The echo of Rodolf's angry stomping had barely faded from the desolate courtyard when the heavy, suffocating silence settled back over the sand.
Jayhon was already on his knees, his hands trembling violently as his fingers fumbled with the stubborn knots of Beixin's scuffed leather shoes.
Tears of pure exhaustion and residual panic mixed with the grime on his face.
"I'm trying, Hanjun, I'm trying," Jayhon choked out, his voice cracking. "The knots... they're jammed from when you got kicked into the wall.
Just... don't close your eyes, okay? Stay awake."
"My eyes are wide open, Jayhon," Hanjun replied in his unyielding, flat drone, though his knees wobbled so severely he looked like a wooden puppet about to collapse.
"It hurts alot, the pain is too much i feel like I won't be able to walk again.
If you do not untie these soon."
Before Jayhon could pull the first lace free, a low, gravelly baritone voice began to drift through the dusty morning air, echoing softly off the cracked brick walls of the empty alleyways.
"Leaves from the elder bough,
Falling so slow.
The forest is silent now,
The cold winds blow..."
Jayhon froze, his head snapping up, his ocean eyes wide with sudden caution.
Hanjun didn't move, his vacant gray gaze slowly shifting toward the mouth of the leftmost alley.
The singing was steady, unhurried, and oddly peaceful.
"I sit by the ancient stone,
Under the shade.
Waiting for you to come,
My lovely elf..."
A figure stepped out into the open courtyard.
He wasn't wearing his crooked iron helmet today; his thick, silver-streaked brown beard caught the sunlight, and his long, unruly hair blew slightly in the humid breeze.
Stripped of his standard guard gear, he carried himself with an unexpected, weathered dignity—like an old, wise man who had seen empires rise and fall, rather than a lazy patrolman who ate meat pies on barrels.
"Ooo, lovely elf,
Come marching home.
No more to wander,
No more to roam..."
Barn stopped singing as his eyes landed on the two battered, bloodied boys.
He let out a long, heavy sigh, shaking his head as he closed the distance between them, his heavy boots crunching softly on the loose sand.
"Well, look at you two,"
Barn said, his voice dropping its melodic tone and returning to its rough, familiar warmth.
"You look like you tried to intercept a runaway horse carriage with your faces.
I heard the shouting from two blocks away. Rodolf is an arrogant guy, but his Sand-Zheki is no joke,he's no match for me of course."
"Fat pig,"
Hanjun mumbled flatly, his body finally giving out as he slid down the stone wall, sitting heavily next to Jayhon.
"You are out of uniform.
Furthermore, your music wasn't that bad, but. It lacks rhythmic efficiency for marching."
"It's a song I sing for my wife, kid,"
Barn grunted, dropping to one knee beside them. He didn't ask permission; his large, calloused hands gently pushed Jayhon's trembling fingers aside and instantly began working on Hanjun's jammed boot laces with practiced ease.
"And I'm glad to see you're still talking trash. Means your ribs aren't completely punctured."
"The guard... the messenger said the King called off the execution,"
Jayhon whispered, staring at Barn like he couldn't believe they were still breathing. "Is it true? Are we... not wanted anymore?"
"That's what the parchment says," Barn said, pulling the tight leather off Hanjun's swollen, bruised feet with a sharp tug.
Hanjun didn't flinch, though his toes were entirely purple.
"The whole lower district barracks just got the order. The search is completely canceled. Lucas must have had a rare moment of bureaucratic guilt, or his tea was brewed right for once.
Either way, you're legally ghost status now. Nobody's hunting you."
Barn stood up smoothly, tossing Hanjun's small shoes into a nearby empty crate.
"Which means it's the perfect time to get you off these streets before some unofficial scum decides to pick a fight anyway. Come on. Get up. My house is just past the old tannery."
"I cannot walk," Hanjun observed, staring blankly at his bare feet. "I don't think I can walk properly."
"Then it's a good thing I've been carrying heavy sacks of contraband for fifteen years,"
Barn grunted.
He reached down, easily scooping Hanjun up over his shoulder like a sack of grain, then grabbed Jayhon by the scruff of his collar to pull him to his feet.
"Keep your head down, blue-eyes. Let's move."
Barn's house was tucked away at the very edge of the lower district, hidden behind a row of crumbling stone archways where the slum grime gave way to small patches of resilient green moss.
The house itself was small, built of dark timber and river stone, but as Barn pushed the heavy oak door open, the scent of boiling herbs, fresh lavender, and baking dough instantly washed over them.
"Elena!"
Barn called out, stepping into the warm, sunlit living room and carefully setting Hanjun down onto a long wooden bench.
"I brought those two alley cats I told you about. They're a bit more broken than I expected."
From the small kitchen area, a woman stepped out, and Jayhon's eyes instantly widened.
She was breathtakingly beautiful, with a charming, radiant face that seemed completely untouched by the harshness of the slums.
A cascade of pure, silk-white hair fell over her shoulders, and her long, elegant ears pointed gracefully through the strands.
She wore a simple, clean linen dress, but she carried herself with a gentle, timeless grace.
She was an elf.