“Thief! Stop that boy!”

Ronan’s head snapped in the direction of the shout, just in time to see the young boy darting down the street. His small legs pumped furiously as he weaved between pedestrians, a look of sheer panic on his face. Behind him, two burly goons gave chase, their heavy footsteps pounding on the pavement as they yelled threats.

Instinctively, Ronan’s heart raced. He knew that look. He knew that fear. It was like staring at a mirror, his past playing out in front of him.

Without thinking, Ronan’s feet began to move, his body reacting before his mind could catch up. He pushed past a few people, trying to get a better look. The goons were gaining on the boy, their expressions dark with anger as they neared the terrified child. It wasn’t a fair chase, not by a long shot. The boy was too small, too weak to outrun them for long.

Just as one of the goons reached out and grabbed the boy by the back of his shirt, yanking him to the ground, Ronan found himself shouting.

“Hey! Stop!”

The words left his mouth louder than he intended, and the street seemed to quiet for a brief second. The goons halted, looking up in surprise. The boy squirmed in the dirt, clutching something in his hands.

A bread.

Just a freaking loaf of bread.

Ronan’s eyes flicked down to the boy, and his heart clenched. The kid was tiny—couldn’t be older than nine or ten, with a wild head of brown hair that stood out against his freckled face. His eyes were striking, a vivid green flecked with gold, darting around like a cornered animal. A faint scar ran across his left eyebrow, cutting through the hair there. His clothes were ragged, practically hanging off his skinny frame, and dirt streaked his face, accentuating how pale and malnourished he looked. He clutched the bread to his chest like it was the most valuable thing in the world, his small hands trembling as he stared up at Ronan with a look of desperation.

One of the goons, a heavyset man with a scar running down his cheek, sneered at Ronan.

“What’s it to you, kid?” he spat, holding the boy down with his boot. “This little rat stole, and he’s gonna pay.”

Ronan’s blood boiled. The boy’s wide, terrified eyes met his, and it was like looking into the face of his own self—helpless, scared, and desperate.

“I told you to stop,” Ronan growled, stepping closer, his fists clenched. He could feel their stares, but he didn’t back down. His chest tightened with a mix of anger and some more anger. He wasn’t about to let them hurt this kid.

Before things could escalate further, a calm but firm voice cut through the tension.

“That’s enough.”

Gideon had stepped forward, his presence commanding. Without a word, he reached into his coat and pulled out a small pouch, tossing it toward the goons. The heavier one caught it mid-air, the clink of coins audible as he weighed it in his palm.

“That should cover the bread,” Gideon said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The goon hesitated for a moment before his greed won out. He shoved the boy aside, letting him scramble free. With a grunt, the two men turned and lumbered off, counting their spoils.

Ronan rushed over to the boy, helping him to his feet. The boy, dirt smudged across his face, looked up at him with wide, tear-filled eyes. “Th-thank you,” he stammered, clutching the bread tightly to his chest.

Gideon stepped closer, his gaze softening as he looked at the boy. “What’s your name?” he asked, his voice calm yet firm.

The boy sniffled, trying to catch his breath between sobs. “S-Suri,” he hiccuped, wiping his eyes with a dirty sleeve. His grip on the bread never loosened, as though letting it go would mean losing everything.

Gideon knelt down slightly to meet Suri’s gaze, his tone gentler now. “Alright, Suri. Tell me, why did you steal the bread?”

Suri tried to speak, but his words came out in broken fragments, his teeth chattering a little. “M-mother... she’s sick... no food... I... I didn’t... have... no money...” His words tumbled out, one after another, barely making sense, his voice shaking with fear and exhaustion.

Ronan, still kneeling beside the boy, looked up at Gideon, unsure of what to do. This was all hitting too close to home, and seeing Suri in such distress only made him more frustrated with himself for not knowing how to help.

Gideon, however, remained calm. He placed a reassuring hand on Suri’s shoulder, his voice steady and composed. “Breathe, Suri. You’re safe now. No one’s going to hurt you. Just take your time and tell us what’s going on.”

The boy hiccuped again, his breath shaky, but he nodded slowly, trying to calm down as best he could. His tears continued to fall, but his sobs slowly began to subside.

Suri's breathing began to steady as he sat between Ronan and Gideon, clutching the bread tightly against his chest. After a few moments, he wiped his nose on his sleeve and, in a shaky voice, started to explain.

“M-my mother… she’s really sick,” Suri said, his voice barely above a whisper. “She’s been in bed for months. We don’t have any money left, not even for food. I tried to get help, but no one... no one would listen.”

Ronan felt a knot tighten in his chest as Suri continued, his words halting and broken. The boy wiped his eyes with his sleeve again, clearly struggling to keep from breaking down completely.

“I didn’t know what to do. But then... I remembered how much she loved this bread. It’s her favorite.” He looked down at the loaf, his hands trembling. “I just wanted to bring it back to her. So maybe, just maybe... she could feel a little better. Even if it’s just for a moment.”

Ronan’s jaw tightened as he listened. It was all too familiar—the desperation, the need to do something, anything, to help someone you love. Suri’s words hung in the air, raw and heavy with emotion.

Gideon’s eyes softened as he listened, and his voice remained calm and steady. “You did what you thought was right, Suri. But stealing... it isn’t the answer.”

The boy sniffled again, his gaze lowering to the ground. “I know... I know it’s wrong. But... I didn’t have any choice.” His voice cracked as tears started to pool in his eyes again.

Ronan exchanged a glance with Gideon, silently pleading with him to do something—anything. He couldn’t just walk away now, not after hearing the boy’s story. Gideon seemed to understand, his expression thoughtful as he looked down at the young boy.

After a brief pause, Gideon stood up, extending his hand to Suri. “Let’s go see your mother, Suri. Maybe we can help.”

Ronan glanced at Gideon, a swirl of confusing emotions tightening in his chest. This guy was making him question a lot of things in the world, and it was becoming a jumble of things in his mind, piling up, with no outlet.

***

The carriage rattled gently as it made its way through the quieter streets. Suri sat between Ronan and Gideon, clutching the loaf of bread like it was his lifeline. His eyes were still red and puffy, but he had calmed down, his breathing steadier now.

Ronan stared out of the window, the city passing by in a blur of lights and shadows, but his mind wasn’t on the journey. His thoughts kept pulling him back, back to memories he didn’t want to dwell on. His own mother, her frail body wasting away in the slums. The fear, the helplessness he had felt, watching her slip further away with each passing day. He hadn’t been able to do anything for her. Not even a proper burial. Not even something as small as a good meal to comfort her at the end.

He clenched his jaw, shaking the thoughts away. This wasn’t about him right now.

When the carriage finally came to a stop, the guards outside protested as Gideon made to step down. Their eyes flicked toward Suri and then back to Gideon with disapproval.

“Lord Gideon, it isn’t wise—”

One look from Gideon, a sharp and cold gaze, silenced them instantly. The guard cleared his throat and stepped aside without another word.

Ronan followed after them, his heart heavy as they walked through the narrow alleyways, led by Suri’s small form. His eyes flickered back to the boy, to the bread he clung to so tightly. Something about it all felt like a cruel cycle.

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Suri stopped in front of a crumbling, run-down house. Although it was better than the garbage Ronan used to live in, it was barely holding itself together. Suri glanced back at them, hesitating for a moment, before pushing the door open and stepping inside. Ronan felt a knot tighten in his stomach as they followed.

The inside of the house was small, dark, and cold. Suri led them toward a small room where, lying on a tattered blanket, was a woman. Her breathing was shallow, her skin pale and gaunt. She looked like she was barely holding on.

Suri knelt beside her, his small hand resting on her frail arm. "I got your favorite, Mama," he whispered, placing the bread beside her.

Ronan watched the scene unfold, his throat tight. He tried but it couldn’t just be about Suri and his mother anymore. It was about everything he had lost, everything he had tried to forget.

The frail woman stirred, her body trembling as a series of harsh, wet coughs racked her chest. Her eyelids fluttered weakly, barely managing to open. She tried to speak, but another fit of coughing cut her off, her body shaking from the effort.

“Mama?” Suri’s voice cracked, his small hands trembling as he gently touched her arm. “Please, Mama, say something…”

But she couldn’t. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, and her lips parted as if to speak again, but no words came. Suri’s eyes filled with tears, his voice breaking as he turned to Ronan and Gideon, desperation written all over his face.

"Please," Suri sobbed, "You have to help her! Please, do something! Don’t let her die!"

Ronan’s heart pounded in his chest, a rush of panic and anger surging through him. He looked at the woman, at Suri’s tear-streaked face, and something inside him snapped. This couldn’t be happening. Not again. Not when there had to be something they could do.

“Gideon!” Ronan's voice was sharper than he intended, his emotions pushing him to the edge.

Gideon’s eyes flickered with a rare moment of uncertainty as he knelt beside the woman, placing two fingers gently on her wrist to feel for a pulse. His expression remained stoic, but Ronan could sense the tension there, the understanding of how dire the situation truly was.

“She’s… very weak,” Gideon said quietly, glancing up at Ronan, his voice low.

Ronan’s jaw tightened, a fresh wave of anger rising inside him. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. He clenched his fists, wanting to argue, to scream, to force the universe to give them a second chance. He couldn’t accept that this was the end, that they were too late.

“No,” Ronan said through gritted teeth. “There has to be something. Anything. We can’t just… let her die.”

Gideon gave him a long, measured look, clearly weighing his options. Finally, he sighed and turned toward the guard standing near the entrance. “Fetch the doctor. Now.”

The guard hesitated, glancing between Gideon and the scene before him. For a moment, he seemed unsure, but the silent command in Gideon’s eyes was enough to send him into action. Without another word, the guard rushed out to follow the order.

The room fell into a tense silence, broken only by the sound of the woman’s ragged breathing and Suri’s quiet sobs. Ronan stood there, his chest heaving with frustration, feeling the helplessness claw at him. Even with all the magic, all the power in this world, some things remained just out of reach.

And that was the cruelest part of it all.

Ronan didn’t go into specifics, but the doctor was actually there in the next fifteen minutes.

The doctor arrived within minutes, striding in with an air of quiet confidence. He was a tall man, with salt-and-pepper hair neatly combed back and a thin, silver monocle perched on his nose. His dark robes, adorned with small symbols of healing magic, swayed as he moved with practiced precision. Despite the dire surroundings, there wasn’t even a flicker of disgust or hesitation in his expression as he took in the shabby room. Instead, his sharp, calculating eyes scanned the space before settling on the woman lying on the bed.

“Lord Vandross,” he greeted with a respectful bow, his tone formal but calm. “It’s an honor to serve you.”

Gideon nodded in acknowledgment, his gaze serious. “This woman needs help. Do what you can.”

Without missing a beat, the doctor knelt beside the woman and immediately got to work, setting down a black leather bag and pulling out various instruments Ronan couldn’t quite make sense of. Thin metal rods, small vials filled with glowing liquids, and a peculiar-looking glass orb—all of which seemed both foreign and strange to Ronan. His mind, however, was too preoccupied to dwell on them. His eyes kept flicking back to Suri, who was still kneeling by his mother’s side, silently weeping, holding her cold hand.

The doctor worked swiftly, placing the orb over the woman’s chest and muttering under his breath. The orb flickered with dim light as he moved it slowly along her body, its glow fading as it reached her extremities. His brows furrowed in concentration, and after a few more minutes of quiet examination, the doctor straightened up, his face grim.

"She’s suffering from late stage Crimson fever,” the doctor began, his tone steady but grave. “a blood condition that has weakened her immune system and caused internal damage to her heart, lungs and liver. And I’m afraid it has already reached her brain. And-,” he hesitated, glancing sympathetically at Suri, “she’s severely malnourished. Her body lacks the strength to fight back.”

The words hung in the air like a death sentence.

Ronan felt the breath leave his body as the weight of the doctor’s diagnosis settled in. His eyes widened in shock, a lump forming in his throat. He had been prepared for bad news, but this… this was worse than he’d imagined. He swallowed hard, the frustration rising in him again, threatening to spill over.

Suri, on the other hand, broke down completely. His small frame shook with violent sobs, his hands clutching at his mother’s sleeve as if holding her tighter could somehow make her stay. “No, no, no,” he choked out, his voice barely a whisper as he shook his head. “She can’t… she can’t die. She just can’t.”

The doctor stood back, his expression compassionate but firm. “I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do to save her. She has only a few hours left at best.”

Suri kept crying, his small frame trembling with each sob. The sound was raw, filled with despair, and it echoed in the small, suffocating room. His hands clung to his mother’s limp arm as if his touch could somehow keep her tethered to life.

The doctor, standing by quietly, gave a slow nod before continuing in a quiet tone. “I can give her some medication to ease the pain and make her last moments as comfortable as possible. It won’t cure her, but it’ll help her pass away more peacefully.”

Gideon, standing near the door, gave a curt nod of agreement, his usual composed demeanor tight with an edge of sadness. “Do what you can,” he said softly, his voice lacking its usual firmness.

As the doctor moved to prepare the medication, Ronan stood there, feeling a crushing sense of helplessness. It wasn’t the first time he’d watched someone die like this. His own mother had wasted away in front of him, and there had been nothing he could do. He had never been able to give her any comfort, any peace. No proper goodbye, no last moment of solace. He had simply watched her fade, powerless and alone.

And now, here he was again. Watching someone else suffer. Watching another family fall apart. He clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms. A thousand thoughts ran through his head—anger, frustration, sorrow—but mostly, he felt useless. He had magic, he had been given the chance to learn things beyond what he could have dreamed of back in the slums, yet none of that could save this boy’s mother.

Gideon’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. “Ronan,” he said gently, his tone unusually soft. “We should go back now. There’s nothing more we can do.”

But Ronan shook his head, the stubbornness in him refusing to let go. “No. I’m not leaving. I—I can’t just walk away from this.” His voice was strained, a hint of desperation lacing his words.

Gideon studied him for a long moment, then, after a sigh, he gave a slow nod. “Alright. We’ll take them both back to the mansion.”

Ronan blinked, surprised. He hadn’t expected that. He glanced at Gideon, feeling a rush of gratitude wash over him, though he didn’t voice it. His throat was tight with too many emotions to speak, but the decision felt like a lifeline. At least he could do this—offer them some dignity, a small bit of comfort in the end.

As the doctor administered the medication, Ronan knelt beside Suri, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. "We’ll take her to a better place. She deserves that."

***

Back at the mansion, the room was eerily quiet. Ronan stood in the corner, his back pressed against the cold wall, arms crossed tightly over his chest. The scene before him felt too familiar, too close. He had been here before, hadn’t he? Standing just like this, a silent observer to death’s cruel hands. Back then, it was his mother lying in that bed, her frail body giving out as his sister wept, inconsolable, next to her.

And now, it was Suri. A boy he had just met, but whose pain he understood so deeply it hurt.

Suri sat beside his mother’s bed, clutching her hand as though his grip alone could keep her tethered to life. His face was wet with tears, his small frame shaking with each sob. The room was heavy with the weight of inevitable loss, and Ronan could barely breathe through it.

Suddenly, there was a small movement on the bed.

Suri’s mother stirred, her eyes fluttering open, and slowly—impossibly—she sat up. Her once pale face now carried a warmth, a glow of health that hadn’t been there moments ago. Ronan blinked, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. Suri gasped, his tears stopping as he looked up at her in disbelief, his mouth falling open.

“Mama?” Suri whispered, his voice trembling, filled with hope that had no place in a room like this.

His mother smiled, her hand gently caressing his face. “I’m here, my love,” she whispered, her voice soft but clear. Suri let out a joyful cry, throwing his arms around her, holding her as though he would never let go again.

Ronan’s heart twisted painfully. The joy in Suri’s eyes, the overwhelming relief in his voice—it was all too much.

But then their eyes met—Suri’s mother and Ronan’s. And somehow, in that one glance, Ronan knew. He didn’t need anyone to tell him. He could see it in her eyes. This wasn’t a miracle of recovery; this was something else. It was the last bit of strength she had left, her final gift to her son. She had forced herself back, pushed through the pain and weakness, just to give Suri this one last moment. This one final embrace.

And as she hugged Suri, her hands tenderly brushing through his hair, her eyes began to close again. Her body relaxed, the energy that had seemed so full of life moments before now slipping away like the last rays of sunlight at dusk.

Suri, still holding onto her, didn’t realize at first. He was smiling, his tears now of happiness, whispering to her about how he knew she’d be okay, how everything was going to be fine now.

But Ronan knew.

Slowly, too slowly, Suri realized something was wrong. His mother’s arms grew limp around him, her body slumping back into the bed. “Mama?” Suri’s voice cracked. “Mama?”

No answer.

“Mama!” he screamed, shaking her gently at first, then harder, as if he could shake her back to life.

Ronan couldn’t move. He could only watch as the same terrible scene played out again, just like it had all those years ago. The joy in Suri’s face vanished, replaced with pure, raw anguish. His sobs, filled with a helplessness that echoed across the room, tore through the silence.

She was gone.