The streets of Hukuma were quiet as Benjamin made his way back to the inn, the faint glow of street lanterns casting long shadows across the cobblestone paths. The distant hum of the bustling city had quieted, leaving only the occasional rustle of leaves and the soft murmur of night creatures. He was exhausted, his body aching from the mental strain of Kareya's grueling test, but his mind was alive with plans for the future.
As he passed an alleyway, faint voices reached his ears. At first, they were indistinct—just angry whispers carried on the cool night breeze. Then he heard it: a muffled scream, followed by a deep grunt of pain. Benjamin froze, his pulse quickening. Against every instinct telling him to walk away, curiosity—and something more—drew him closer.
He moved cautiously, his steps light as he edged toward the source of the commotion. Peering around the corner, he saw the scene clearly: two men stood over a battered couple. The husband was on the ground, blood dripping from his swollen face as he groaned weakly. His wife, her dress torn and her face streaked with tears, was pressed against the wall by one of the men.
The assailants were rough-looking Bishirs, their faces hardened by years of desperation and crime. One had a thick scar running down his cheek and held a short dagger that gleamed faintly in the dim light. The other, stockier with a bald head and a crude club in hand, sneered at the terrified woman.
"Quit squirming," the scarred man hissed, pressing the dagger to her throat. "You don't want me to ruin that pretty face, do you?"
Her sobs only seemed to amuse him as his companion laughed darkly. "Hurry up, we don't have all night. Someone might hear."
The husband struggled to his knees, but a swift kick from the bald man sent him sprawling back to the ground. "Stay down, hero," the man spat. "You've already had your turn."
Benjamin's stomach turned. He had seen violence in movies, read about it in books, but this—this was raw, unfiltered evil. His hands clenched into fists as anger and disgust boiled inside him. He could turn and walk away, pretend he hadn't seen anything. But the look in the woman's eyes, the defeated groan of her husband, told him he couldn't.
He scanned the ground and spotted a fist-sized rock near his feet. Without hesitation, he picked it up and hurled it at the bald man with all his strength. The rock struck the side of the man's head with a sickening crack. He stumbled, screaming in pain as blood began to pour from the wound.
"Who the hell—?!" the scarred man snarled, his dagger snapping up defensively. His companion roared in rage, clutching his head as he scanned the alley. His bloodshot eyes locked on Benjamin, who was already starting to back away.
"You little bastard!" the bald man bellowed, charging toward him.
Benjamin turned and bolted, his heart pounding as he sprinted down the street. The adrenaline that had fueled him moments ago began to falter, his exhaustion from earlier catching up. His head throbbed painfully, a sharp, pulsing ache left over from the intense study session. Blood dripped from his nose, but he didn't stop. Behind him, the bald man's heavy footsteps echoed, growing closer with each stride.
Benjamin stumbled, crashing into a stack of crates, and before he could recover, the man grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the wall. "You've got some nerve, kid," the man growled, his face twisted with rage.
The first punch came hard and fast, splitting Benjamin's lip. His vision blurred as the second blow landed, sending a sharp pain shooting through his jaw. The world spun as the man's fists rained down on him, each hit driving him closer to unconsciousness. Benjamin's mind was a whirlwind of fear and pain, but through the chaos, something strange began to happen.
His eyes caught movement—a cat sitting on a nearby crate, its golden eyes gleaming in the darkness. The punches seemed to synchronize with the thrum of his pulse, each strike pulling his focus tighter onto the feline. The connection felt surreal, almost magnetic, as if the animal could feel his desperation.
The cat's fur bristled, its eyes narrowing. Then, with a low, guttural growl, it launched itself at the man. Its claws dug into his face, drawing blood as the man screamed in shock. "Get it off me!" he yelled, flailing wildly as the cat's feral screeches filled the alley.
Benjamin, dazed and bleeding, used the distraction to push himself to his feet. His legs wobbled, but he forced himself to move, staggering away from the scene. Behind him, the cat leaped off the man, hissing as it darted into the shadows.
The wounded husband, clutching his wife tightly, ran after Benjamin. "Wait!" the man called, his voice hoarse. Benjamin slowed just enough for the couple to catch up, their faces pale and shaken.
"Thank you," the woman said, her voice trembling as tears streamed down her cheeks. "You saved us."
Benjamin shook his head, wiping blood from his face. "I didn't do much," he muttered. His mind was reeling—not just from the fight, but from what had just happened. That connection with the cat, the way it had responded to his desperation—it wasn't normal.
He glanced back toward the alley, but the burglars were gone, and the cat was nowhere in sight. His heart still raced, and dizziness overtook him.
--
Benjamin stumbled through the door of the inn, his body battered and his vision swimming. The warm glow of the lanterns inside seemed unbearably bright against the pain clouding his mind. His legs wavered as he gripped the doorframe for support, blood smeared across his face and shirt.
Zifa, who was tidying up near the counter, froze when she saw him. Her eyes widened in shock, and she dropped the cloth in her hands, rushing to his side.
"Benjamin!" she gasped, her voice laced with alarm. "What happened to you?"
He tried to answer, but his words came out slurred, his strength failing him. "Just... need to rest," he managed, his knees buckling.
Zifa caught him under his arm, struggling to keep him upright. Though she was petite, she was stronger than she looked. Her calloused hands, a testament to her long hours of work, gripped him firmly. "Come on," she said, her voice steady despite her worry. "Let's get you upstairs."
---
With great effort, Zifa helped Benjamin to his room. She guided him to sit on the edge of the bed before rushing to fetch a basin of water and a cloth. When she returned, she knelt before him, her kind yet firm gaze meeting his.
"This is going to sting," she warned, dabbing at the dried blood on his face with a damp cloth. Benjamin winced but didn't pull away, too exhausted to resist.
Zifa worked silently, her delicate but steady hands carefully cleaning his wounds. There was no hesitation in her movements, no hint of self-consciousness. It wasn't about propriety or obligation—it was simple human compassion.
"You're burning up," she muttered, touching the back of her hand to his forehead. "What on earth did you do to yourself?"
Benjamin didn't respond. His feverish state left him teetering on the edge of consciousness. The events of the night played over in his mind in fractured flashes: the alley, the thugs, the cat, the desperate chase. His body was too weak to carry the weight of those thoughts, but his mind wouldn't let them go.
---
Zifa pulled the covers over him after ensuring he was clean and as comfortable as possible. She sat beside the bed, her eyes filled with quiet concern. It was far too late to fetch a doctor, and she doubted Benjamin could endure more strain even if one were here. All she could do was stay by his side.
As she brushed a damp strand of hair from his forehead, she let out a sigh. Her hand lingered for a moment, resting gently against his head. It wasn't romantic; there was no hidden motive in the gesture. It was pure empathy—one human comforting another in their time of need.
"It's alright," she whispered softly, her voice soothing. "You're safe now. Just rest."
---
Benjamin's body finally began to relax. The beating, the grueling test with Kareya, and the overwhelming strain of everything he'd endured left him teetering on the edge of collapse. His fever made him restless, but Zifa's calming presence grounded him. Her touch, sincere and unassuming, eased his tension.
If not for his exhaustion and fever, Benjamin knew he would have been plagued by nightmares. Instead, his mind slipped into a sleepless haze, the warmth of Zifa's care keeping the worst of his thoughts at bay.
Though the night stretched on, for the first time since arriving in this world, he felt a flicker of something familiar: comfort.
--
Benjamin woke with a start, his body aching as if he'd been crushed under the weight of his own exhaustion. His mind was groggy, swimming in fragments of memory that felt more like a fever dream than reality. He blinked a few times, the sunlight pouring in through the window stinging his eyes. Slowly, the room came into focus: his clothes were still dirty, his shirt missing, and the bed beneath him was a mess—stained with blood and sweat from the night before.
For a moment, he just lay there, staring at the ceiling. He didn't want to think about anything, not yet. His mind felt too fragile, like a fractured vase held together by sheer willpower. The weight of everything that had happened—the alley, the beating, the cat—hung in the back of his mind, but he pushed it aside.
*Not now,* he thought. *One thing at a time.*
With a groan, he forced himself to sit up. His body protested every movement, each bruise and cut sending sharp reminders of the night before. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and paused, letting the sunlight warm his skin. Something about the bustling streets outside, the chatter of vendors and the rhythmic clatter of hooves on stone, felt oddly medicinal. It was distant, a world apart from the chaos of his thoughts, but it was grounding.
---
He spotted the basin near the desk and dragged himself over to it. The cool water stung as he splashed it on his face, but it cleared some of the fog in his mind. He wiped himself down carefully, each movement deliberate. The water turned reddish-brown as it carried away the dried blood and grime from his skin, leaving him feeling a sliver closer to normal.
On the desk, a plate of food sat waiting for him—bread, fruit, and a small jar of something that smelled faintly sweet. Benjamin stared at it for a long moment, his stomach twisting. He didn't feel hungry, but he knew he needed the energy.
*Zifa must've left this,* he realized, a small pang of guilt creeping in. She'd seen him at his lowest, done more for him than anyone could have asked, and he hadn't even thanked her. The thought left him uneasy.
As he ate, each bite tasted like nothing. His body needed the food, but his mind was elsewhere. He glanced at the window, the sun now high in the sky, and let the sounds of the city wash over him. The streets bustled with life, vendors shouting over the crowd, children laughing, and the faint hum of distant conversations.
---
Sitting at the desk, he let out a long sigh and rested his head in his hands. He didn't want to think about the blood-stained bed behind him, the events of the alley, or even the strange connection with the cat. Not yet. But slowly, as the food settled and the sunlight worked its quiet magic, he felt the haze in his mind begin to lift.
The memory of Zifa's touch, the way she had stayed by his side, lingered in his thoughts. There was no pity in her actions, no ulterior motives—just genuine human kindness. That kind of care, so simple and raw, wasn't something he was used to.
I owe her, he thought, running a hand through his damp hair. For everything.
---
The bustling roads outside pulled him out of his spiraling thoughts. People were going about their lives, completely unaware of the storm in his head. It was a reminder that life moved forward, whether or not he was ready for it.
I have to figure this out, he told himself, leaning back in the chair. The Academy, Khial, everything. I can't keep stumbling through this world, hoping for the best. Last night was too close. If I'm going to survive here, I need to take control. But first...
He glanced at the door, where Zifa had quietly slipped away hours ago.
First, I need to thank her.
For now, though, he let himself sit in the sun, letting the chaotic thoughts settle. There was too much to unpack, too much to plan. But for this fleeting moment, Benjamin let himself breathe, the warmth of the day seeping into his battered body like a balm.