The scene opened deep within an underground tunnel, damp and dark like a forgotten sewer.
"Move. Now!" a harsh voice barked.
Another followed quickly, irritated.
"Finish it fast. There's more waiting in line."
"Let them rot," the first snapped.
A man was dragging a girl behind him — long black hair, noble clothes stained with dirt, bruises painting her pale skin. Her eyes were cold, empty, yet she moved as he ordered, silent as a shadow.
As they passed a stack of abandoned crates, a boy watched from the darkness. He'd been hiding, waiting. Slowly, carefully, he crept closer, using the crates for cover.
The man dragging the girl stumbled, spit trailing from his mouth as he muttered. The second man turned toward a metal door nearby, completely unaware.
In that moment, the boy struck.
From behind, he drove a short sword into the first man's back. No hesitation. As the body fell, he pulled the blade free and hurled it at the second man before he could react — a clean hit.
Without a word, he grabbed the girl's hand and ran. Down the tunnel. Back the way he came.
At the far end, a ladder stood — the kind built into sewer walls, rusty but strong. He climbed first, then helped her up. Once they reached the street, he pulled the cover back in place and kept running.
They didn't stop until they were far enough — their breathing heavy, lungs burning.
The boy exhaled, half laughing.
"Heh… I think there were around twenty guys behind that door. Lucky those two didn't make a scene."
The girl didn't reply, still catching her breath.
"Don't worry. We've gotten far enough. They won't find us now."
A pause. Then, finally, she spoke.
"You shouldn't have done that."
"What…?" he turned to her.
"Why did you help me?"
"Was I supposed to just let that guy—? No. Don't say dumb things. Where's your family?"
"...They're dead," she whispered.
"What the hell happened…?"
He caught himself. "Sorry. Doesn't matter. But still — I won't let you do what you're thinking."
She looked away.
"I've lost my reasons to live."
He sighed. "Sorry your luck's that bad… but as long as I'm alive, you're not dying."
"I just… want it to end," she muttered.
"If you really wanted to die, you wouldn't have run all the way here."
Silence.
"You want a reason to live? Fine. Let me be that reason. Just give me some time."
She said nothing.
He turned his back, crouched down a little.
"Come on. You're too tired to walk."
The night was still heavy around them.
As they walked again, he spoke:
"I haven't asked… What's your name?"
"...Ashia."
"Ashia, huh… Asia. I'll call you Asia."
She froze.
Her real name was Asia, but everyone around her mispronounced it — (except the one who named her… her grandfather). That he got it right… it surprised her.
He didn't know. He just said it.
"And you? What's your name?" she asked.
He paused.
"My name…? I don't have one. Call me whatever you want."
"...Brother," she said.
He blinked. "Huh. That's unexpected."
"I never had a brother before."
Her words struck something in him.
He'd imagined a different kind of bond.
But somehow… he liked this better.