The slums at dawn were always the same cold air thick with the smell of burnt metal, rotting wood, and smoke drifting from broken chimneys. The sun barely reached the narrow alleys, leaving most of the district shrouded in a dimness that made it difficult to tell morning from night.
Vyre, five years old but hardened by the streets, moved through the maze with practiced silence. Bare feet whispering against dirt, he scavenged through broken crates behind the market stalls. Nothing edible. Nothing useful. The slums rarely gave anything freely.
Then a scream shattered the quiet.
Vyre's head snapped up.
Down the main alley, a thin boy sprinted wildly — filthy, starving, hair stuck to his forehead. In his clenched fist, something glinted. Behind him, three elderly men barreled after him with torches in hand, their voices hoarse with fury.
"Catch that rat!"
"He stole from us!"
"Burn him alive when you get him!"
Vyre didn't hesitate.
He sprinted across a collapsed fence and intercepted the fleeing boy just before the mob rounded the corner. Without explanation, he grabbed the child by the wrist and dragged him toward a small gap between a wall and an overturned barrel.
He shoved the boy inside with him and clamped a hand over his mouth.
"Stay quiet."
The boy shook uncontrollably.
The men thundered past, torches blazing orange light across the walls.
"Find him!"
"Check every corner!"
"He'll scream when we cut his hands off!"
Their footsteps faded. Only then did Vyre release his hand.
The boy gasped sharply.
"W-who are you…?"
Vyre checked the alley again. Silence. He turned back to him.
"I'm taking you to the orphanage. Come."
The boy flinched.
"I-I don't know you… why would I go with you?"
Vyre snapped.
"Do you want me to call those men back so you can get burned alive?!" he barked, eyes blazing. "You think the streets care who you know? They only care about someone smaller to break."
He jabbed a finger into the boy's chest.
"And if you're going to steal… steal properly. Only the fool who gets caught is called a thief."
The boy froze scared, but listening now.
"No more talking," Vyre said. "You're coming with me."
He grabbed the boy's hand and pulled him along.
THE WALK TO THE ORPHANAGE
They passed collapsed rooftops, ash-stained walls, children digging through trash, and adults with eyes hollowed by hopeless nights. The slums were a graveyard of discarded lives.
The boy kept glancing up at Vyre.
"What's your name…?"
"Vyre," he said without slowing. "Yours?"
"…Kaze."
"Well, Kaze," Vyre replied, "stay close. The slums don't like small kids walking alone."
Kaze nearly tripped trying to match his pace.
Eventually, they reached a cracked stone building tucked in a quieter corner of the district. Warm light seeped through its patched windows.
The orphanage.
Vyre knocked.
The door opened to reveal the matron a tired woman with graying hair tied tight, eyes weary but warm.
Before she could speak, Vyre said,
"I found him being chased. He needs a place."
She exhaled.
"Vyre… you know I don't have enough food. I barely keep you and the others fed. One more mouth"
Vyre stepped forward, gaze firm with impossible maturity.
"Then I'll work," he declared. "For him and me. Don't worry about food I'll handle it. Just let him stay."
The matron blinked, shaken by the certainty in his voice.
After a long pause, she nodded.
"…Alright. Bring him in."
Vyre nudged Kaze forward.
"Come on. Better than dying out there."
Kaze stepped inside and froze.
Not in fear.
In awe.
His jaw dropped.
His eyes widened.
For a full moment, the world stopped around him.
"…She's beautiful," he whispered.
Vyre stared at him, baffled.
Kaze didn't blink.
As Vyre finished negotiating with the matron, Kaze finally strutted in or tried to offering her a heroic smile far too big for his tiny dirty face.
"H-hello, ma'am," he said, voice suddenly soft and noble. "I… uh… I like your face."
The matron blinked.
"…Thank you, dear."
Kaze puffed out his chest like a full-grown warrior.
Vyre grabbed him by the collar and dragged him further inside. Kaze stumbled, but tried to keep the charm alive.
"You know," he told her, failing a wink and blinking both eyes instead, "if you need anything anything at all I am extremely reliable."
The matron covered her mouth to hide her laugh.
"Kaze, is it? Let's try surviving the night first."
Vyre exhaled hard enough to shake dust from the ceiling.
Once they reached the sleeping corner, Kaze tugged Vyre's shirt and whispered urgently:
"Vyre. I'm going to marry her."
"You can't even walk without tripping," Vyre replied.
Kaze nodded with full conviction.
"Then I'll learn."
Vyre stared at him.
Saving Kaze from angry old men?
Easy.
Saving the matron from Kaze's delusions?
Impossible.