At dawn, the city of Aeloria awakened like a living tapestry, woven by the gentle hands of time and breath.
The sky stretched endlessly—cerulean and serene—adorned with wisps of cloud drifting like dreams across the heavens. Birds sang from stone rooftops, and the scent of freshly baked bread drifted from narrow alleys, embracing all who passed with the warmth of home.
Leona moved at a leisurely pace, with Lux—trotting faithfully by her side. Among the murmurs and melodies of morning life, Leona offered a quiet smile—not forced, but sincere. Still, behind that smile lingered a question—one not easily answered in a world this vast.
"Easy now, Lux. Not every scent needs chasing," she said softly, a trace of amusement in her tone.
Lux let out a curious chitter—not a meow, but a clever yip, more fox than feline—as he withdrew from a wall layered with sun-bleached posters.
Then, Leona stopped.
Ahead, a small crowd had gathered at the corner of a shadowed alley. Raised voices and scuffling feet echoed faintly from within. Lux's ears twitched; his fur stiffened like grass in a coming storm.
Leona stepped forward, her movements slow and measured. Through a break in the crowd, she caught sight of a man—cornered, struck, and beaten by three others. Fists landed against his ribs, boots struck his side. He didn't retaliate. He merely shielded himself, gritting his teeth in silence. His hair was tangled, his build broad and weatherworn—like someone carved by hardship.
"Serves him right, thief!" one of the assailants barked.
"He stole fruit from my stall just yesterday!" another accused.
The bystanders did nothing. Some turned away. Some stayed and watched, their expressions unreadable. No one interfered.
Leona stayed on the fringe of the gathering, her amber eyes fixed on the man now kneeling, blood staining the corner of his mouth. Pain carved his face, but not surrender. Not shame.
"Does he really deserve this?" The thought stirred quietly in her chest.
She didn't know enough to judge. All she could offer was empathy. Yet something about him didn't sit right with the image of a common thief.
Lux let out a low chirrup, as if to pull her back from her thoughts.
"No use getting involved," she murmured, her gaze lingering one last moment before she turned and walked on—into light, away from cruelty.
A few streets later, the scent of melting cheese and warm wheat caught her attention. A quaint bread stall beckoned.
"One loaf, dear?" asked the vendor with a kind smile.
Leona nodded. "Yes, this one, please." She handed over a few coins—Clara's coins.
The woman wrapped the bread in cloth.
"You're not from around here, are you?"
Leona offered a small smile. "Just visiting. Trying to see what the world has to offer."
"Well, take care. Aeloria is a wonder, but it's a city of sharp edges."
Leona nodded, the woman's words embedding themselves like seeds in the soil of her thoughts.
With warm bread in hand and Lux back at her heels, she resumed her wandering. She had no destination—only a yearning to feel, to understand, to soothe the subtle ache of solitude in her soul.
She had walked through three streets when she paused.
"Maybe I should head back to the library," she thought. Yet her steps faltered.
Something tugged at her heart, something unfinished.
She turned.
And walked back to the alley.
The crowd had vanished.
Silence now ruled where chaos had stirred. Only footprints and a scrap of cloth remained. Dust danced in the sunbeams slanting between tall stone buildings.
An old man with a grizzled beard sat nearby, chewing slowly. He had the look of someone who belonged to the alley itself. Leona approached.
"Excuse me," she said gently. "There was a man being attacked here earlier. Do you know where he went?"
The man squinted up. "Ah… you mean Ardan?"
"Ardan?"
"That scoundrel's always stirring trouble. Steals. Fights. Wanders off. You'd do well to stay clear of him," he said, spitting to the ground.
A woman nearby—carrying fabric in a basket—added, "No one really knows who he is. They say he's an orphan. Wild since birth. Even the orphans in this city know better than to cause as much trouble as he does."
Leona said nothing. Their words were sharp, but they clashed with the memory of his eyes—eyes that didn't plead, yet hadn't turned cold either.
"Where does he live?" she asked, her voice low.
The man chuckled dryly. "Live? He sleeps where the shadows fall. Under bridges. In ruins. But mark my words—he's not worth your kindness."
The woman nodded. "Don't waste your morning on someone who's already cast away his place in the world."
Leona offered a courteous smile and walked away—bread in hand, heart unsettled.
Lux padded quietly beside her. She reached down to scratch his head.
"I don't know why… but I want to know more about him."
The sun climbed higher, but a shadow still lingered in her thoughts.
She clutched the bread tighter to her chest.
It was just a loaf of bread… and yet, it felt like a beginning.
Leona wandered through the quieting alleyways of the city, now calmed after the earlier bustle. Clay-toned stone buildings stood proudly on either side, occasionally adorned with creeping ivy that stretched all the way to the rooftops. Her steps slowed—not from exhaustion, but from a quiet desire to imprint the shapes and patterns of the streets into her memory.
"Aeloria… so beautiful," she whispered to herself, her tail flicking gently behind her.
Lux, the fox that never strayed far from her side, padded along silently. His sleek fur shimmered under the fading light, and his bushy tail swayed with a calm rhythm. But as they turned into a narrower lane, time itself seemed to falter.
Leona froze.
At the far end of the shadow-drenched alley, beneath the towering silhouettes of old buildings, she saw him. A man, seated against a wall, knees drawn in, one hand pressed lightly over his chest. His hair was disheveled, and though slouched, there was a lingering strength in his frame. A narrow shaft of light spilled from the rooftops above, illuminating his face—revealing a cut on his brow and a bruise beneath his eye.
Her heart stirred—strangely, inexplicably.
"That must be him…" she thought. "The man they spoke of—Ardan."
She couldn't explain the pull. Maybe it was compassion rising within her, or maybe there was something about him that defied the stories whispered by the townspeople.
Lux halted beside her, ears twitching, snout lifted slightly as if sensing the strange tension that hung in the air.
Leona tilted her head downward, cautious not to draw attention to herself. But the man made no move. He simply stared ahead—expression unreadable, or perhaps worn down by too many empty days.
Quietly, she stepped forward. Not directly toward him, but along the edge of the alley—uncertain, careful. Her heart beat faster, caught between hesitation and the quiet urging of curiosity.
"I just… want to see him up close," she murmured to Lux.
The fox gave a soft, knowing chuff in response, the sound neither urging nor restraining—only present.
The alley was hushed. The soft soles of Leona's shoes echoed faintly against the stone, each step deepening both her uncertainty and her resolve. The further she walked, the more it felt like the world behind her was falling away, leaving only this moment suspended in breath and silence. Lux walked close to her legs, his ears angled back slightly, alert and sensing.
The man—Ardan—remained still. But as she neared, his head turned. His gaze met hers—piercing, cautious. He studied her with sharp, unreadable eyes.
"I don't need anyone's pity," he said, voice low and edged like a blade dulled by bitterness. It wasn't meant to hurt—it was meant to keep people out.
Leona stopped a few paces from him. She didn't respond at once. Instead, she slowly extended her hand. In her palm, a piece of bread—torn from the loaf she had bought earlier.
"I just thought… you might be hungry," she said gently, her tone carrying no pressure—only an offering.
He didn't take it. Instead, he looked away, eyes drifting to the shadows on the wall. Then, slowly, he stood. His shoulders twitched slightly, the pain in his body showing through the worn fabric of his cloak. When he spoke again, it was flatter, distant.
"I don't need anything from anyone," he said, meeting her eyes once more—his gaze like a closed door. "Especially not from strangers who come and go when they please."
Then he turned and walked away, leaving the alley behind him. His figure slipped into shadow, the fading light stretching his silhouette along the stones—melding with the walls, as if he belonged more to this place than the world outside it.
Leona stood still. The bread remained in her hand. Lux glanced up at her, then let out a low, thoughtful noise.
She let out a breath and smiled faintly—not out of happiness, but understanding.
"He didn't refuse the bread," she whispered. "He's just… been rejected so often, he doesn't believe a hand could reach for him without asking for something in return."
Quietly, she placed the bread on a low stone step near where he had been sitting. Then she turned, and with Lux trotting beside her, they began to leave the alley. Just before the corner turned them away, she glanced back.
The bread was still there.
But… somehow, in her heart, she believed he would return for it.