punched you and got offended when you stayed up."
Tamura chewed thoughtfully. "It did."
The stranger's smile faltered for half a heartbeat.
Mugen saw it.
So did Tamura.
Then the foolish grin returned.
They reached a narrow bridge spanning one of the capital's canals. White stone buildings reflected across the water. For the first time since meeting them, the stranger stopped talking.
He rested both elbows on the bridge wall and watched the current.
"Tell me something important," he said.
Mugen frowned. "Why?"
"Because I bought you food."
"That isn't how conversations work."
"It is today."
Tamura looked between them. "What do you want to know?"
The man tilted his head. Beneath the careless posture, his eyes became sharp.
"What would make you happy?"
The question settled between them.
Mugen scoffed first. "That's stupid."
"Probably. Answer anyway."
Mugen watched the guards on the distant roof. "Freedom."
"From Mourncrest?"
"From everyone who thinks another person can belong to them."
The stranger nodded. No joke followed.
He turned to Tamura.
Tamura thought of the empty chair at dinner. The nameless children below the manor. The siblings whose faces he knew but whose voices he was beginning to forget.
"A home," he said.
"For yourself?"
"For all of them."
"All who?"
"My siblings. Mugen. Freya. Aylin." Tamura's hands tightened around the paper holding his food. "Every child in that place. Somewhere nobody can hurt us. Somewhere they can eat when they're hungry and sleep without guards opening the door."
His voice dropped.
"Somewhere they can play without being afraid."
The stranger stared at him for longer than comfort allowed.
"That's a large dream for someone so small."
"I will get bigger."
The answer pulled a softer smile from the man.
"Both dreams are achievable in theory," he said.
Mugen's eyes narrowed. "In theory?"
"Reality has a rude habit of demanding payment."
"What kind?" Tamura asked.
The man's gaze passed over Tamura's scars, then Mugen's bandaged shoulder.
"Usually more than anyone should have to give."
A bell rang from the western tower. Their escorts stopped pretending to browse.
The stranger straightened. His careless expression returned so quickly that Tamura wondered if the serious one had existed.
"That appears to be my invitation to disappear."
"You were walking us back?" Mugen asked.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I wanted to."
Tamura studied him. "Why did you talk to us?"
The man looked beyond them toward the distant spires of Mourncrest Manor.
Something old and tired moved behind his eyes.
"Because you're going to do something interesting one day," he said. "And because interesting children rarely survive adults with plans."
Neither boy liked that answer.
He stepped away from the bridge.
"Try not to die before we meet again."
"When will that be?" Mugen asked.
The grin widened.
"Sooner than you'd like."
He walked backward into the crowd and raised one hand.
"Vayrik, by the way. A pleasure for me, if not for you."
Then the market folded around him.
Tamura searched the crowd, but the wild brown hair and wrinkled coat had vanished.
"That was strange," he said.
Mugen watched the guards closing in around them.
"He knew who we were."
Tamura looked toward the bridge where Vayrik had stood.
"I liked him."
Mugen sighed. "Of course you did."
High above the market, the woman at the blue-cloth stall touched two fingers to a communication rune.
"They made contact," she whispered.
Far away, Vayra received the message.
Her expression did not change.
"Find out why."