Viktor leaned back against the cool, rough stone of the well, his initial reaction to the encounter with the boys—a tangle of fear and frustration—gradually easing into a dull ache. The residual burn from the strike against his abdomen ebbed slowly, allowing space for another sensation to reassert itself: the relentless gnawing of hunger that had only grown sharper with the commotion.
He sighed heavily, acutely aware of the stillness around him now that the boys had left. His body ached for sustenance, a pressing discomfort that gnawed at the edges of his willpower, making it hard to think about what to do next. But Viktor knew he couldn’t linger here indefinitely, exposed in the dim light of the alley, a stranger in an unforgiving city. Yet, movement eluded him, leaving him rooted to the spot in reluctant lethargy.
As minutes slipped by in quiet ponderance, Viktor was startled from his thoughts by a sudden voice that seemed to emerge from nowhere. It wasn’t threatening, but the unexpectedness tightened the tension already coiled within him.
“You’ve overstayed your welcome,” the voice commented, the observation delivered with the dispassion of discussing the weather. Viktor’s instinct reacted defensively, assuming the worst. His heart quickened again, and he spun toward the sound with narrowed eyes, bracing for another confrontation.
The speaker was a young boy, lean and wiry, with a keen, watchful gaze that spoke of his understanding of the city's undercurrents. He appeared a shade younger than Viktor, his posture relaxed, as though he was used to witnessing such altercations from a distance. His jet-black hair fell messily over a brow that seemed too wise for his age, partially shading his dark brown eyes, which glimmered with sharp, playful intelligence. His deeply tanned skin, reminiscent of sun-warmed earth, hinted at long days spent under an unforgiving sun, suggesting a life of constant movement and exposure.
Unlike the others, this boy’s demeanor wasn’t hostile or mocking; rather, he seemed to be studying Viktor, analyzing the scene before him with an intensity that was palpable yet oddly detached.
“What do you mean?” Viktor asked, suspicion threading his voice despite the stranger's benign disposition.
The boy tilted his head slightly, considering Viktor as if he were trying to decipher a particularly complex puzzle. There was something about his focus that was unsettling, an absence of malice but also of warmth.
“You’re finished here,” the boy replied matter-of-factly. “Once you get what you came for, you should move on. Staying too long invites unnecessary risk, especially when you’re unfamiliar with the surroundings.”
Viktor regarded him silently for a moment, taken aback by the simple logic yet startled by its delivery. “What makes you think I’m new here?” he queried, his curiosity unexpectedly piqued by this stranger's peculiar approach.
The boy shrugged, his eyes not leaving Viktor’s as he replied in the same steady, unemotional way. “Your clothes. Your speech. And I was watching when those boys tried to mess with you.” His voice carried no judgment, just a statement of observed facts.
There was something unsettling about the boy’s manner, a flatness to his tone that suggested an analytical bent but not one of compassion. Viktor shifted a bit uncomfortably, suddenly aware of how closely he was being scrutinized.
“You could say I needed to rest, so it might look like I hadn’t gotten what I came for yet,” Viktor countered, sensing the challenge to justify his prolonged presence.
The boy’s expression didn’t change, but he offered another bit of practical wisdom, void of emotion yet brimming with an odd kind of logic. “Rest when there are witnesses or hide yourself away. Your current location is neither. It’s a place of heightened risk without visibility or safety. Staying here at a time like this is inviting needless danger.”
Viktor blinked, marveling at the boy’s unique perspective. It was blunt but prudent advice—a utility-based worldview honed from a different kind of experience. He nodded slowly, acknowledging the sense in what the boy said.
For the first time since the loss of his family, Viktor considered that perhaps accepting help, unconventional as it may seem, could be crucial to surviving the harsh reality of his circumstances. The boy remained inscrutable, his surface still waters hiding depths Viktor couldn’t read, but in an odd way, he felt a kinship—a shared isolation with this youth who saw the world through such an unfiltered lens.
“What’s your name?” Viktor found himself asking, compelled to learn more about this odd savior with a penchant for logic grounded in practicality.
----------------------------------------
The boy stood still for a moment, a calculating look flitting across his face as if he were assessing unseen variables. It seemed as though he was weighing the potential value of knowing someone like Viktor against the cost of offering him his name. After a brief moment of introspection, he arrived at a decision and stated his name with a matter-of-fact tone, devoid of warmth.
"Arelos," he said, his voice carrying the simplicity of a resolved equation.
Viktor gave a slight nod, his tired eyes scanning Arelos as if trying to glean more from the boy’s taciturn demeanor. Viktor came to a quick conclusion of his own; he needed an ally in this unfamiliar place. Despite his fatigue, he decided to tap into the charm he had often been told he possessed, hoping it might bridge the distance between them.
"Well, Arelos," Viktor began, mustering a genuine smile despite his exhaustion, "it’s good to meet you. I’m Viktor." He offered his hand in the universal gesture of friendship, hoping to spark some connection.
Arelos regarded Viktor’s hand not with suspicion, but as though he were studying an odd and unnecessary tradition. His response wasn’t discourteous, but it was clear he preferred observation to participation. After a moment, he returned the handshake with a quick motion, closing the contact with minimal investment.
"Nice to meet you," Arelos replied, though the sentiment felt more rehearsed than heartfelt. His gaze returned to its steady observance, as if Viktor were a riddle yet to be unraveled.
Viktor chuckled softly, intending to ease the tension with humor. "You sure know how to keep a conversation going," he quipped, a light-hearted attempt that echoed in the dim alley. Although charm was one of Viktor’s strengths, it seemed to have little effect on Arelos, who remained unmoved and stoic, studying him with an uninterested yet sharp gaze.
As the night crept in further, Viktor's thoughts drifted toward more pressing matters—hunger gnawed persistently at the corners of his awareness, refusing to be ignored. He turned to Arelos with a tentative inquiry, seeing a glimmer of hope in the practical wisdom the boy seemed to possess.
"So, uh, do you have any tips for getting by here? You know, food-wise?" Viktor asked, trying to mask the depth of his need behind a casual tone.
For a moment, Arelos appeared to deliberate once more, as if calculating whether sharing such information would inadvertently lead to competition for scarce resources. But the boy decided to provide some guidance after all, his manner adopting the familiar directness once more.
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
"You won’t find feasting easy without coin," Arelos began, his eyes showing a touch of skepticism as they lingered on Viktor's still noble if worn appearance. "But left to your own devices, you could try searching for scraps in the market areas. People drop things occasionally, especially when it’s crowded or around the end of busy days when they tire."
Viktor nodded, absorbing the information as Arelos continued. "Stick around food stalls or bakeries, though you might need to resort to either begging or just waiting patiently for what ends up spoiled."
The practicality of the advice wasn’t lost on Viktor, though the idea of begging sat uncomfortably with him. He listened intently as Arelos outlined potential strategies for survival.
"Then there are the taverns—trash heaps behind them might offer not-too-spoiled stuff." Arelos explained this with the detachment of stating facts, not judgment. "And don’t rule out crowded areas; begging here might yield better returns or at least find some pity or coin. Temples are things to consider too, especially during holidays – charity can be soft and disorganized around holidays, so food could be easy enough to come by."
Viktor gave a small grimace at the mention of begging, a new humility settling uncomfortably with his proud upbringing. "What about work? Surely there’s an honest way to earn a meal?"
Arelos nodded almost imperceptibly. "Some might offer small jobs, errands for the merchants, cleaning stables, washing dishes, or carrying goods. But it might be spotty, plenty of people willing to work for almost nothing."
Viktor felt a glimmer of hope. He could handle work, hard work wasn’t new to him, though it had always been shared in balance with privilege.
Arelos turned his gaze fully on Viktor, his expression one of caution rather than judgment. "You can steal," he admitted, his tone devoid of stigma. "But it’s risky without a group or a plan. Last resort, truthfully. You attract the wrong kind of attention, it might be worse for you."
Viktor stood quietly, processing the array of options laid before him by Arelos’ practical suggestions. Despite the city's threats, the conversation brought a hint of clarity—a tacit invitation to navigate the ebb and flow of Lycona’s unpredictable tide. With Arelos' advice, however blunt, Viktor felt armed with a modicum of agency.
"Thank you," Viktor said quietly, sincerity lacing his words. He didn’t miss the fleeting twitch of acknowledgment on Arelos' face, a fragment of recognition that Viktor received with inexplicable gratitude.
In countless uncertainties, this—connection—however hesitant or terse, might just be enough to find a way through the murky maze of survival in this city.
----------------------------------------
Viktor sat beside the well, his mind teetering on the brink of decision and uncertainty. Arelos’ practical advice lingered in his thoughts, yet exhaustion clouded any ability to fully process or prioritize the options laid out before him. The city, with its myriad possibilities and threats, seemed both inviting and overwhelming. His body ached with a weariness that was bone-deep, numbing any impulses to act immediately.
The day was slipping into twilight; the sky above deepened into dusky shades as the encroaching night threatened to amplify the vulnerabilities that daylight had somewhat shielded. Viktor shivered involuntarily at the thought of cold, open streets offering little protection. Despite the mixed emotions roiling within him, one thing became increasingly clear—he needed a place to weather the night.
Aware that he couldn’t stay by the well indefinitely, Viktor turned to Arelos, his voice laced with the tentative hope of finding refuge. "So, uh, where do you usually stay? You must have a spot that’s safe and out of the cold, right?"
At the query, Arelos’ expression subtly shifted—a slight narrowing of the eyes accompanied by a twitch of wariness in his demeanor. The question, while innocuous, seemed to touch on something more guarded within him. "I manage," Arelos replied tersely, his voice adopting an almost indifferent timbre as if the answer were simply inconsequential.
Sensing the cagey reaction, Viktor pressed slightly, his need for shelter outweighing his hesitance. "Would you be willing to show me? Somewhere I could settle for the night?"
Arelos hesitated, an unreadable silence stretching between them. The discomfort and indecision in Arelos’ stance spoke volumes—a silent calculation of risk versus familiarity, weighing Viktor’s request in the balance of trust and secrecy.
Eventually, Arelos shook his head, his response lacking animosity but firm nonetheless. "Not a good idea," he said simply. "I don’t know you, and I can’t risk my spot." The implication was clear—trust was a commodity neither could afford to freely give just yet.
The rebuff, while softly delivered, stung as Viktor nodded in understanding, a sense of isolation encroaching again. "Right," Viktor murmured, suppressing the bitter pang of disappointment. He comprehended Arelos' caution, recognizing that the boy’s instincts were honed by necessity, yet the realization hung heavily.
Silence pooled between them, awkward in the gathering dusk, yet not entirely devoid of the flickering connection they’d established. Arelos lingered, seemingly undecided about Viktor, his eyes holding a hint of intrigue even amidst the stoicism.
As the quiet stretched on, Viktor’s restless gaze wandered and landed on a torn piece of parchment nestled among the loose cobblestones nearby. Curiosity piqued, he leaned forward and, almost absent-mindedly, began to read aloud the few faded sentences inscribed:
"In the Southern reaches, they say the sky blends with the earth, an endless horizon..."
His voice faded into the evening air, the words seeming out of place here in the city’s heart—a fragment of faraway places that echoed incongruously against stone and shadow.
Arelos’ interest rekindled abruptly at the sound of Viktor's voice, disbelief etched across his otherwise impassive features. "You can read that?" he asked, the surprise in his tone cutting through the commonplace cynicism of their earlier interactions.
----------------------------------------
Viktor blinked at the sudden interest from Arelos, caught off guard by the boy’s curiosity about his ability to read. "Yeah, I can read," he confirmed, still not entirely sure what to make of the situation. At first, Viktor thought little of it—a simple affirmation of his skill. Yet realization dawned on him slowly, like the first light of dawn creeping over a darkened horizon—perhaps Arelos couldn’t read. Viktor paused, considering what that might mean.
Viktor had always taken reading for granted. It was a skill instilled in him from a young age, a requisite part of his upbringing. But as he mulled over Arelos’ potential illiteracy, he considered that not everyone shared this privilege. Among the common folk, those engaged in trades or manual labor, reading might not be a necessity.
"Can you read?" Viktor asked cautiously, seeking to confirm his suspicion.
Arelos hesitated, his usual composed demeanor wavering slightly as he evaluated Viktor’s query. There was something guarded in his eyes, an echo of vulnerability that warred with his instinct for self-preservation. Finally, the boy’s reluctance gave way to a short, unembellished answer. "No, I can’t," Arelos admitted, his voice steady but lacking the usual detachment.
The admission hung in the air, a candid truth that shifted the dynamic between them. Viktor saw it as an opportunity, a potential opening that might foster trust and camaraderie.
"Would you like to learn?" Viktor offered, his tone imbued with a genuine interest in helping Arelos. He knew that reading might be more than a skill—it could be a bridge to new possibilities.
Arelos’ eyes narrowed slightly, scrutinizing Viktor’s offer with keen intensity, as if searching for any sign of deception. The boy’s calculating gaze met Viktor’s unwavering expression, weighing risks against rewards. Rather than answering directly, Arelos flipped the question back to Viktor. "Can you teach me?"
"Yes, I can," Viktor replied without hesitation. "But," he continued, choosing his words carefully, "I’d need time to teach you properly. And honestly, I’d need a place to stay and food in my belly to be any real help." His stomach rumbled loudly, almost as if on cue, punctuating his statement with undeniable evidence of his need.
Arelos regarded Viktor for a prolonged moment, as if sifting through the implications of the proposal. The silent alleyway stood as a backdrop to their deliberate exchange, framed by the creeping shadows of the approaching night.
After what felt like an eternity, Arelos nodded, the decision reflected in his steady gaze and the resolve threading through his quiet words. "Alright," Arelos stated, his voice pragmatic. "I’ll help you find food and show you a place to stay for the night. But only if you promise to teach me. Keep your word. Don’t try to string me along—I’ll know." There was an edge of warning in his tone, a reminder of the conditions attached to their fledgling agreement.
Viktor met Arelos’ intense stare with a reassuring nod, extending his hand once more, this time to seal their tentative pact. "I promise," Viktor affirmed, the sincerity in his voice matching the look in his eyes. "Deal?"
Arelos paused, giving Viktor’s offered hand another calculating glance. Then, in response, he reached out and clasped Viktor’s hand in a firm shake. "Deal," Arelos confirmed, the word anchoring their fragile alliance amid the uncertainty cloaking them both.
As they released their grips, the unspoken understanding lingered between them—a shared acknowledgment of necessity and exchange, a subtle acknowledgment of trust in a world teetering between survival and suspicion.