The Red District stank of wet ashes and cheap perfume.
Rain poured relentlessly over the twisting alleys of the Red District, washing filth into the gutters but never cleansing it. The night smelled of rust, smoke, and blood—everything that belonged to a place already half-dead.
Hunger reminded the boy he is still alive. His ragged hood clung to his head, heavy with rain.
His hood was torn, his hands dark with grime. He sifted through the refuse behind a tavern, turning over rotting scraps in the hope of something still edible.
His stomach growled, but he didn't stop. Hunger was nothing new. Hunger had names here. It whispered, clawed, and laughed when you slept.
He found a half-eaten loaf soaked in rainwater. The mold didn't matter. He tore off the blackened parts and shoved the rest into his mouth, chewing quickly as his eyes darted around the alley.
Someone coughed from the shadows.
"Brother… you found something?"
The voice was soft, trembling. A girl, small enough to vanish behind a barrel, peeked out. Her face was pale, her lips dry, her clothes two sizes too large.
Rin.
The boy's expression softened for the first time that day. He broke the bread in half and handed it to her.
Eat slow," he said.
She smiled faintly, and even in this rotting world, that smile felt like sunlight through smoke.
But the warmth didn't last.
Footsteps approached—three men in patched leather, eyes dull with greed. One of them kicked a crate aside.
"Well, if it isn't the little rats again."
The boy tensed. He knew that voice—the gang that ran this part of the district. They called themselves the Ash Hounds, scavengers who took protection money from people who had nothing left to protect.
"Didn't I tell you to pay your share, boy?" the leader sneered. His breath reeked of sour wine. "Or do I have to take that sister of yours as payment?"
Rin flinched, shrinking behind her brother's back. The boy's jaw tightened.
"I'll get it soon," he said quietly.
The man laughed and grabbed him by the collar. "You said that last week. You think we feed on promises?"
He threw the boy against the wall. The impact rattled his ribs. Rin cried out, rushing to him, but one of the other thugs caught her wrist.
The boy's eyes went cold. He wanted to fight, but the weight of three men and a rusted dagger reminded him of his place.
Then, as the laughter faded down the alley, he slumped to the ground, coughing blood and rainwater.
Rin knelt beside him, wiping mud from his face with trembling fingers. "Brother… it's fine. We'll be fine."
He didn't answer. He looked at her trembling hands, her skin faintly blue from sickness. She coughed again, weak and dry.
She's dying.
The rain grew heavier. The world blurred in gray and black. Somewhere far away, someone shouted, someone cried, and someone laughed—but the Red District didn't care. It never did.
The rain began again, soft at first, then harder, until it drowned out the world.
Through the hiss of rainfall came a whisper from two drunk men nearby—words carried by the wind.
"They say Madam Vira got her hands on a pill that can restore vitality... a life-restoring medicine."
"Heh, worth more than a hundred gold, that. As if any rat here could ever touch it."
The boy's fingers tightened around the mud.
He didn't look at Rin. He just stared into the rain, the reflection of a broken lamp flickering in his eyes like dying fire. He said in soft voice "Let's go back. We still have works to do."