The chapter opens with a memory.
George was on the ground, beaten and bruised, surrounded by six other kids. They stood in a loose circle around him, blocking off the exit of the narrow alley. At the front of the group stood their leader,a boy who looked completely out of place in the slums.
He was the son of a merchant, the nephew of a noble. His clothes were cleaner, his boots were real leather, and even in this filthy backstreet, he carried himself like he owned everything his eyes landed on. He had blonde hair and a wicked smile, the kind that didn't hide what he was, someone who only wanted to hurt others.
He liked lurking in these alleys of the slums. It entertained him. The money he had made him feel untouchable, like nothing he did here would ever matter. So he brought along some of his paid goons boys a little older, stronger, or just desperate enough to follow him for coin. And in his head there was only one thought: If anyone died in these slums, no one would even bat an eye.
That was just how he was. Someone who took advantage of an already dreadful situation for those below the poverty line. The people who lived there knew it. Every person in that part of the district knew to avoid the boy whenever they saw that blonde head turn the corner.
Unfortunately, that day, George drew the wrong end of the stick.
The boy stepped forward with a casual air, while George sat in the corner of the alley, back against the cold, cracked wall. He was broken, dirty, and ragged. His clothes were torn. His lips were dry. His eyes were already lifeless enough, his hunger eating him from the inside.
The boy's voice cut through the silence.
"Lick my feet,"
George stared at him, how to process the words. The boy smiled wider. "Do that, and I'll give you food."
Food.
George's empty stomach twisted painfully at the word. He thought about it. About the taste of bread he hadn't had in days, weeks maybe. He was so hungry he felt like he could do anything for even a scrap. But…
He didn't like the look in the boy's eyes.
They called him Saffron. Everyone did. George knew that name, knew what it meant. He couldn't even properly say no. Saying no meant getting beaten. Maybe to death. He knew all that.
He knew exactly what refusing meant.
Yet still, George opened his mouth. "…No," he said softly, and turned his face away.
Saffron's grin twisted and collapsed into an ugly scowl. Annoyance brewed on his face annoyance, disbelief, and insult.
How dare this deranged mutt say no to him?
In places like this slum, the jungle was the law, and Saffron held all the cards. No one had ever refused him. No one even dared. He spared people when he felt generous though not everyone who obeyed was spared in the end. He was a sickening individual who cared about nothing and no one but what amused him. And yet here was a boy who had the audacity to say no. He had been kind enough to offer George food, but what he got instead was George turning away with disgust in his eyes. The sight made Saffron's blood boil.
"The peasant has no right refusing me," Saffron hissed, his words dripping with venom. "But since I'm kind, I'll say it again."
The wicked grin returned.
"Lick my boots. This time, I won't offer food. But I'll spare you."
George didn't even turn to look at him.
"No."
Saffron's rage spiked so hard his goons stiffened. One of them stepped forward immediately.
"Boss, just say the word. I'll beat him bloody till he chokes on his own blood."
But Saffron raised a hand, stopping him.
"No. This kid is my prey."
He extended his open hand without looking away from George. One of his goons quickly placed something into it, a rod with a handle wrapped in leather and a long metallic coil at the end. crack. An electric cane. Sparks snapped and spat from its tip, bathing Saffron's delighted face in blue-white light.
He was going to enjoy this.
The instant George heard the crackling electricity, he whipped his head around, and all the blood drained from his face. The cane spat arcs of lightning eagerly, as if hungry for flesh. He'd heard rumors of what those things could do how they left people twitching, burned, screaming.
For the first time, fear sank its claws into him. Maybe… maybe he should apologize. Maybe he should lick the boots. Maybe bowing down to survive wasn't wrong.
He hesitated. His throat tightened. His survival instinct screamed at him. But then he looked at Saffron's face again at that twisted, cruel grin and every thought of submission shattered. George steeled his heart.
He would never bow to such an atrocious face.
The cane crackled violently, blue sparks snapping through the air. Saffron's goons watched with sick anticipation, their grins twisting wider as if witnessing someone else's suffering somehow made their own miserable existence meaningful. And Saffron he was the worst of them all. George, a helpless orphaned child who might've died from hunger any day anyway, didn't matter to them. His life meant nothing in their eyes.
Saffron didn't hesitate. The moment he closed the distance, he swung the electric cane down.
The shock hit George like a boulder smashing through his ribs. It surged through his nerves in a violent wave that stole his breath and tore a scream straight out of him. His body convulsed on the ground uncontrollably, arms and legs jerking as though the electricity were trying to rip the soul out of him. Sparks danced over his skin in cruel, eager patterns.
Saffron threw his head back and laughed maniacally.
Onlookers, homeless men and women hiding in the alley watched in horror and pity. None of them dared move. Anyone who stepped between that cane and Saffron's rage would end up the same. Even Saffron's own goons faltered. For a moment, something flashed in their eyes conscience, disgust, maybe even regret as George writhed in agony.
But the shock ended. The cane fizzled as its charge ran dry.
"Tch." Saffron clicked his tongue in annoyance. "Cooldown."
The alley fell silent. George lay motionless on the dirty ground, faint vapor rising from his skin. Anyone watching would have assumed he was dead. Even Saffron did. He turned to leave.
But then slowly, painfully George pushed himself up.
Everyone froze.
George didn't know why this world was filled with people like Saffron. He didn't know why cruelty came so easily to others. But he did know one thing: he was stupid, stubborn… and he refused to bow. Even if it cost his life.
His vision blurred, his breath was shallow, and pain ripped through every part of his body as blood leaked from his eyes and nose he was already half dead but he stood. Because yielding to someone like Saffron felt worse than dying.
One of the goons whispered, "This kid's crazy…"
George spat blood, lifted his head, and glared at Saffron with fierce determination.
"It's better to be crazy," he said weakly, "than heartless."
Saffron's face darkened. Rage twisted his features, and he charged the cane again, lightning sputtering back to life at the tip. But before he could strike, a voice spoke behind him calm, almost amused.
"I admire that."
Saffron barely turned before a rock slammed into the side of his face. His head snapped sideways, his cane flew from his hand, and several of his teeth followed as he crashed onto the ground. The black-haired homeless kid who threw the rock sprinted past him. Harian. He snatched the fallen electric cane mid-run, then slid to a stop in front of George and spread his arms protectively.
He turned his head back just enough for George to see his smile.
"You're amazing."