The market square bustled with noise — bartering voices, clattering carts, the sharp tang of sweat and dust. Two small figures slipped through the crowd: a ragged boy with dull, weary eyes and another, taller but thinner, shivering as though his body could barely keep its form together.
Igron's steps faltered. His face, pale beneath the illusion, had lost its sharp edges. His legs trembled, his breath shallow. "Kairo…" he muttered weakly. "…this body… it's starving."
Kairo stopped beside him, crimson eyes hidden by the veil of the illusion but still burning faintly behind them. He said nothing, only watched as Igron staggered, clutching his thin stomach. Hunger gnawed at them both, but for Igron — once a demon of power, now confined to fragile flesh — it was unbearable.
They ducked into a shaded alley, away from the crowd. Igron leaned against the wall, trying to steady himself, while Kairo crouched, scanning the street for discarded scraps. He found half a crust of bread, hard and dirt-stained, and pressed it into Igron's trembling hands.
The giant-turned-child forced a smile and chewed slowly, though his body begged for more.
It was then that a shadow crossed them.
A man stood at the mouth of the alley, his expression unreadable, eyes lingering on their frail forms. His voice broke through the silence, firm but not unkind.
"You two… where are your parents?"
Kairo's gaze flicked up at him. His lips pressed tight, giving no answer.
"…Gone," Igron whispered, his voice small, childlike.
The man studied them a moment longer, then unshouldered a sack. He knelt, placing a loaf of fresh bread and a small pouch of dried meat on the ground before them.
"Eat," he said simply.
The smell was intoxicating. Kairo hesitated, suspicion flickering in his eyes, but Igron reached first, tearing hungrily into the food. Kairo followed slower, each bite measured, controlled.
When they had eaten enough to dull the ache, the man crouched lower, his gaze sharp but calm.
"You don't belong in the streets," he said. "I run an orphanage nearby. It isn't much — a roof, food, a bed. But it's better than starving in alleys."
His eyes shifted between them, weighing something unspoken. "If you'll come with me, there's a place for you both."
The wind rustled the alley, carrying the din of the market, but in that moment, the world felt still.