The slums were quieter now. Only the distant hum of the main market reached this part of the city — muffled, as though the noise avoided the place on purpose.
Woon walked a step ahead, hands in his pockets, the girl trailing just behind him clutching the small cloth sack. The air here was heavy, tinged with smoke and something faintly metallic. Cracked walls leaned toward the narrow street, and puddles reflected dull streaks of morning light.
She hadn't spoken since they left the alley.
After a while, Woon glanced sideways at her. "How long's your mother been sick?"
"Two weeks," she said quietly. "She can't get up anymore… I tried giving her boiled herbs, but…" Her voice faltered.
He nodded slightly, saying nothing for a few steps. "You went out to collect them yourself?"
She nodded. "From the forest outside the walls. I know some of the plants. The guards don't like us going there, but I didn't have a choice."
The honesty in her tone made him stop for a second — just long enough to exhale through his nose. Tough kid.
"Your name?" he asked.
"Anna."
"Woon."
She gave a small, shy nod in return, clutching her bag tighter.
They turned a corner, and the slums began to open up — the broken stone giving way to cleaner streets and the faint sound of bells in the distance. The white spire of the church peeked through a gap between roofs, its bell tower catching the sunlight like it didn't belong to the same city.
Anna's steps grew faster when she saw it. "We're almost there."
"Don't rush," Woon said quietly, eyes scanning their surroundings out of habit. "You don't need another fall today."
When they reached the church gates, a line had already formed — men, women, and children in worn clothes waiting patiently for help. Some clutched prayer tokens. Others held sick infants wrapped in thin cloth.
Woon and Anna took their place at the end of the line.
Minutes passed slowly. The smell of incense drifted from the open doors, mingled with the faint murmur of prayer. Every few moments, a clergy member in pale robes stepped out to hand over a vial or small pouch before ushering the next person forward.
After nearly half an hour, it was finally their turn.
Anna stepped forward, setting her little cloth sack on the counter. "Please," she said softly. "I need a healing potion. My mother—"
The man behind the table — a middle-aged clergy with narrow eyes and an expression that didn't hide his disdain — looked her up and down before cutting her off. "One gold."
Anna froze. Her small hands trembled as she opened the bag, revealing only a handful of silver coins. "I… only have ten silver."
The man sighed, clearly annoyed. "Then I suggest you return when you can afford charity." He motioned toward the guards by the entrance.
Before they could move, Woon stepped forward and placed a gold coin on the table. The sound was sharp in the quiet hall.
"Will this do?" he asked flatly.
The clergy's eyes flicked to the coin, then to Woon's face. Whatever insult he was about to make caught in his throat. He picked up the coin reluctantly and handed Anna a small glass vial.
"Here," he muttered. "Next."
Anna's hands shook as she took it, whispering a quiet, "Thank you."
Woon turned without another word and guided her out through the doors, back into the sunlight.
__________
The sunlight outside was softer now, dimmed by drifting clouds. The quiet of the street felt almost strange after the murmur of the church.
Anna held the small vial close to her chest, afraid to drop it. Her steps were lighter, but her face still carried traces of worry.
Woon walked beside her, hands in his pockets again. "Where do you live?"
"Down past the bridge," she said, glancing up at him. "The last house before the road turns to dirt."
He nodded. "Lead the way."
They passed through the thinning streets where polished stone turned to patchy mud and the smell of incense gave way to damp earth. The houses grew smaller — wooden walls patched with cloth or rusted tin. A dog barked somewhere in the distance.
When they reached the final turn, Anna slowed. Her small home stood crooked at the end of the path — two rooms, one window, roof sagging from age.
She pushed the door open carefully and stepped inside.
The air smelled faintly of herbs and smoke. A thin woman lay on a straw bed near the wall, her breathing shallow, skin pale with fever.
"Mom…" Anna whispered, setting the vial down and kneeling beside her. "I got the medicine."
Her mother stirred weakly, opening her eyes just a little. "Anna…? You're back?"
"Yes," Anna said quickly, trying to sound cheerful. "Just drink this, okay?"
Woon watched quietly from the doorway as Anna helped her mother sit up. The liquid shimmered faintly as it touched her lips. A moment later, color began to return to her cheeks. Her breathing evened out.
"See?" Anna said, voice trembling between relief and disbelief. "You're going to be fine."
Her mother blinked, confused but smiling faintly. "Thank you… child."
Anna turned to Woon and bowed deeply. "Thank you so much, mister." Her eyes glistened, and for the first time since they met, her smile wasn't forced.
Woon gave a quiet nod. "It's fine. Just make sure she rests."
But Anna shook her head, still holding the small empty vial. "Please… I can't let this go unpaid. Tell me what I can do. I'll return the money — I promise."
He studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "You said you collect herbs?"
She nodded. "When I can."
Woon glanced around the small house — the patched walls, the neat pile of drying leaves in one corner. She's trying… even like this.
After a moment of thought, he said, "If you really want to repay it, come work for me. I run a diner in the west district. You'll get three meals a day, and I'll take what you owe from your pay."
Anna's eyes widened. "Work? Me?"
"Only if you want to," he said calmly. "I need someone who's careful with ingredients. You seem to have a good hand for it."
For a second, she said nothing — then tears welled up again, this time brighter. "I'll do it. I'll work hard, I promise."
"Alright then," Woon said quietly. "But not yet. Stay here for a week. Make sure your mother's back on her feet first."
She nodded quickly, wiping her eyes. "Yes!"
Woon turned toward the door. "I'll come by then. Take care of her till that."
As he stepped outside, the wind brushed through the street, carrying faint laughter from somewhere far away — the kind that belonged to another part of the city entirely.
He looked up at the overcast sky, exhaling. "Guess I played hookie longer than planned."
Then, with a small shake of his head, he started back toward the diner.
To be continued…..