The morning market in Camp Tile was already alive by the time Gray and Tamemoto reached the square.

  Travelers moved in steady streams along the river road — a heavy caravan from Ryūmon rumbling east toward Rift Spire, two groups of white-robed disciples heading the other way, and a lone bounty hunter leading a mule loaded with sealed crates. The air smelled of grilled fish, river herbs, and the faint metallic tang of ley stones being traded under canvas awnings.

  Voices rose and fell in haggling. Dust kicked up under boots and wagon wheels. Camp Tile never stayed quiet for long.

  Gray walked with his usual quiet stride, small pouch of copper coins in his belt. Tamemoto stayed close beside him, eyes darting at every new face.

  The younger boy still carried the stick from yesterday’s training like a sword, though he kept it low.

  They stopped at the stall they always used — a simple wooden counter run by an older woman everyone called Auntie Lira.

  She was kind in the way people in Camp Tile could afford to be: she never short-changed them and sometimes slipped an extra dried fish when no one was looking.

  “Morning, boys,” Auntie Lira said, wiping her hands on her apron. Her smile was warm but tired. “Same as usual?”

  Gray nodded. “Two loaves and whatever dried meat you can spare for five copper.”

  Lira sighed as she wrapped the bread.

  “Prices went up again. Too many people passing through lately. Caravans, disciples, even a few knights from Solvaris heading west.

  Everyone’s buying supplies before the road gets worse. The river’s been busy too — more monsters drawn to the water.”

  Tamemoto’s eyes widened slightly at the mention of monsters, but he stayed quiet.

  Gray took the bundle without comment. He counted out the coins carefully. Five copper. It hurt more than yesterday.

  They turned to leave.

  Three young men stepped into their path.

  They were maybe fourteen or fifteen — same age as Gray or a little older. Ragged clothes, bruised knuckles, hungry eyes. Local scavengers who had decided easier prey was better than the Ashfall pits.

  The tallest one grinned. “Nice bread, river rats. Hand it over.” Gray stopped. His mind went cold and sharp.

  Tamemoto froze beside him.

  The leader reached for the bundle.

  Gray moved first.

  He dropped the bread and kicked a loose rock at the leader’s knee. The stone cracked against bone. The boy staggered with a yelp.

  “Argh—!” the leader cried, clutching his leg.

  Gray stepped inside, grabbed the front of the boy’s torn tunic, and slammed him backward into a market stall. Wood splintered. The stall owner shouted in surprise.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  The second boy lunged from the side, swinging a wild punch.

  Gray ducked. The fist whistled over his head. He drove his elbow into the boy’s ribs — hard. Something cracked.

  “Gahhh!” the attacker screamed, doubling over, clutching his side, face twisted in pain.

  The third one grabbed Tamemoto from behind, trying to yank the smaller boy away.

  Tamemoto cried out — a scared, high sound. The boy’s fist slammed into Tamemoto’s mouth.

  “Ow—!” Tamemoto yelped, blood oozing from split lips, tears springing to his eyes.

  Gray saw red at the edges of his vision.

  He spun, grabbed the third boy’s arm, and twisted it viciously. The shoulder popped.

  “Aaaah—!” the attacker howled in agony, voice cracking as he released Tamemoto and staggered back, clutching his arm.

  Tamemoto stumbled back, blood on his chin, eyes wide with terror. For a moment he just stood there, shaking, tears mixing with blood on his face.

  Then something changed.

  His small hands clenched. He remembered Gauis’s voice from yesterday — “Use everything. Even the ground. Even fear. Don’t freeze.”

  Tamemoto snatched a handful of dust from the ground and threw it into the second boy’s eyes. The attacker howled, blinded, hands clawing at his face.

  “My eyes—!” he screamed, staggering blindly.

  Tamemoto kicked him hard in the knee.

  “Crack!” The boy dropped with a sharp cry of pain, clutching his leg.

  Gray finished it.

  He grabbed the leader by the hair and slammed his face into the broken stall post.

  “Thud!” The boy’s nose broke with a wet crunch.

  “Agh—!” he screamed, blood pouring from his face as he dropped like a sack of grain.

  The second one, still rubbing dust from his eyes, tried to run. Gray tripped him with a low sweep and drove his knee into the boy’s back.

  “Ughhh!” the attacker groaned, collapsing face-first into the dirt.

  The third one — arm hanging useless — tried to crawl away.

  “No—no—!” he whimpered, voice high and panicked.

  Gray let him go.

  He stood breathing hard. Channels burned faintly from the small aura coating he had instinctively used. His knuckles were split. The taste of ash and blood was thick in his mouth.

  “Hngh…” Gray grunted under his breath, flexing his injured arm as pain flared again.

  Tamemoto stared at him, chest heaving, blood still dripping from his lip. His eyes were wide, but there was something new in them now — not just fear. A flicker of understanding.

  Gray picked up the fallen bread. One loaf was crushed, but the other was still good.

  “Come on,” he said quietly. “We’re going home.”

  Tamemoto nodded. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and fell in beside Gray, limping slightly but keeping pace.

  They walked back toward the riverbank huts in silence.

  The market noise continued behind them.

  Another caravan rolled through. Someone laughed at a stall.

  Life in Camp Tile moved on.

  Gauis and Rebecca were waiting on the porch when they arrived.

  Gauis’s eyes narrowed the moment he saw the blood on Tamemoto’s face and Gray’s split knuckles.

  “What happened?” Gray told them. Short, flat sentences. T

  hree boys. Tried to steal the food. Fight. He broke one’s arm. The others ran.

  Tamemoto stayed quiet, but he stood a little taller than before.

  Rebecca listened without interrupting.

  When Gray finished, she stood slowly and walked over to Tamemoto. She knelt in front of him, gently tilting his chin up to check the split lip.

  Her eyes were soft, but there was a deep sadness in them.

  “You did good today,” she whispered to Tamemoto. “Both of you.”

  She looked up at Gray. Her voice cracked just a little.

  “I hate that you have to learn this so young. I hate that the world forces you to break arms and bleed just to eat.

  But… I’m proud of you. Both of you. You protected each other.”

  She pulled Tamemoto into a careful hug. The boy buried his face in her shoulder.

  Gauis watched them for a long moment. Then he looked at Gray and gave a single, slow nod — the kind that meant more than words.

  The Tile River kept flowing behind the hut.

  Somewhere in the distance, another caravan bell rang as it passed through Camp Tile.

  The world kept moving.

  And Gray kept learning how to move with it.