Morning came to Lower Ashlon like always—loud, smoky, and unfair. The markets smelled of half-burnt oil, and the streets were filled with merchants shouting prices no one wanted to pay.
At the edge of a bakery stall stood the three boys.
Hungry. Hopeful. Plotting.
Husky licked his lips. "Look at that bread, shining like treasure. Soft, golden, fluffy… it's calling my name."
Bulldog frowned. "It's calling your stomach, not your name. And don't even think about stealing. Remember last time?"
Last time Husky had stolen bread, his karma mark flared so bright the bread itself turned hard as stone and knocked him out cold. The baker had chased him through three streets with a ladle.
But hunger always won.
Pug, shy as always, whispered, "W-we could just ask…"
Both Husky and Bulldog turned to stare at him.
"Ask? For free bread? In this world? Pug, do you believe in fairy tales?" Husky groaned.
The Dogs huddled together like generals planning war. Finally, Husky declared, "Operation Golden Loaf begins now."
The plan was simple:
Husky distracts the baker.
Bulldog sneaks behind and grabs the bread.
Pug waits as backup with his innocent face, just in case.
"Piece of cake!" Husky said proudly.
Minutes later, chaos erupted.
Husky "distracted" the baker by yelling, "FIRE! FIRE!"—but his karma mark glowed bright red. At that exact moment, a nearby lamp caught fire for real, sending smoke everywhere.
Bulldog tried to sneak behind, but karma struck him too: the bread shelves tipped over, burying him under a mountain of loaves. His muffled cries sounded like, "Mmmphh…!"
Pug rushed to help, but his glowing karma mark triggered a reward instead—the baker's wife saw his sweet face and gave him two free buns.
So there stood the Dogs:
Husky panicking because he accidentally started a fire.
Bulldog trapped under bread like a failed hero.
Pug, holding buns, blushing, not knowing what to do.
The crowd laughed. The baker scolded. Karma had turned their "perfect plan" into another comedy.
When they finally escaped into an alley, Husky groaned, "Why does karma always hate us?"
Bulldog pulled a squashed loaf from his hair. "Maybe because we're idiots."
Pug quietly tore his bun into three pieces and shared it with them.
For a moment, the three sat on the broken steps, chewing slowly. They had nothing, yet together, it felt like something.
But far above them, in the golden towers of the Upper Ashlon, strange karma symbols flickered like storm clouds. Someone—or something—was watching.