We started searching for slave traders, moving from alley to alley, disguised as travelers. Stella walked behind me, guarding our rear, while Armin took the lead up front. They had swords, so it made more sense for them to be in front. All I could do was magic.
We stopped when we heard footsteps. Someone was coming. Wait—someone was running. Armin and Stella took their positions. Then a gust of wind, and a small demihuman collided straight into Armin. A white tiger demihuman?
"Ahh, look where you're going, kid," Armin said.
The little demihuman clutched something against his chest. He looked worn out, dirty, his clothes torn. Under his sleeves I saw a mark—bruises, maybe. He stepped back, trembling.
"Sorry... please don't hurt me," he whispered.
Stella glared at Armin. "Look, you scared a kid. Monster."
"Hey, I didn't do anything!" Armin said, his voice too loud.
The little demihuman flinched. His eyes filled with tears. We all froze. None of us knew how to calm a scared kid.
"Hurry, do something!" I said.
I crouched down and flicked my fingers. Small fireworks burst above my palm—red, gold, blue. The kid sniffled and stopped crying.
Stella softened her voice. "What's your name? Are you lost?"
"Fang," he mumbled. "My name is Fang."
Armin tried again, quieter this time. "Okay, Fang. Why were you running?"
Fang didn't answer. Instead, a strange sound came from somewhere.
Armin and Stella grabbed their swords. "What was that?" Armin whispered.
"Don't know. Never heard anything like it," Stella said.
I sighed. "Guys... I think it's just his stomach."
Fang shrank back, whimpering. Armin knelt down.
"Let's get you something to eat," he said.
Fang's ears perked up. He looked at Armin, then at me. I nodded. He looked at Stella. She nodded too.
We stepped out of the alley. Sunlight hit us. The street was busy. People walked everywhere. Birds chirped from the rooftops. A vegetable seller was shouting nearby.
"Fresh carrots! Sweet as honey! Tomatoes so ripe they'll burst!"
A woman stopped at his stall. "That cabbage better not be wilted by noon like last time."
"Never, ma'am! Just picked this morning!"
She handed over coins. He tipped his hat.
Further down, a man and woman were arguing outside their house.
"I told you, I forgot the coin purse! You think I did it on purpose?" the man said.
"Forgot? You always forget! Every single time!" the woman yelled back. "How am I supposed to buy vegetables with no money?"
"Then use your own!"
"My own? I gave you my last copper for your ale!"
A pot clattered inside. Then muffled voices. The argument went on but we moved past.
A little boy ran past us with a sticky bun, nearly tripping. His mother called, "Slow down, or you'll drop it!" He laughed and kept running.
We entered a small eatery. The smell hit us—meat, herbs, bread. The place was crowded. Spoons clinked against bowls. People talked over each other.
"Order up! Two lamb stews and a loaf of rye!" a cook yelled from the kitchen, banging his ladle.
"Coming!" a waiter shouted back, balancing three plates. He dodged a customer who stood up too fast.
"Watch it!" the customer snapped.
"Sorry! Hot food!" the waiter said, not slowing down.
Near the window, a father fed his daughter. He blew on a spoonful of soup before giving it to her. She opened her mouth wide.
"Good?" he asked.
"More!" she banged her fist on the table.
He laughed and dipped the spoon again.
Fang stood still, watching them. His grip tightened on whatever he was holding. His ears drooped. His eyes stayed fixed on the father and daughter—on the father wiping the girl's chin, the girl patting his beard, both of them laughing.
Stella nudged me. "Look," she whispered.
I looked at Fang. He wasn't just hungry for food. He was watching families. Kids with their parents. The way they sat together.
Outside, the vegetable seller was still shouting: "Fresh herbs! Get your fresh herbs!"
And somewhere down the street, the husband and wife were still arguing, though quieter now—tired murmurs instead of shouts.
We sat at an empty table while Fang ate. The way he devoured the food made it obvious—he hadn't eaten properly in a long time. He grabbed the bread with both hands, tore it with his teeth, and barely chewed before swallowing. Soup dripped down his chin. He didn't seem to care.
"So Fang, tell us. Where's your mom and dad?" Armin asked.
Fang stopped eating. He put the bowl down on the table and looked at his lap. His ears flattened. I could see his jaw trembling, his small fists clenching under the table.
"I don't know where my mom is," he said, his voice cracking. "I don't have a dad."
He paused. Took a shaky breath.
"I was captured by bandits. Me, my sister, and my mom. They grabbed us from our village at night. I don't remember much. Just fire. And screaming."
Stella's hand tightened around her cup. Armin said nothing.
"Me and my sister were sold to different slave traders. We were separated. I found out which trader bought her. I followed them. I've been watching."
He looked up at us, his eyes red but fierce.
"My sister is sick. A fever that won't go away. The slave trader doesn't care. He doesn't give her medicine. He says if she dies, he'll just buy another one."
Fang's voice cracked again. He wiped his nose with his sleeve.
"So I ran away. I stole money. I stole food. At night, I sneak in through a crack in the back wall. I give her medicine. I give her food. I stay until she falls asleep, and then I leave before anyone sees me."
He looked down at his hands.
"I've been doing that for two weeks now. But she's getting worse. The medicine isn't enough. I don't have much money left."
Silence.
Armin stared at the table. Stella looked at me. I could see her jaw clench.
Fang wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, quickly. But we all saw.
"I don't know what else to do," he whispered. "I can't lose her. She's all I have left."
The restaurant noise continued around us—clinking bowls, laughter, the cook yelling orders. But at our table, no one spoke.
Then Armin pushed his chair back. The legs scraped against the floor.
"Where is she?" he asked. "Where are they keeping her?"
Fang looked up, surprised.
"Please," Fang said, his voice small. "Please help me."
Armin didn't answer right away. He reached over and placed his hand on Fang's head. Fang flinched at first, then froze. Armin's hand was rough and calloused. But he was gentle.
"Eat your food," Armin said. "We're not going anywhere until your bowl is empty."
Fang stared at him. His eyes were wet. His lip trembled.
"But... you don't even know me," Fang whispered. "Why would you help me?"
Armin pulled his hand back and sat down. He looked at Fang for a long moment. Then he spoke, low and steady.
"I was a kid once too. No parents. No one to protect me. I know what it's like."
He leaned forward.
"One day, a man came for me. I was nobody. Just a stray on the street. But he pulled me up. Told me to stop crying and start walking. He taught me how to fight. How to survive."
Armin paused. His jaw tightened.
"He's gone now. But I remember what he said. 'One day, you'll find someone weaker than you. And when you do, you don't walk past. You pick them up. That's how you pay it forward.'"
Fang's ears perked up. His eyes didn't leave Armin's face.
"Now you're standing in front of me. You're scared. You're small. You've got nothing left. But you came back every night for your sister. That's not weakness. That's strength."
Armin reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, worn-out coin. Old. Edges smooth from years of handling. He placed it on the table and slid it toward Fang.
"This was his. The man who saved me. It's not worth much. But it's worth everything to me. Keep it. And when you feel like giving up, remember—someone believed in you."
Fang stared at the coin. His hand shook as he reached for it. He picked it up and clutched it tight against his chest.
"I... I don't know what to say," Fang whispered.
"Don't say anything," Armin said. "Just eat. After that, we move."
Stella leaned in. "How many guards at the warehouse?"
"Two," Fang said, his voice steadier now. "Maybe three. They drink at night. One of them falls asleep by the fire."
"And the back wall?" Stella asked.
"There's a crack. Big enough for me. Not for you. But there's a side door. Old lock. I couldn't break it."
Armin nodded. "I can break it."
He looked at Fang again. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Finish your stew, kid. We're getting your sister back tonight."
Fang grabbed the bowl with both hands. He started eating again, faster this time. But he didn't let go of the coin. He kept it pressed against his palm, even as he scooped soup into his mouth.
Armin sat back and watched him. His hand rested on his sword.
Fang looked up at Armin between bites. His eyes weren't afraid anymore.
Armin nodded at him. Just once.
Fang nodded back.
No more words. None needed.