The streets of Eryndor's capital city were a relentless cacophony of life, but for Leon, it was a battlefield.

Towering buildings cast shadows over narrow alleys, and the clamor of merchants peddling wares felt like a distant world he didn't belong to.

He trudged silently through the labyrinth of cobblestone paths, his small frame pressed against the cold walls, seeking safety in their shadows.

Leon's stomach growled, a sharp reminder of his gnawing hunger. He hadn't eaten in two days, and the dull ache in his belly was beginning to feel like a constant companion.

He turned a corner and froze. The aroma of freshly baked bread hit him like a spell, sweet and tantalizing.

His gaze darted toward the market square ahead, where stalls brimmed with abundance. Fruits, pastries, and glistening meats were displayed in vibrant colors, tempting passersby. But for Leon, they were untouchable treasures.

I can't go there again.

The memory of his last attempt resurfaced—a merchant's angry shout, the sting of a thrown stone narrowly missing his head. His fingers clenched instinctively as if to shield himself from the thought.

Steeling himself, he ducked into another alley. Here, the air was colder, and the smell of damp stone replaced the teasing aromas of food. It wasn't much, but it was safer.

Leon scanned his surroundings with practiced caution. His sharp brown eyes, dulled by exhaustion, searched for anything edible among the discarded crates and refuse piles. He needed to find something—anything—to quiet the hunger clawing at his insides.

His luck changed when he spotted it: a small loaf of bread lying forgotten near a stack of broken barrels. It wasn't fresh, but to Leon, it might as well have been a feast.

Without thinking, he darted forward and snatched it up, cradling the loaf close to his chest. He crouched in a corner of the alley, his heart racing as if the bread might vanish if he let go.

Leon broke off a piece and stuffed it into his mouth, barely tasting it as he chewed. The stale bread was dry and rough, but it filled a part of the emptiness inside him. For the first time in days, he felt a flicker of relief.

He broke off another piece, ready to savor it more slowly. But before he could bring it to his lips, a soft sound reached his ears—a sniffle, faint but unmistakable.

Leon froze, his eyes darting toward the alley's entrance.

A boy stood there, not much older than Leon himself. His hair was neatly combed, and his clothes—a fine tunic with golden embroidery—were the kind Leon had only seen nobles wear. The boy's boots shone, untouched by dirt, but his big blue eyes were filled with unshed tears.

Leon's grip on the bread tightened instinctively.

The boy stared at the bread in Leon's hands, his expression a mix of longing and sadness. He took a hesitant step forward, his gaze never leaving the loaf.

Leon's mind raced. This boy didn't belong here. His clean appearance and expensive clothes screamed of wealth, of privilege. He didn't know hunger. He didn't know the cold, empty ache that came from going days without food.

But the boy's stomach growled loudly, cutting through Leon's thoughts.

"Are you hungry?" Leon asked cautiously, his voice hoarse from disuse.

The boy nodded, a tear slipping down his cheek.

Leon hesitated. He didn't owe this boy anything. The bread was his—his first meal in days. Yet, as he looked into the boy's tearful eyes, something inside him softened.

With a quiet sigh, Leon tore the loaf in half and held out one piece. "Here," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

The boy's eyes widened in surprise. He reached out, his hands trembling slightly as he accepted the bread. "Thank you," he said softly, before sinking to the ground beside Leon.

As the boy took a bite, his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk's, and he chewed with a quiet intensity. Leon couldn't help but watch, his earlier resentment fading.

"My name's Mikel," the boy said between bites, crumbs scattering as he spoke. "What's yours?"

"Leon," he replied, his voice still cautious.

"Leon! That's a nice name!" Mikel said brightly, his earlier sadness forgotten. "You're really nice too. Not everyone would share their food like that."

Leon shrugged, unsure how to respond.

Mikel sighed dramatically, leaning back against the wall. "I ran away from home today," he announced. "My grandpa was being so mean! He yelled at me just because I wanted to use his magic mirror. He's always grumpy like that."

Leon tilted his head. "You… ran away?"

"Yep!" Mikel said proudly. "I told him I wasn't going to come back until he apologized. Then I left."

Leon stared at him in disbelief. Mikel didn't seem to realize how absurd his story sounded. For someone like Leon, the idea of running away from a home—a real home—was incomprehensible.

"Why are you out here?" Mikel asked suddenly, his bright blue eyes turning curious.

Leon froze. He looked down at his hands, unsure how to explain. "I… don't have anywhere else to go," he said quietly.

Mikel's cheerful expression faltered. "Oh," he said softly. "That's… not fair."

Leon shrugged again, his voice small. "It's just how it is."

Mikel finished his bread and stood up, brushing crumbs from his tunic. He turned to Leon with a determined expression.

"You should come with me," Mikel said suddenly.

Leon blinked, startled. "What?"

"To my house!" Mikel said, his grin returning. "There's lots of food, and my grandpa can help you!"

Leon's stomach twisted at the thought. "I… don't think I should…"

"Why not?" Mikel asked, tilting his head. "You don't have anywhere else to go, right?"

Leon hesitated. He didn't know this boy, not really. But the way Mikel looked at him—with unwavering certainty—made it hard to say no.

Finally, Mikel held out his hand. "Come on! I promise it'll be fun!"

After a long moment, Leon reached out and took his hand.

"Okay," he said softly.

As Mikel led him out of the alley, Leon couldn't help but glance back at the streets he had called home for so long. A faint flicker of hope stirred within him. Maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something new.