Morning light filtered weakly through the toxic haze outside their shelter. Hayazaki sat cross-legged near his makeshift bed where Min lay wrapped in the cleanest blankets he could find, the child's breathing finally steady after a fitful night. As Min dozed, occasionally watching him with quiet curiosity, Hayazaki explored his Axis terminal's interface with growing fascination.
The ability tree sprawled before him like a complex chemical diagram. His basic Malara traits formed the root system - poison generation, toxin resistance, cellular adaptation. But branching out from these were possibilities Filis had never imagined. He could develop the ability to control his poison's potency, shape it into barriers, even use it to heal by breaking down harmful substances in others' bodies.
One particularly interesting branch caught his attention: "Void Breath." The description suggested he could produce a specialized toxin that affected spectrals - exactly the kind of ability they'd need in the Undawild. But unlocking it would require careful cultivation of other skills first.
He noticed Min watching him intently as he gestured at screens only he could see. The child probably thought he was strange - a Malara who refused to kill, who talked to invisible displays, who smiled while discussing poison. But Min didn't seem afraid, just curious.
"Your hands look like they're drawing pictures in the air," Min observed quietly.
Hayazaki paused in his terminal navigation to smile at the child. "Something like that." He returned to studying the skill tree, noting how certain ability combinations could create unexpected effects. His poison could become more than just a weapon - it could be a tool, a shield, even a way to protect others.
The terminal suggested he'd gained several levels from yesterday's rescue. Enough to start down some interesting paths, if he chose carefully. The question was: which abilities would help him protect his friends while surviving Slasher's inevitable attention?
Min sat up slowly, wrapping one of the cleaner blankets around thin shoulders. "Most Malaras don't smile," the child observed, watching Hayazaki gesture at his invisible displays. "They just... exist. Like the toxic fog."
Hayazaki lowered his hands, turning to give Min his full attention. The child's observation was keen - Filis's memories confirmed it. Most Malaras adapted to their status as pariahs by becoming as cold and caustic as the poisons they produced.
"Well, I think smiling is important," Hayazaki said, pulling out some preserved food from one of Filis's caches. "Even in places like this. Maybe especially in places like this." He offered some to Min, who accepted it with surprising politeness.
"Is that why you saved me?" Min asked between careful bites. "Because you think smiling is important?"
The question made Hayazaki pause in his own breakfast. How to explain that he came from a world where letting children die wasn't considered an acceptable cost of doing business? "I saved you because it was right," he said finally. "Sometimes that's enough of a reason."
Min considered this while chewing. "The man who raised me said nothing is ever that simple in the Rim." A shadow passed over the child's face. "He died last week. That's when the traders found me."
Hayazaki felt a familiar ache in his chest - not poison this time, just simple human empathy. But Min's words also highlighted his immediate problem. He needed to explore the Undawild, to level up and find his friends. But the Rim was dangerous enough with just himself to worry about. With a child to protect...
"What will you do with me?" Min asked, as if reading his thoughts.
"Keep you safe," Hayazaki answered without hesitation, though he had no idea how. His Axis terminal pulsed softly, suggesting he access the map function. The display showed dozens of potential dungeon entrances scattered throughout the Rim, but most were either heavily guarded or too dangerous for his current level.
"I could help," Min offered quietly. "I know things. About the Rim. About where people go, what they say. The man who raised me taught me to listen, to remember."
Hayazaki looked at the child with new interest. In this toxic world, information was as valuable as ash. And children were often overlooked, treated as part of the background. A young set of eyes and ears could be invaluable.
But could he justify putting Min in even minimal danger? The child had already suffered enough.
"You don't have to decide now," Min said, showing surprising perception. "But I'd rather help than just be a burden. Besides," a small smile appeared, mirror of Hayazaki's own, "you're interesting. Most people here just want to survive. But you... you want something else. Something bigger."
Hayazaki felt an unexpected warmth at the child's words. He had found more than just someone to protect - he had found an ally who understood that survival alone wasn't enough.
Hunger had caught Hayazaki by surprise during his morning practice with his new abilities. His borrowed body's metabolism burned faster than he'd expected, especially when manipulating toxins.
"I know where we can get food," Min offered, with the particular tone street children used when they meant stealing. "It's easy if you know the right spots."
Hayazaki shook his head, smiling despite his empty stomach. "We'll do it the normal way. The earnest way."
Min rolled his eyes with the exhausted patience of someone watching another person make life needlessly difficult. "Your funeral."
The market sprawled across three levels of the Rim, connected by rusted staircases and makeshift bridges. Stalls clung to whatever stable surface their owners could claim, selling everything from scavenged machinery to questionable medicines. The air was thick with the smell of cooking meat and chemical preservatives.
At the first stall, the vendor took one look at Hayazaki's purple-tinged skin and suddenly discovered urgent business at the back of his shop. The second pulled her children close and covered their faces, as if his mere presence might contaminate them. A third spat on the ground as they approached.
"Most won't sell to Malaras," Min explained, watching Hayazaki's face carefully for cracks in his pleasant demeanor. "They think you'll poison their stock just by touching it. Or that you'll come back later and kill them for fun." The child's tone suggested personal experience with such prejudices.
But Hayazaki's smile never wavered. He thanked each vendor politely for their time, even those who cursed at him. He stepped carefully around those who made warding gestures, ensuring he didn't frighten them further. His optimism seemed to baffle Min more than any amount of hostility could.
"Doesn't it make you angry?" the child finally asked, after the seventh rejection. "Being treated like that?"
Hayazaki considered the question as they navigated around a particularly crowded section of the market. "Their fear comes from pain," he said finally. "This world has taught them that kindness is dangerous, that trust gets you killed. Being angry at them for that would be like being angry at someone for limping with a broken leg."
Min stared at him as if he'd started speaking in tongues. "You are the strangest Malara I've ever met."
"Thank you," Hayazaki replied cheerfully, already moving toward the next stall. His stomach growled again, but his smile remained fixed. Somewhere in this market, someone would be willing to trade with him. And if not, well, there were always other markets. Other days. Other chances to show that not every Malara matched their fearful expectations.
The fact that his Axis terminal was recording experience points for each peaceful interaction suggested he might be onto something.
They sat at the edge of a maintenance platform as the toxic evening fog began to roll in. Hayazaki's borrowed stomach felt hollow, a sensation made worse by the knowledge that they'd spent an entire day being turned away from every vendor in the Rim.
"In the Rim, you survive by taking," Min said, watching the fog curl around their feet. "Usually by force, if you have to. That's just how it works here."
"Isn't that why things are the way they are?" Hayazaki asked gently. "Because everyone decides that's just how it works?"
Min's response came without hesitation, sharp with the clarity of hard-learned truth: "Yes. But it doesn't matter. It already is that way. Pretending it's not will only mean you killing yourself. Or worse - someone else doing it for you."
Hayazaki started to argue, to explain how change had to start somewhere, how small acts of decency could ripple outward. But Min's words carried the weight of lived experience, and more pressingly, Slasher's deadline loomed. Two days gone already, five remaining to somehow procure ash from the Undawild.
"I'll hear you out," Hayazaki said finally. "But I won't rob anyone. I won't take by force." He looked at Min's skeptical expression and added firmly, "And neither should you."
Min tilted his head, studying this strange Malara who seemed determined to make life harder than it needed to be. "Fine," the child said, clearly annoyed but something like respect creeping into their voice. "We'll do it your way. For now."
The 'for now' hung between them like the toxic fog, a reminder that principles were luxury items in a world where survival came first. But Hayazaki's terminal noted a small gain in experience points - apparently, standing firm on moral grounds counted for something in this world, even if it left you hungry.
Day Three began with Min teaching Hayazaki the art of misdirection. "It's not stealing," Min insisted, watching Hayazaki's face carefully, "if they were going to throw it away anyway." They spent the morning learning which vendors discarded still-edible food, and more importantly, when they did it.
By afternoon, Hayazaki had mastered the timing of food disposal routes. His Axis terminal pinged with small experience gains - apparently creative problem-solving counted for something. Min watched with growing amusement as Hayazaki developed increasingly elaborate justifications for their "scavenging."
"See that vendor?" Min would point out. "He overcharges everyone, then tosses what doesn't sell. Really, we're just correcting market inefficiency." Hayazaki's surprised laugh at such economic sophistication from a child earned him another experience point.
They developed a system: Min would spot opportunities while Hayazaki created distractions with his Malara abilities. A carefully timed release of visible but harmless vapor could clear an area instantly, leaving behind perfectly good supplies that would otherwise go to waste. His terminal seemed particularly pleased with this non-violent application of his powers.
"You're still technically stealing," Min pointed out after a particularly successful evening.
"I prefer to think of it as aggressive recycling," Hayazaki replied, sorting through their findings. His terminal chimed with another small gain - apparently wordplay counted as skill development too.
By nightfall, they had a decent stock of food, and Hayazaki had gained several levels in both stealth and creative rationalization. Min had to admit - there was something elegant about their methods. No one got hurt, nothing of real value was taken, and they didn't go hungry.
"You're still weird," Min declared as they headed home. "But maybe weird works sometimes."