The sun dipped low as the two figures trudged across the sand, the faint shimmer of the Common Realm's outer settlements just visible on the horizon. The air smelled faintly of smoke and dust, and in the distance, the murmur of people drifted like a reminder of a world they did not belong to.
Kairo walked in silence, his crimson eyes half-hidden beneath strands of black hair. Beside him, Igron's steps faltered. The tall man's human frame, lean and unfamiliar, betrayed him at last — his shoulders shook, and his hand pressed against his stomach.
"…Hungry," Igron muttered through clenched teeth. His voice, usually calm, now carried the faint tremor of weakness.
Kairo stopped, turning his head slightly. His expression didn't change, but his voice was low, cold.
"You should have said so earlier."
Igron gave a dry chuckle, though his face was pale. "Saying it doesn't fill the stomach." He straightened, swaying slightly, then glanced at the smoke rising from the clustered huts ahead. "There's a settlement… a marketplace, I think. But in this body, walking in like us won't work. Too much attention."
Kairo's gaze lingered on him. "Then what's your plan?"
A thin smile crept onto Igron's face despite the exhaustion. He lifted a hand, faint strands of mana weaving between his fingers. "We become what no one notices — hungry children. People turn away, or throw scraps. Either way, we get food."
Kairo's eyes narrowed. "Children?"
"You want me to collapse here?" Igron asked, voice sharp now, his pride slipping beneath the hunger. "This body isn't Hell-forged. It needs food. Unless you plan to carry me into the city like a corpse, this is the only way."
Kairo's silence was long, heavy. The chains they could not see but always felt seemed to tighten faintly around the air. Finally, he gave a slow nod. "…Do it."
The magic rippled, and their figures shrank, shadows curling and reshaping. In moments, the Red-Eyed One and the giant became nothing more than two ragged boys, barefoot and gaunt, their eyes hollow with need. Kairo glanced down at himself, jaw tightening at the indignity of it.
"Let's move," Igron said, his child's voice unnervingly light compared to his usual tone.
They entered the market. Noise swallowed them immediately — the calls of merchants, the laughter of drunks, the cries of beggars. The air reeked of sweat, roasted meat, and iron. Kairo walked stiffly, every fiber of him rejecting this disguise, but he said nothing.
Igron, on the other hand, slipped into the role with ease. He coughed weakly when they passed a fruit stall, eyes downcast, and a distracted merchant shoved half-rotten apples toward him just to make him leave. At another corner, Igron snatched a loaf of bread left unattended.
Kairo followed silently, crimson eyes dimmed beneath the illusion. The people didn't see him — not as he was. Only a thin, ragged child too unimportant to matter.
By the time the sky turned red with dusk, the two boys slipped into an alley, clutching their spoils — stale bread, bruised fruit, scraps of meat. Igron dropped against a wall, eating with a desperation he barely tried to hide.
Kairo watched him for a long while, then sat beside him, tearing the bread slowly, mechanically. His eyes didn't move from the dust at his feet.
From Hell's arena… to this.
The humiliation burned silently, but he swallowed it down, the bread dry and tasteless in his mouth.
Igron glanced at him between bites, smirking faintly despite the crumbs on his lips. "See? Sometimes survival means crawling low."
Kairo didn't answer. He only kept eating, his crimson gaze fixed on the fading horizon, where the world above waited.