The rain hadn't stopped since morning.
Suna moved through the lower quarters of Vellhart like a ghost, his cloak soaked and heavy against his shoulders. The streets here stank of rotting food and worse things, but he kept his breathing steady. He had walked worse places in his life. Places where the stench clung to your skin long after you left.
Another job done. Another coin pouch lighter than promised. It didn't matter. As long as he stayed beneath notice, the world's filth could rot without him.
But fate, as always, was greedy.
A sharp cry cut through the alleys — high-pitched and desperate. A child. Suna's steps slowed, his body still but his mind sharpening. He didn't turn. Not yet. Not his business.
He counted his heartbeat. One. Two. Three—
The cry came again, raw and broken this time.
Suna's jaw clenched.
He turned.
Down a narrow passage, half-hidden by broken crates, he saw them — three men, their faces half-masked, shoving a small figure against the wall. The child, no older than ten, thrashed weakly, clutching a worn leather satchel.
"Street rats don't get to steal from the Black Maw," one of the men snarled, raising a knife.
Suna's hand brushed against the dagger at his belt. He exhaled slowly.
Leave it. Walk away. You're nobody. Always nobody.
But his feet moved before his mind could stop them.
The first man didn't even see the blow coming. Suna's fist cracked against his jaw, sending him sprawling into the mud. The second turned, eyes wide, but Suna was already on him — calm, precise. A knee to the gut, an elbow to the temple. He dropped like a sack of grain.
The third man stumbled back, knife raised. "Who the hell—?!"
Suna's dagger flashed, slicing across the man's hand. The weapon clattered to the ground, and a swift kick sent him crumpling beside his comrades. All three groaned in pain, too broken to fight back but not dead.
Suna stood over them, breathing steady. Rain trickled down his face, cold and bitter.
The child stared up at him, trembling. A girl, thin as a reed, her cheeks hollow from hunger. She clutched the satchel tighter, as if afraid he might take it too.
Suna knelt, his voice low. "Go. Before they get up."
The girl hesitated, her eyes flicking between him and the groaning men. Then, without a word, she bolted into the rain, disappearing into the maze of alleys.
Suna straightened and looked down at the men. Black Maw thugs — street enforcers for one of Vellhart's crime syndicates. They wouldn't forget this.
A curse left his lips. He hadn't meant to get involved.
But now he had. And in this city, even the smallest interference had a price.
He turned away, slipping back into the shadows. But he could already feel it — the weight shifting.
The Black Maw would come looking for him. Names would be whispered. Descriptions passed around.
The man with the iron calm. The nobody who dared raise his hand.
Suna walked faster, the rain masking his steps.
He had survived worse.
But deep down, he knew: this was how it started.
Not with grand battles or declarations, but with a single step off the path.
A single moment where a nobody chooses to act.
And the world, like a beast scenting blood, would not let him go so easily.