Morning unfolded gently over the East Dock District.
The distant cry of gulls drifted in from the harbor, blending with the softer sounds of the waking streets—cart wheels rolling over stone, vendors calling out to early customers, the low hum of a city already in motion. Closer to the orphanage, the noise softened into something calmer. Birds perched along the old wooden beams, chirping in scattered rhythms as sunlight filtered through the worn windows.
Inside, the day had already begun.
Children moved about in their usual routine—some cleaning, some preparing for lessons, others lingering where they could. And near the long table at the center of the hall stood Miss Martha.
Counting.
Sorting.
Making sure nothing was wasted.
Her hands moved with quiet efficiency, adjusting small bundles of supplies, tying loose ends, setting aside what would be needed for later. It was a rhythm she had lived in for years.
Arin stepped into the hall.
He didn't rush. He didn't interrupt.
He waited until she finished tying the cord in her hand.
"…Miss Martha," Arin said.
Miss Martha did not look up immediately.
"Yes?" she replied.
"I need to go out today," Arin said.
That made her pause.
Just slightly.
Then she lifted her gaze.
Her eyes settled on Arin first—sharp, observant.
Then they shifted past him.
Behind Arin stood Tomas and Lyra.
Tomas straightened the moment her gaze met his, trying to appear more confident than he felt. Lyra stood quietly beside him, her posture steady, her eyes calm and unwavering.
Miss Martha's expression tightened just a fraction.
"…All three of you?" Miss Martha asked.
Arin gave a small nod.
"I need their help," Arin replied.
A brief silence settled in the room.
Then Tomas stepped forward half a pace, offering a quick, almost too eager smile.
"Madam Martha," Tomas said, "we'll be back soon. You don't have to worry."
Miss Martha looked at him.
Not harshly.
But firmly enough to remind him exactly who he was speaking to.
Lyra remained silent, but she did not look away.
Miss Martha exhaled quietly, her gaze returning to Arin.
"You're leaving tomorrow," Miss Martha said.
It wasn't a question.
Arin met her eyes.
"Yes," he answered.
Something shifted in her expression.
Subtle.
Almost unnoticeable.
Her gaze lingered on him a moment longer than usual—as if measuring the change in him, weighing something she chose not to say.
Then she looked away.
"…Be back before evening," Miss Martha said at last.
Reluctant.
But firm.
Arin nodded.
"We will," Arin said.
Miss Martha's eyes flicked briefly toward Tomas.
"And stay out of trouble," she added.
Tomas responded immediately.
"We will, Madam Martha," Tomas said, a little too confidently.
Miss Martha didn't comment on it.
She turned back to the table, picking up the bundle she had been working on.
"…Go," Miss Martha said.
—————
The streets of the East Dock District were already alive by the time the three of them stepped out.
Morning had settled into full motion. Vendors called out from their stalls, carts creaked under heavy loads, and the scent of salt, spice, and cooked meat lingered in the air. People moved in steady streams—workers, traders, adventurers—all weaving through the narrow lanes with practiced ease.
Tomas stretched his arms as they walked, glancing around with open curiosity.
"…I still don't get it," Tomas said. "You drag us out this early and won't even tell us what we're buying?"
Arin walked ahead, calm as ever.
"You'll see," Arin replied.
Tomas narrowed his eyes.
"That's suspicious."
Lyra, walking on Arin's other side, glanced at him briefly.
"You're overthinking it," Lyra said.
"I'm not overthinking," Tomas shot back. "Last time he said 'you'll see,' I ended up carrying half the stuff."
Arin didn't deny it.
"Good," Arin said. "You'll be useful again."
Tomas let out a short laugh.
"…Yeah, I knew it."
They moved deeper into the market.
The stalls grew denser, louder, more varied. Wooden tables lined both sides of the street, stacked with goods—fresh vegetables, sacks of grain, hanging cuts of meat, bundles of dried herbs, and jars filled with spices of every color.
Arin slowed near a grain merchant.
"Rice," Arin said simply.
The merchant glanced at him, then pointed toward a stack behind him.
"Fresh stock. Came in this morning."
Arin walked over, crouched slightly, and pressed his hand lightly against one of the sacks—testing the weight, the quality.
"I'll take one sack," Arin said.
Tomas blinked.
"One?"
Arin looked at him.
"A full sack."
Tomas stared at the size of it.
"…You're joking."
"I'm not," Arin replied.
A moment later—
Tomas was hauling the sack onto his shoulder, grumbling under his breath.
"…This better be worth it."
Arin had already moved on.
Lyra followed, glancing once at Tomas.
"You said you'd be useful," Lyra said calmly.
"…I hate both of you," Tomas muttered, adjusting his grip.
They stopped next at a small produce stall.
Fresh vegetables were laid out in neat piles—potatoes still dusted with soil, carrots with their green tops intact, onions bundled together in tight clusters.
Arin picked through them with quiet focus.
"Potatoes. Carrots. Onions," Arin said.
Lyra stepped in beside him.
"I'll carry these," Lyra said.
Arin nodded.
"Take enough," Arin added.
Lyra paused for a second, then looked at him.
"…Enough for what?"
Arin met her gaze briefly.
"…Just take enough."
She didn't press further.
Instead, she began selecting carefully—choosing the best of each, bundling them together in cloth.
They moved again.
This time toward a meat stall.
Hanging from thick iron hooks were large cuts of unfamiliar meat—some fresh, some already prepared for preservation.
A sign hung above the stall:
Monster Rooster — Fresh Cut & Dried
Tomas stopped walking.
"…No way."
Arin glanced at him.
"What?"
"That's monster rooster," Tomas said, pointing. "You're buying that?"
Arin stepped closer to the stall.
"Yes."
The merchant behind it gave a rough smile.
"Good choice," the man said. "Tender meat. Strong flavor. Good for stew."
Arin nodded once.
"Give me fresh cuts," Arin said, "and dried strips. And a tray of eggs as well."
The merchant raised a brow.
"…Okay young man."
Coins changed hands.
The merchant wrapped thick portions of raw monster rooster meat, then added bundles of dark, cured strips—jerky, preserved for long storage.
Tomas watched the exchange.
"…You're really spending today, huh?"
Arin didn't respond.
Instead, he turned slightly.
"Carry these," Arin said, handing Tomas part of the load.
Tomas groaned under the added weight.
"…Yeah, this was a mistake."
Lyra, meanwhile, had gone quiet again.
Her eyes moved from the rice sack… to the vegetables… to the meat… to the dried supplies.
A pattern was forming.
She didn't say it.
Not yet.
They continued.
Spice stalls came next—small wooden trays filled with crushed herbs, ground powders, and dried seeds. The air itself felt sharper here, filled with rich, layered scents.
Arin selected a few without hesitation.
"Salt, chili powder, turmeric powder, mixed spices, jaggery and dry fruits." Arin said.
The vendor nodded, quickly packing them into small cloth wraps.
Lyra finally spoke.
"…You're not just buying for yourself," Lyra said.
Arin didn't stop walking.
"…Maybe."
Tomas glanced between them.
"…Wait."
He shifted the sack on his shoulder.
"…How much are we actually buying here?"
Arin answered simply.
"Enough."
That did not help.
They stopped one last time at a dairy stall.
Clay containers lined the table, filled with fresh milk.
Arin picked two.
"Careful with those," Arin said, handing them to Lyra.
She took them without complaint.
For a moment, the three of them stood there—
Loaded with supplies.
More than they would normally carry.
More than they would normally need.
Tomas looked down at everything they had gathered.
Then at Arin.
"…Alright," Tomas said slowly, "I'm saying it now."
He shifted the sack again.
"…This is definitely not normal shopping."
Arin glanced at him briefly.
A faint, almost unreadable expression crossed his face.
"…We're not done yet," Arin said.
And then—
From somewhere ahead—
A voice rose.
Rough.
Aggressive.
"Oi—old man. Drop it."
The tone shifted instantly.
Tomas frowned.
Lyra's eyes sharpened.
Arin stopped walking.
"…Sounds like trouble," Tomas said.
Arin didn't reply.
But he had already started moving.