The noise reached them before the sight did.
A rough voice—loud, careless, edged with mockery.
"Oi. Drop it, old man."
Arin stopped.
Tomas frowned immediately. Lyra's gaze sharpened.
Ahead, just off the main street, three figures had cornered an elderly couple.
The old man stood slightly forward, one hand gripping a worn wooden stick, the other trembling just enough to betray his fear. Beside him, the old woman clutched a small leather pouch tightly to her chest.
They were surrounded.
Three men.
Filthy. Unshaven. Clothes torn and stained. One stood taller than the others—broader, heavier. The other two were thin, twitchy, their eyes restless and hungry.
"Hand it over," one of the scrawny ones sneered, stepping closer. "Or we take it ourselves."
The old woman hesitated.
That was enough.
One of them lunged forward and yanked the pouch straight from her hands.
She gasped.
The old man stepped forward instinctively—
—but stopped.
Outmatched.
Outnumbered.
Arin set his load down quietly at the edge of the road.
"Give me a moment," Arin said.
Tomas didn't stop him. Neither did Lyra.
By the time Arin stepped forward—
it was already too late.
The pouch was in their hands.
"…Give it back," Arin said.
His voice wasn't loud.
But it cut clean through the noise.
The three thieves turned.
The taller one smirked.
"…And who the hell are you supposed to be?"
Another one laughed.
"Look at them," he said. "Kids playing hero."
The taller one jerked his chin toward them.
"Go," he said lazily. "Teach them something."
The two scrawnier ones rushed forward.
Arin didn't.
He walked.
Calm. Measured.
One of them charged straight at him—
—and then suddenly stumbled.
His leg jerked mid-step.
The ground had risen just enough to lock around his ankle.
"…What—?!"
He barely had time to react.
The second thief was already swinging.
Arin moved.
A slight shift.
A clean duck under the wild punch.
The attacker's momentum carried him forward—off balance.
And Arin turned.
His fist drove upward.
A sharp, rising strike under the first thief's chin.
CRACK.
The impact snapped his head back violently. Spit sprayed into the air as his body lifted slightly—
—and dropped.
Hard.
Unconscious before he hit the ground.
The second one barely had time to process it.
He turned—
and charged toward Lyra.
A flicker of fire gathered in his palm as he leapt forward, arm raised to strike.
Tomas moved first.
The ground answered instantly.
A narrow column of hardened earth shot upward—
Right between the thief's legs.
The man froze mid-air.
Then—
"…AAAA—!"
His voice cracked into something much higher than expected as he collapsed forward awkwardly, clutching himself in pure agony.
Lyra didn't hesitate.
Her hand snapped forward.
A compact water projectile struck him clean across the face.
The force flipped him sideways—
—and he dropped, groaning, completely out of the fight.
Silence lasted half a second.
Then—
The last one moved.
The taller one.
His expression twisted—rage replacing amusement.
A knife flashed into his hand.
Short. Sharp.
He slashed forward.
A thin arc of wind cut through the air, slicing low toward Arin.
Arin stepped in—
and jumped.
Clean.
Effortless.
The blade passed beneath him.
He landed lightly, eyes locked on the man.
"…That it?" Arin said calmly. "You're thinking of running now? From children?"
That did it.
The man roared and charged.
Knife first.
He drove forward with everything he had, aiming straight for Arin's chest.
And Arin didn't move.
He raised his hand.
Six translucent panels formed instantly in front of him.
The blade struck.
Stopped.
For a single moment—
everything slowed.
The knife pressed against the barrier—
—and failed.
The force rebounded.
His grip slipped.
The blade twisted in his own hand—
—and bit back.
A sharp, ugly cut tore across his fingers as his hand slammed against the barrier.
He screamed.
The knife dropped.
Arin lowered the shield.
The man swung wildly with his other arm.
Arin caught it.
A clean block.
Then—
He drove his forehead forward.
A sharp headbutt cracked against the man's face.
The thief staggered back—
and Arin followed.
A short, brutal strike snapped across his jaw.
Spit flew.
His body wavered.
Arin stepped in.
Grabbed his collar.
Pulled him forward—
—and drove his knee straight into his stomach.
The air left him in a broken gasp.
He folded.
And before he could fall—
Arin's fist snapped forward once more.
Clean.
Final.
The man dropped.
Still.
Silence returned.
Just like that.
Tomas let out a low whistle.
"…Yeah," Tomas said. "…you've gotten scary."
Arin didn't respond.
He walked over, picked up the fallen pouch, and handed it back to the old woman.
"…Sorry for the trouble," Arin said quietly.
The old couple nodded repeatedly, still shaken.
They didn't stay long.
They left.
Fast.
Arin turned.
Then crouched.
And began checking the thieves' pockets.
Tomas blinked.
"…What are you doing?"
Arin didn't look up.
Coins clinked softly.
"One silver," Arin said. "Eight bronze."
He stood.
"…Lunch is on them."
Tomas stared.
Lyra blinked once.
Then both of them looked at each other.
Realization hit at the same time.
"…You just robbed them," Tomas said.
Arin shrugged slightly.
"They won't need it for a while."
He nodded toward the unconscious bodies.
"Tie them."
Tomas smirked.
"Gladly."
The ground shifted again. Hardened earth rose and locked around their wrists, binding their hands behind their backs in solid restraints.
"They'll be picked up soon," Lyra said, glancing toward the street.
Arin picked up the supplies.
"…Let's go."
——————-
A few minutes later—
The three of them stood near a familiar stall.
The scent of grilled meat filled the air.
Tomas didn't wait.
"Three skewers," Tomas said quickly, already reaching for his coins.
Arin stopped him.
"Make it six," Arin said calmly.
Tomas blinked.
"…Six?"
Arin glanced at him.
"Two each," Arin added. "We're partying, remember?"
A brief pause.
Then, almost as an afterthought—
"…And it's not even our money."
That landed.
Tomas broke into a grin instantly.
"…Now that's a plan I can respect."
Lyra shook her head slightly—but a small smile still slipped through.
The vendor handed over the skewers, hot and fresh, the scent of roasted meat rising with the steam.
Tomas didn't waste a second.
He took a bite—
"…Okay," he said through a mouthful, "this is definitely worth it."
Lyra followed.
And for a moment—
it was just that.
Good food.
Easy silence.
Arin took one as well.
Then spoke, quieter this time.
"You should get used to it."
Tomas glanced at him.
"…To what?"
Arin looked ahead.
"To not holding back."
A small pause.
"You won't be here forever."
That landed.
Lyra took a bite of her skewer.
"…He's right," Lyra said.
Tomas exhaled slowly.
Then smirked again.
"…Yeah," he said. "Guess we're growing up."
The three of them stood there for a moment—
Eating.
Laughing lightly.
Like nothing had changed.