The moment Verda called out, Altair's heart clenched.
At the end of the line of captured children, a boy turned his head toward them. His face was thin and smudged with dirt, his clothes tattered beyond recognition. Despite his condition, the boy's dark, wide eyes held a potent mix of shock, worry, and confusion. He couldn't have been older than eight.
Altair moved quickly. He crouched beside Verda and gently, but firmly, pressed a hand over her mouth. The last thing they needed was to attract attention.
"Shh, Verda," he whispered. "We'll get in trouble if we yell."
The little girl blinked up at him, confused. "But that's Brother Alvis," she mumbled against his hand, trying to squirm free.
"I know," Altair said softly, glancing back at the boy. Alvis was still staring at them—small and fragile—looking even smaller lined up with the other captured children. His shoulders were hunched, as if trying to make himself invisible, even though he was already the shortest among them.
Altair's jaw tightened. He recalled what a woman in the crowd had said—that the children had been caught stealing the night before. That must've been why Alvis hadn't come back.
Verda tugged on his sleeve, her fingers sticky with crumbs from the bread she was holding. "Uncle," she said, "I want to give Brother Alvis my food."
Altair exhaled slowly. She was too young to understand the danger of the situation. But her innocence… it tugged at his heart.
If Alvis had truly been caught stealing, then Verda had been left without a guardian. If the boy was punished—or worse, taken away—she would be alone.
That would make it easier for him to adopt her. But this is taking advantage of their situation.
And Alvis ... much to his surprise was still just a child, too.
Altair's mind raced. He hadn't even asked where their parents were. He'd assumed Alvis was Verda's only relative. After all, the boy had chosen to leave Verda in the forest alone. That means there's no one he can leave her with.
He had thought maybe their parents had met some misfortune, and that only the two of them remained. That also made him believe Alvis was older.
But it didn't seem to be the case.
Two children. No guardians. How would they survive?
"Alright," he said, brushing her hair back. "We'll go see your brother. But he's busy right now, so we'll have to wait a bit before talking to him, okay?"
Verda nodded eagerly and, without hesitation, shoved the rest of the bread into her mouth in record time.
Girl… didn't you just say you were giving that to your brother?
Altair gave a soft, resigned chuckle. Then he scooped her into his arms and started toward the town's government office, where the soldiers had taken the captured children.
—
In the town square in front of the government office, a large crowd had gathered. By the time they arrived, the air buzzed with tension, thick with whispers and tightly clutched cloaks.
Altair wrapped Verda in his own cloak and pulled the hood low over her head. Leaning in, he whispered, "Cover your ears, Verda. Just for a little while. Okay?."
She looked at him in confusion,"Why? I wanna see brother."
"Okay. Okay. You will see your brother later. But you have to listen to me first." He coaxed her. He doesn't want Verda to see his brother in this kind of situation and hear what the people are saying.
She frowned in protest but obeyed, pressing her small hands over her ears.
The murmurs in the crowd were sharp and unkind.
"What do you think they'll do to them?" someone asked.
"Punish them, obviously," another replied. "Kids stealing already? Imagine what they'll be like when they grow up."
"They better be dealt with properly," an older man muttered. "If not, more people will try the same. We all rely on rations to survive—if they're stolen, what will we eat?"
"But did you hear?" a woman whispered. "One of the kids is awakened. That's how they managed to get in."
"The leader, right? That's why they had to wait for the mayor—because an awakened one is involved. A young one, too. What was his name… Emett?"
"Yeah. The boy who broke into the warehouse. I heard he could walk through walls…"
"An awakened who steals?" someone scoffed. "Should've reported himself to the Association."
Altair's brows furrowed. An awakened? And with the ability to pass through walls? Amazing. That would be useful for spying.
The Association would definitely be interested in awakened individuals with unique abilities. But it seemed this boy, Emett, hadn't turned himself in.
Most people reported to the Awakened Association the moment they gained powers. The benefits were undeniable—shelter, food, protection and status.
Of course, not everyone is tempted with just this privileges. Some didn't trust the system. Others had reasons to stay hidden.
But how could the government allow people with special abilities to roam free? What if they committed atrocities?
That was the reason the Warriors Association was established.
Those awakened who didn't register were considered criminals.
The crowd quieted as the mayor stepped forward, flanked by guards. His face was worn, lined with age and responsibility. Beside him stood a soldier with a commanding presence—armor polished, a magnificent sword at his side, and a cold, unreadable gaze.
The mayor stopped in front of a teenager wearing a faintly glowing collar—a suppression device.
"Your name is Emett, correct?" the mayor asked, his voice firm and sharp. "Do you understand that what you did is a crime? Why did you instigate these children to steal food? Did someone order you to do this? And why aren't you registered yet? That's another offense."
Emett raised his head slightly. There was guilt in his eyes, but he masked it with a blank expression, trying to appear unfazed. His jaw was tight with defiance, and he said nothing to defend himself.
Altair narrowed his eyes in confusion. What's the deal with this kid? Most children would've been shaking by now—nervous, scared, maybe even begging for forgiveness. But this one? He looked like he had already accepted the consequences… or maybe like he didn't care.
Even the knight standing beside the mayor shifted uncomfortably, his expression darkening at Emett's silence.
The mayor's frown deepened. He waited a moment longer, but when Emett offered no response, his tone turned colder. "Still nothing to say? Fine."
He turned toward the younger children. "And the rest of you? Where are your parents? Do they know what you've been doing? Speak up!"
The children stiffened. Most kept their heads bowed, their thin shoulders trembling. The silence that followed was heavy—until one boy, barely older than Alvis, stepped forward on shaking legs.
"We just… we just wanted some food, sir," he said, voice cracking with fear. "We were really hungry. The rations… they weren't enough. We hadn't eaten since morning yesterday…"
There was a hush across the crowd. Some murmured in pity. Others remained stone-faced.
"That's no excuse," the mayor said tightly, though the wrinkle between his brows deepened.
"I just wanted bread for my little sister," another child said, wiping snot from his nose with a tattered sleeve. "She's been coughing for days. I didn't know what else to do…"
"My brother got sick," added another, voice barely above a whisper. "I thought… if I could sell something from the storage, I could buy medicine…"
Then a sudden sob rang out. One of the youngest boys, no older than five, burst into tears.
"Emett said he'd help us!" he cried, fists clenched at his sides. "He said he knew a way to get food. We… we just wanted to eat…"
Another girl began crying as well, clutching her skirt and hiccuping through her tears. "I didn't want to steal… I didn't! But they said we couldn't have more rations… and Mama's gone…"
Even Alvis raised his head. His lower lip trembled. "I… I just wanted to bring food back for my sister…"
Altair clenched his jaw. The scene was breaking his heart.
The mayor's hand tightened into a fist. He said nothing for a moment, his gaze sweeping over the tear-streaked faces in front of him. Despite the law, despite the weight of the crime… they were just children.
But his face remained unreadable as he finally spoke again.
Altair watched silently. This is bad. From the mayor's expression, he could already tell—the punishment was inevitable.
The mayor turned back to Emett, who remained silent. Altair frowned. What's he planning? Why isn't he saying anything? Was this really someone else's plan?
If so, what is their motive?
The murmurs in the crowd rose again. Sympathy mixed with disdain.
Emett's shoulders shook as he clenched his fists tighter.
The mayor sighed, rubbing his temples. "Stealing is a capital crime. How many times must we remind you of that?" he said finally. "Everyone is having a hard time. But you're still causing trouble."
"I cannot pardon you easily. The punishment is public whipping."
The crowd grew tense. Whispered murmurs quickly rose to an uneasy buzz.
"Mayor, can't they be pardoned? They're still children. They won't survive the whipping," someone protested from the left, an older woman clutching a worn shawl. Her voice was shaky, but firm with conviction.
Altair also nodded. Whippings can damage the children's bones and ruin their foundation. It's not like the whippings will only be one or two. The minimum whipping he knew was twenty. Looking at the childrens skinny body. He knew that it would be terrible for them.
"Yes, Mayor!" another man called out, stepping forward. "Maybe you can just make them do some work—help clean the streets, assist the town. After all, they didn't even manage to steal anything."
"What are you talking about?" a younger voice snapped from the other side. A man in clean clothes crossed his arms. "So what if they're just children? Are we going to let them run rampant because of pity? That's how criminals are made."
"I say punishment is still needed," said an older man with a stern face. "But maybe we could change it?."
The debate rippled through the crowd, voices rising, overlapping.
"They still need to learn the consequences!"
"There has to be a better way…"
The mayor's gaze swept slowly across the gathered people, then returned to the trembling group of children. His expression remained unreadable. His silence stretched long enough for the crowd to quiet once more.
Then he spoke, voice like cold iron.
"The law," he said, "doesn't make exceptions."
A wave of silence followed his words, heavy and oppressive. The children shrank further back, some clutching one another, eyes wide with dread.