Altair sighed, watching as the woman harshly dragged the boy away by the arm. His mood soured instantly.
He wanted to help. Heavens knew he did. But the child had family—however twisted and cruel they were. Interfering in someone else's family matters wasn't something he could afford right now.
With one last glance in their direction, he shook his head and turned away, dejection curling in his chest.
He had thought—foolishly—that he could make progress on his task today. That he could finally start the adoption process and take the first step toward building the stronghold.
Naive.
"As if adopting a child would be that easy…" he muttered under his breath, his fingers tightening at his sides.
He'd need to put in more effort—go through the proper channels. He could try speaking with the authorities tomorrow, maybe check if there were government-run orphanages or adoption centers in the area. Given the current state of the world, there had to be plenty of abandoned children under official care.
For now, though, his priority was far more urgent: finding a place to sleep and buy food.
That task, however, turned out to be far more difficult than he'd expected.
He had money—he had a few coins he brought from home and the coins he got from the bandits, but in a crisis like this, money meant nothing. The wealthy had already hoarded most of the supplies, and the rest were being tightly rationed. It didn't matter how much he offered—there simply wasn't anything left to buy. Food had become more valuable than gold. In fact, it was being used as a substitute for currency in some places.
Ironically, silver and gold coins could now be exchanged at the Warrior's Association for "points," which could then be used to purchase necessities like food, water, and other supplies. Merchants and landlords had caught on, jacking up their prices and only accepting silver and gold coins.
Housing? No better.
Every rental was full. The remaining vacant homes demanded outrageous prices—greedy landlords milking the desperation of the displaced. Even the makeshift tents set up on the edge of town were overcrowded and noisy, offering little more than a roof and chaos. Sleeping there would be next to impossible.
Altair rubbed his temples, frustration weighing heavily on him. He was exhausted. His body ached. He hadn't had a proper rest since he began his journey to this place.
A quick glance at his status confirmed it—his HP had dropped.
He hesitated, considering whether he should use one of his potions to recover.
"No," he decided after a moment. "Better to save those for emergencies."
What he needed now was simple: sleep.
There was another option—he could register with the soldier's office to be assigned a tent. But that came with its own limitations. Once registered, he'd be grouped with others, and would be listed for the pick up. But he was currently unable to leave until cleared by the military.
His gaze slowly shifted toward the forest in the distance.
He'd grown up in the mountains, camping under trees and sleeping beneath the stars. The wilderness wasn't foreign to him—in fact, it felt more like home than the village ever did.
There were already people setting up makeshift shelters near the forest edge—cloth tied between branches, tents propped up against rocks. It wasn't the safest option, but clearly, many had made the same choice for the same reason.
Silence and Space.
Altair didn't hesitate. He moved farther into the forest, far enough to avoid the noise, but not too deep to risk danger.
Soon, he found a large tree with a thick trunk and low-hanging branches. Perfect.
Climbing up with practiced ease, he tied cloth strips around his torso and to the tree—just in case he rolled in his sleep. With his arms folded behind his head and legs stretched out, he finally allowed himself to relax.
The forest air was cool. The distant hum of insects was oddly comforting.
His eyes slipped closed.
Sleep came swiftly.
But it didn't last long.
A rustling sound stirred him awake—not loud, but steady. Faint scratching. A soft clacking noise, like something gnawing on wood or stone.
Altair's senses sharpened instantly. His instincts told him it wasn't a threat—but it could be prey.
"Well, he wouldn't refuse the blessings coming his way. He wouldn't mind adding a few more points to his total, either."
He stilled, listening closely. As he was trying to find where the sound came from, he noticed that the sound wasn't coming from the ground. Instead it was actually close to him.
Rhythmic.
Then he heard it again. Scratch. Clack. Scratch.
His brows furrowed as he slowly sat up, scanning the surroundings. Nothing moved.
Then he saw it.
A hollow. Just above him, hidden in the thick trunk of the tree.
Wide and shadowy.
He leaned closer, curiosity piqued.
And then he saw them.
Two large, round eyes blinking up at him.
He froze. Time stood still.
It wasn't a squirrel. Not a bird.
It was a child.
A little girl, who looked to be two years old, sat nestled inside the tree's hollow. She was thin—painfully so—and pale, her cheeks slightly sunken. Her small hands clutched an acorn, which she was trying to bite into with baby teeth, creating that soft screeching noise he'd heard earlier.
Her hair was a dusty red, tied back with a scrap of white cloth. Full bangs framed her forehead, and her wide black eyes—round like grapes—stared up at him, unblinking.
Altair felt something twist in his chest.
She didn't speak. Just stared. Clutched the acorn like it was the most precious thing in the world.
He let out a slow breath, composing himself.
The heavens... or the system... or fate... whatever it was, it had a twisted sense of humor.
He'd come here just to rest.
And somehow, he'd stumbled upon another child.