Khazmine winced as she surveyed the shambles of the tragic “home” nestled in the heart of the Forbidden Ruins. The boys’ shaky lean-to was little more than the barest cover from Old Sarzonn’s brutal rains, as evidenced by the many holes in their repurposed sailcloth roof. What little cloth they had was lashed to broken, salvaged timbers with slapdash rope knots made by unskilled hands. The entirety of this dwelling more closely resembled an overturned garbage bin than a proper place for two young boys to live.

A small heap of slimy rags was all they shared for a bed, and there were few possessions within to speak of. In total, there wasn’t an object inside that would fetch a single copper fawn, save for a small silver locket on a grimy chain, worn by the trembling younger boy. The locket jingled gently as the tiny southerner cowered in the middle of this filthy shelter, crying wretchedly for her to spare the elder boy from harm.

“Please, lady! No hurt Ari!” Pavo sobbed as he worked up the courage to meet Khazmine’s gaze. His desperate red eyes bore into Khazmine’s, and she shuddered at the sincerity of his pleas. “We’re sorry! Please take!”

They’re so little… Khazmine frowned silently to herself. She couldn’t be sure when chasing the Outsider earlier, but now it was obvious. The elder boy wasn’t a day over eleven, and his friend was probably seven years old. She’d run herself and this boy ragged over a few measly scraps, only to find the extent of their poverty by accident.

The southerner’s tiny hands trembled pitifully as he offered the burlap sack back to Khazmine. There was a brief pause between them, as Khazmine continued to tower over the little boy, and the grumpy half-breed remained silent to avoid scaring Pavo further. As soon as the burlap sack was in her hand, Khazmine released the elder child, who stumbled over to his companion to make sure he was undamaged.

“You’re okay, Pavo. It’s okay.” The pale child comforted his shaking friend with gentle strokes of his pitch-black hair. His eyes glanced up at Khazmine, who was still at a loss for words. “You got your bag back, lady. So please don’t hurt us.”

“I've no intention of harming children.” Khazmine raised a brow at the defensive child. Now that she appreciated how young and fragile the boys were, she made no effort to punish either of them for stealing from her.

Instead, Khazmine’s nose caught an errant whiff from her surroundings, forcing her to flinch. The stink of filth was overwhelming and compelled her to ask aloud. “What are you two doing out here in the ruins anyway? Where are your parents?”

“Mine are dead, and Pavo’s are gone.” The boy replied.

A pinprick of a hole in Khazmine’s conscience started expanding outwardly. Orphans were common in the city, as Khazmine was one, herself. She narrowed her eyes at the similarity between herself and the two boys and asked about their wellbeing. “And you have no one to take care of you?”

“I take care of Pavo.”

“And you are?” Khazmine tilted her head and slackened her stance to indicate her lack of hostility.

“I’m Aranthus. And this little guy is Pavocinis, or Pavo for short.” Aranthus cautiously introduced the pair.

Aranthus was clearly an Outsider, much like Khazmine, except he had the coveted white hair of a true Outsider. Once it was properly washed and the rat’s nest cut out, Aranthus would have a fine head of smooth, silky hair. His sharp, blue eyes still had the distinctive glow of defiance in them as he waited for Khazmine to return his introduction.

“My name is Khazmine.” She extended a hand to Aranthus, who eyed it suspiciously until he confirmed that there was no weapon in it. “That’s it. I’m from the Asteras family. What’s left of it, anyway.”

Pavocinis coughed painfully into his arm before looking up at Khazmine. “Please, Kiss-Me. Can we have some bread?”

Khazmine stifled a chortle at Pavo’s attempt to pronounce her name. He was only seven, and a D’jabareen to boot, so her name was likely too hard for him to say properly. Pavo stared expectantly at Khazmine with wide eyes brimming with hope for something to eat.

His tiny hands looked so bare and filthy without bread in them, and it didn’t sit quite right with the half-breed that they were so frail and empty. Khazmine smirked as she dredged up a fine raisin loaf heel for the boy and crouched low to hand it to him. “Here, Pavo. We can share.”

“And me, too?” Aranthus’s stomach burbled loudly enough for Khazmine to hear it. His pale blue face reddened with embarrassment at the hungry growling. Khazmine failed to stop a smile from setting in on her face as she handed Aranthus the opposite heel from the same raisin loaf. “Thank you.”

The trio of outcasts nibbled on crusts and heels of bread in silence among the ruins’ jagged fingers. Khazmine shivered slightly as her still damp garments caught the chilly winds that whipped through the voids between toppled stone pillars. Aranthus was largely unbothered by the winds, but poor Pavo rattled like a dry leaf clinging to a windswept branch.

It was no surprise that Pavo was poorly equipped to handle the monsoon winds. D’jabareen children often had trouble adapting to their northern counterparts’ chilly climate, at least as far as Khazmine knew. Seeing the sickly southerner shudder at the same winds, Khazmine scooched over to block them from freezing the little guy. She made a pretext of leaning over to hand him a crust of rye bread to conceal her intentions.

Do not get attached to these two. Khazmine’s instincts warned. They’re not your kin... And you've no reason to get involved.

These unfortunate facts repeated themselves in Khazmine’s head as the boys continued their eager feast, unaware of her turmoil. The half-breed had learned from an early age to avoid getting too attached to other outcasts, as they were historically untrustworthy, greedy, and dangerous.

“Slow down, Pavo.” Aranthus patted the southerner’s back as he coughed from shoving too much bread in his mouth all at once. “No one’s gonna take it from you. Be easy now.”

How much of a threat could they really be? Khazmine pursed her lips as Aranthus rubbed Pavo’s back to comfort him. The Outsider may be scrappy, but the D’jabareen is just a little guy, and sickly, too…

Khazmine clenched her jaw and pretended that her bread was tough to chew. Her gaze lingered on the discarded rusty knife nearby as the realization set in. Even children could turn on you and hold a knife to your sleeping throat. It was far too great a risk to allow them to get close.

No, this is nature’s way. Khazmine sighed. If they were meant to survive, then their resourcefulness and adaptability would permit their success.

A bitter, grainy aftertaste soured Khazmine’s expression. Even the mini raisins in her crust couldn’t sweeten the distasteful sensation. Ignoring the plight of outcasts and thinking only of herself had been Khazmine’s chief priorities since she was orphaned years ago. The lessons imparted for her to “go it alone” were so ingrained that Khazmine struggled mightily to turn away when a fit overtook Pavo again.

D*mn his tiny coughing. Khazmine sneered. The sound echoed in her ears and dredged up uncomfortable events that Khazmine was better off forgetting. Despite the dirty clothes and filth around him, little Pavo was aggressively cute, and had the most earnest expressions plastered on his thin face that forced Khazmine to turn away from him.

“Water. Have you any water?” Khazmine asked to distract herself. “It will help soothe his rough throat.”

“There might still be some.” Aranthus shot up to aid Khazmine in finding relief for Pavo’s cough. “It collects nearby after the rains. This way, come on!”

Too tired and weak to follow them, Pavo simply sat where he was, hopeful for their speedy return. Khazmine winced as Pavo’s outline got smaller and smaller as she walked away with Aranthus. Her foot stubbed into a foreign object as they trudged along. “What’s this?”

The wide mouth bottle she’d struck was ancient and grimy, but its glass was well made, and would shine a bright sea green once properly cleaned out. Khazmine grasped at her own more-or-less clean outer shirt sleeve to wipe the bottle as the pair meandered on. It was clear and clean by the time Aranthus stopped at a stone basin in the remains of an ancient courtyard.

“Here, water.” Aranthus pointed to the algae-rimmed ersatz bird bath.

Khazmine bowed low to examine this suspicious pool of stinking water. Miniature thrashing biter-bug larvae churned tiny ripples at the water’s surface, causing Khazmine to dart back from revulsion.

“Do not drink from this again.” Khazmine warned while staring intently at Aranthus. “Even if you are desperate. The water has… sickness in it.”

“What? How can you tell?” Aranthus’s face fell at Khazmine’s assertion. It was painfully obvious from his boggling eyes that Aranthus had frequented this spot for water in the past.

“Biter-bugs live in it. They spread disease.”

“Is that how—” Aranthus teared up as the worrisome thought entered his mind. Had this tainted bog water made Pavo sick?

Poor Aranthus spiraled on the spot, until Khazmine broke his concentration with a bracing pat on the back. “We need running water. Biter-bugs can’t live in that. Do you know where some is?”

“Yeah. Follow me!”

His purpose reignited, Aranthus bound off for the heart of the Forbidden Ruins, where an exposed sluice rushed torrents of water through the city and underneath to the eastern side of Old Sarzonn. His arms were too short to reach down the craggy outcropping to reach the rushing waters, but Khazmine’s arm was just long enough to fill the sea green bottle to the brim.

Khazmine had pressed against the flat of an overturned bone-stone wall and darted back as soon as it creaked to warn of impending collapse. She barely managed to evade plummeting into the ferocious waters as her perch tumbled into the drink, diverting some of the waters in its path. This made the sluice even harder to reach without a means to lean close, and Khazmine frowned at the crumbling situation.

“Don’t try to get water here with those short arms of yours.” Khazmine carefully handed Aranthus the green bottle and he clutched it to his skinny body as if it were precious treasure. Khazmine tried not to let the abject terror on her face show as she shambled away from the crumbling ruins. She’d been so close to dying again and didn’t want to press her luck. “You'll need to find an easier target if you don’t want this place to drown you.”

“But—”

“No ‘buts,’ little one.” Khazmine pressed. “I only got away with it ‘cause I’m bigger than you. Don’t make me regret helping you and wee Pavo now.”

That shut Aranthus’s protests down on the spot. Even if his own life were disposable, the Outsider clearly existed now to keep his southerner friend alive. Khazmine clicked her tongue to admonish herself as she watched Aranthus’s ears droop. She hadn’t meant to sound so stern, but this lad needed to hear her advice, whether it was kind or not.

The pair trundled back along the worn path between overturned stones and spiked walls to march back the way they’d come in. Aranthus was so excited to find fresh water that he could barely contain his enthusiasm. Surely, this fresh water would help his pitiable friend feel better, and perhaps return some of his lost strength. Aranthus was just about to hop to one of the shattered bone-stone statue bases when he was seized by Khazmine from behind.

“Wh-what the—”

“Shhh…” Khazmine breathed into Aranthus’s ear. Her body pressed into his back hard enough for Aranthus to feel her beating heart drum rapidly against him. A brief glance back at the half-breed told him precious little of why she’d snatched him away from the base of a crumbled statue. Khazmine’s pupils constricted to vertical slits, and her body stiffened as hard as an ironwood plank when she slowly inhaled. A gentle breath of barely audible sound whispered carefully at the Outsider. “Quiet, little one.”

“Well, ‘ow should I know what made that d*mned noise?” A husky, grumbling voice echoed nearby from behind a largely intact wall. The figure’s armor banged about on his body as he avoided the exposed crags all around. “This ‘ol place is fallin’ apart at the bloody seams, innit?”

“Shaddup and look around properly, idjit.” A second man growled by the wall Khazmine was crouching behind with Aranthus. He spoke with a strong, local accent that told Khazmine that he was clearly one of the city guards on patrol. A polearm spike jabbed into the dirt three feet away from their hiding place as he continued. “Oy, look at this!”

Khazmine’s hand pressed against Aranthus’s mouth to silence him as they both held their respective breaths.