The three men who stepped out of the shadows looked exactly like what Roland expected from this part of the city,dirty coats worn too long without ever being patched, leather belts cracked from damp, cheap knives strapped to their hips like an afterthought. Their faces were all sharp angles and hard lines, marked by a life that left deeper cuts than conscience ever did. And their eyes had that same unpleasant glint,people who weren't looking at someone, only at an opportunity.
One of them spat onto the cobbles, gave Roland a quick once-over, then let his gaze slide back to Elin and linger far too long.
"Well, well," he repeated with a quiet chuckle. "Look what we've got here."
"Kid, I think you're lost," the second added, shifting half a step to the side,casual, but deliberate, like he was closing the path behind them. "The western district isn't for evening strolls."
"Not with that kind of company," the third said, licking his lips. "People can… disappear."
Roland didn't answer.
He squeezed Elin's hand on instinct,before she even fully understood what was happening,then spun and bolted, dragging her toward the nearest side alley.
"Run," he threw over his shoulder. "Don't let go."
Angry shouts and heavy footfalls erupted behind them almost immediately. He didn't look back. He cut hard between buildings where the cobbles were uneven and the passages narrow,places he knew from deliveries, from shortcuts, from hauling crates and slipping around crowded streets.
They passed a row of barrels stacked against a wall. Roland kicked one with everything he had, toppling it right as the first thug tried to turn after them. The heavy wood rolled under the pursuers' feet, followed by a burst of curses.
"Faster!" he shouted when Elin stumbled over a jutting stone. He tightened his grip and practically hauled her into the narrow passage.
They vaulted a low wall. Roland snagged his hand on a protruding nail,sharp pain, a flash of blood,but he didn't slow. He turned again, steering them deliberately over broken cobbles where loose stones shifted underfoot. He knew they wouldn't be careful.
"Help!" he bellowed when he caught the glow of a lantern in the distance. "Help! Thieves!"
His voice bounced off the walls, but instead of an answer he heard only furious swearing and the pounding of boots growing louder,telling him they didn't just hear him, they were speeding up. This wasn't a random encounter anymore. It was a chase.
He yanked Elin into the next alley, nearly by force. Her hand trembled in his. Her breathing started to stutter.
He glanced at her for a fraction of a second and saw raw fear in her eyes,pure, unhidden, the kind you couldn't fake. Something in Roland's head clicked into a sharper, faster rhythm.
"Just a bit more," he panted. "You can do it."
She tripped on uneven stone, nearly going down. Roland caught her around the waist and dragged her forward without stopping. Behind them, one of the men laughed,low and filthy.
"Go on, scream!" someone yelled. "No one comes out here at this hour!"
Roland cut between two buildings so narrow his shoulders almost scraped the walls. He kicked loose stones and bits of wood aside on purpose, heard a stumble and another burst of curses,but it wasn't enough. They were faster. Bigger. Used to running people down.
"Help!" he shouted again, lungs burning, legs starting to feel heavy. "Help! Over here!"
Elin was openly sobbing now, gulping air in short, broken pulls. When one of them hurled a rock that cracked against the wall inches from her head, she let out a terrified squeak and nearly tore her hand free.
"Don't let go," Roland said through clenched teeth, gripping tighter. "Please."
Then he saw a short flight of steps descending into a lower lane where the stones gleamed wet,and realized too late it was a mistake.
They hit the steps too fast. Roland's foot slipped on the slick rock, and Elin's weight did the rest.
The fall was violent and chaotic. Roland slammed his shoulder into the ground and lost his breath in a hard, choking burst. Elin went down beside him with a strangled cry.
Before he could push himself up, something jerked his coat,fingers clamping onto the fabric like a vice.
"Got you, you little shit," someone snarled right above him.
A second weight crushed him down,knee driven into his back, another pinning his legs. Roland hissed as stones bit into his skin through thin cloth.
Two men were on him already,heavy, stinking of sweat and cheap alcohol. One grabbed the back of his neck and ground his face into the cobbles. The other reached for Elin.
She sat dazed, eyes wide, scrambling backward on her hands with nowhere left to go.
"Clever little bastard," one of them growled. "Now you're gonn,"
He didn't get to finish.
A heavy, metallic rasp cut through the alley,the sound of a sword being drawn. A heartbeat later, an adult man's furious shout thundered into the space, echoing off stone.
"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!"
A figure strode into the lantern's circle of light with a naked blade in hand. One look at his face,at the way his eyes took in the whole scene,was enough for even the dumbest of them to understand they'd made a very bad mistake.
The adventurer didn't ask questions. He didn't warn them.
The movement was immediate, brutally precise. The moment he saw Roland pinned to the ground, his hand was already in motion. A short knife flew low and fast, burying itself in the thug's hand exactly where his fingers clenched the coat.
The scream that followed was high and almost shrill,pure shock and sudden pain. The man didn't even manage to yank his hand away before the adventurer was on him, stepping in with one heavy stride that put him perfectly between the thugs and the two kids.
"Back off," he snapped,not to Roland and Elin, but to the world, like the night itself was supposed to obey.
The first thug tried to reach for the knife on his belt.
He took a sword hilt to the face so hard his head snapped sideways. He dropped to his knees, spitting blood and something that sounded like a torn-off curse.
"This,this is a joke!" the second one shouted, stumbling back half a step, clutching his injured hand to his chest. "We were just,"
"A joke?!" the adventurer roared, voice filling the alley and bouncing back at them. "Who the hell chases kids through the streets at night with knives on their belts?!"
He didn't wait for an answer.
His next strike went into the third man's knee. The blade cut with surgical efficiency. The leg folded at a wrong angle, and the man hit the ground screaming,then choking into a wet groan as he tried to crawl away.
The first thug struggled to get up, bracing on the wall.
A kick to the ribs stole his air and slammed him into the stones so hard he could only wheeze, helpless and broken.
"Please!" the second man wailed, retreating in panicked, uneven steps. "We didn't know! We thought,"
"Thought what?" the adventurer asked softly.
The quiet was worse than the shouting.
A quick thrust opened the man's thigh. Another followed,deliberately shallow, deliberately painful, just enough to take his legs from him. He collapsed, twisting and screaming, trying to drag himself toward the wall.
There was no chaos in it.
There was methodical violence,the kind that came from someone who'd done this before and knew exactly how much force it took to make a threat stop breathing in the wrong way, without stopping it altogether.
Only when all three men lay on the cobbles,bleeding, moaning, unable to rise,did the adventurer lower his sword and finally turn his head.
He looked at Roland and Elin.
Their pale faces. Their shaking hands. The tears on Elin's cheeks.
He let out a heavy breath.
"Alright…" he muttered. "You're alive."
The relief lasted only a moment.
His gaze hardened again, and his voice rose,this time aimed at them.
"What the hell are you doing in alleys like this at this hour?!" he barked. "Didn't your parents teach you not to wander around here after dark?!"
Roland was still sitting on the ground, trying to find air. Elin clung to his sleeve like it was the only solid thing left in the world. Now that the danger was gone, the closeness of what almost happened hit them both like a delayed blow.
The adventurer held still for a beat, seeing that neither of them could answer yet. He glanced back at the three men, as if making sure none of them would suddenly try something stupid. Then he spat in their direction with open contempt. No words,because words didn't mean anything to people like that.
His shoulders eased a fraction. The tension bled out of him. When he spoke again, his voice was lower,tired, practical, more workmanlike than threatening, like someone who'd seen this too many times.
"Alright," he said, taking a deep breath. He slid the knife away and let the sword's tip rest against the cobbles. "Now, slowly. Tell me what happened."
He looked from Roland to Elin, making sure they were both upright, both still there.
"Why were you in this part of the city," he added, "and why did those three start chasing you?"
There was no accusation in it. Just the worn need to understand before he decided what to do next.
Behind them, one of the thugs let out a weak groan and tried to move,only to sag back down onto the stones with a helpless, trembling breath.