After glancing once more at the towering wall and the five soldiers patrolling along its crest, Ivy ran toward the store nestled deep within the narrow alleyway at the far corner of the slums.
It was afternoon, and the sun blazed above like molten fire, pouring waves of heat that felt almost alive. The air shimmered under the scorching light, and the entire slum reeked with a stench born of heat, rot, and rust, a smell so heavy that no sane person would wish to breathe it in.
Yet, despite this cruel environment, life persisted. People were enduring, surviving somehow in this world that had long forgotten mercy.
Ivy crossed a few crooked streets, weaving her way between narrow alleys she knew by heart. The ground beneath her feet was cracked and uneven, littered with scraps of rusted metal and broken glass.
Along the sides of every street sat beggars wrapped in rags and filthy scraps of fabric, bodies barely clinging to life. Some reached out weakly, their trembling hands begging for food, money, or even a shred of cloth to cover their wasted forms.
Every now and then, a passerby with a soft heart would toss them a half-eaten slice of bread, a tattered shirt, or some leftovers from their own meager meals. But those people were rare; kindness had become a forgotten luxury in the Grind.
The beggars came in all shapes and ages, men and women, children and elders, all reduced to the same pitiful existence.
As Ivy turned down another narrow alley, she stumbled upon a group of four small children lying against the base of a crumbling wall, one thin boy and three frail girls. None of them could have been older than six or eight. Their small bodies were curled up on the dry ground, as if caught between sleep and faintness, their faces pale and lips cracked from thirst and hunger.
The sun blazed mercilessly above, showing no pity for their fragile state. Its scorching light beat down on their frail forms, making the dust around them shimmer like fire. Even the wind seemed to have abandoned the alley, leaving only the heavy stillness of suffering.
Despite the lashes still burning across her back, Ivy slowed her steps, her gaze softening. Their clothes were nothing but scraps of plastic and torn rags, clinging loosely to their bony frames.
Their bodies were little more than skin stretched over bone, their eyes hollow, and their hair matted and tangled with filth.
She had seen these same children before on her errands to the corner store. Each time she passed them, something inside her chest twisted painfully, a small, guilty knot she couldn't name.
If Allen hadn't taken me in back then… I would have been like them.
She stopped at the mouth of the alley, her eyes lingering on the four frail figures. Every time she looked at them, an uneasy fear crept into her heart, the fear that next time she came this way, one of them might no longer be there.
The thought of such a fate sent a chill through her despite the blistering heat. Then, as if to push that darkness away, an image of Allen appeared in her mind, her kind eyes, her worn but gentle smile.
A warmth spread through Ivy's chest, melting the fear for just a moment.
She walked toward the children but stopped halfway, a thought suddenly weighing on her mind.
What are you doing? You need to take the ingredients and get back to the tavern quickly, she told herself, torn between her duty and the quiet voice of her heart.
For a few moments, she stood there in silence, the scorching heat pressing against her back, the cries of the street echoing faintly through the alley. Her eyes shifted from the corner store to the frail children sitting in the dust.
In the end, she did what her heart whispered at that moment.
She continued walking toward them. As she reached the group, her figure blocked the blazing afternoon sun, casting a cool shadow over one of the small children.
The little girl, with tangled hair and faint green eyes, slowly lifted her face. She blinked several times, trying to focus on the figure now standing before her, the stranger who shielded her from the merciless sunlight.
For a moment, hesitation flickered in her tired eyes. Then, gathering what little strength she had left, she raised both hands in a pleading gesture before the stranger could move away.
"Oh, kind one," she whispered weakly, her voice trembling, "please… spare some food for my brother and sisters. We haven't eaten anything for four days. May the gods bless you for your mercy."
She paused, fear tightening her chest, afraid that this stranger, like all the others before, would simply turn away and leave them to their fate.
Desperation overcame her. She suddenly reached out and grasped the stranger's feet with her pale, trembling hands.
"Please, I beg of you," she cried softly, her words quivering, "help my brother and sisters… oh, kind soul."
Her grip tightened, desperate and trembling. She didn't want this stranger to leave like all the others who had turned away.
A few seconds passed. The girl waited for the stranger to push her away, to shout, to pull her feet free, but nothing happened.
Slowly, she looked up.
There, framed in the sunlight, stood a teenage girl with a brown scarf wrapped around her head. The light slid gently across her face, illuminating a look of deep sympathy and quiet pain.
Ivy's eyes glistened as she looked down at the small girl. Her face carried the kind of emotion that needed no words, sorrow, tenderness, and something like understanding.
For a fleeting moment, the poor girl thought Ivy was an angel, someone sent from above to save her and her siblings from the cruelty of the world.
Ivy knelt beside the children, lowering herself to their level. Gently, she began to untie a small knot at the edge of her long cloth, her fingers trembling as she pulled out something wrapped inside, a crumpled piece of paper.
It was her money.
Her whole savings.
She took the small girl's hands in hers and placed the money in her palm.
"I'm afraid this is all I have right now," Ivy said softly. "Take it. Get yourselves something to eat. It should last a few days… I'll try to bring more the next time I come."
The small girl stared at the money in disbelief. Her lips quivered as she clutched it tightly, then shook her head.
"This… this is too much," she whispered. "I can't accept this. I only need enough for my brother and sisters. Please, take the rest." She tried to give most of it back, her hand trembling.
But Ivy stopped her midway, gently closing her fingers around the money.
"It's not a big problem for me, you know," she said with a faint smile. "You see, I come from a big house, and I can manage without it. Just take care of your siblings."
"But still, I can't, " the girl started to say, but Ivy didn't let her finish.
Without another word, she stood up and hurried toward the entrance of the alley, her footsteps echoing softly against the cracked ground. Within moments, she disappeared around the corner, heading toward the store.
The small girl looked down at the money in her hand, her vision blurring. Tears welled up and streamed down her dirt-streaked cheeks.
All this time, they had been beaten, humiliated, starved, and ignored by everyone around them since the day they lost their parents, and yet no one, not a single soul, had ever shown them such kindness.
Who was that girl who appeared out of nowhere, only to give away what little she had, as if it meant nothing to her?
The girl clutched the money to her chest and cried like a child of her age should cry.
Life in the Grind was merciless, stripped of warmth and compassion, yet even there, a fleeting act of kindness felt nothing short of a miracle.
After handing over all of her savings, not caring about her own future, Ivy walked out of the narrow street and headed toward the corner store.
Before giving away her hard-earned coins, a heavy feeling had weighed in her heart, a voice asking what would become of her if she let go of everything.
She had hesitated, torn between fear and compassion. But in the end, she followed what her heart told her in that moment.
Now, despite losing every bit of her savings in a place where everyone lived for themselves, where even the smallest thing could mean the difference between life and death, she felt strangely calm.
A mountain of pain seemed to lift from her shoulders. For the first time in years, she felt light… free.
The sting of the whip scars on her back dulled to nothing. She felt alive, truly alive, for the first time since losing her mother.
What was that feeling?Where had it been hiding all this time?
No one could answer that. And perhaps no one ever would, not until they did what she had just done.
A faint, bright smile touched her lips as she walked toward the store.
The shop stood close to the great wall, no more than forty or fifty feet away. From here, Ivy could see every detail of that colossal barrier. Her gaze lingered on it with curiosity.
The wall loomed high above, covered in black, scale-like plating that shimmered dully in the sunlight.
Despite years of storms and dust, there was not a trace of rust or rot upon it, only streaks of dirt and soot that marred its surface like old battle scars.
Pushing open the creaking wooden door, Ivy called out in a loud voice, "Old man Kanka, I'm here to grab the ingredients Allen asked for!"
Inside, a large, broad-shouldered man was stacking bags of flour and arranging jars of spices on the shelves. His long white beard and tangled hair gave him a wild yet kind appearance. Two younger men worked beside him, both busy sorting supplies.
Kanka turned toward her with a gentle smile. "Ah, it's Ivy again," he said warmly. "All the ingredients are over there, in that big bag."
He pointed toward a large grey sack resting near the wall. It was almost half Ivy's height, and looked far heavier than anything a girl her size could carry.
"Are you sure you can lift that, Ivy?" one of the younger men asked from behind the counter, a puzzled look crossing his face. He couldn't imagine how she could possibly carry something that seemed heavier than her own weight.
"Oh, don't you worry about her," the old man said with a grin. "Despite her looks, she's stronger than she seems. That bag is nothing for her."
"As Old Man Kanka said, it's no problem for me," Ivy replied confidently.
She stepped forward, bent down, and, with one hand, lifted the heavy sack as if it weighed nothing, setting it across her back in a single motion.
The two men froze in disbelief, staring at her. Only Kanka smiled knowingly.
Ivy knew well where her strength came from; it was not something natural. That power had awoken the day she lost her mother. After that incident, something had changed within her, something beyond human understanding. Possessed by an unknown force, her body had transformed, giving her unnatural strength and resilience.
As the others watched, a sudden wail of alarms pierced the air outside, loud, mechanical, and urgent.
Everyone turned their heads toward the sound. The distinct tone left no doubt; it was the city's defense alarm, triggered whenever a monster or beast appeared beyond the wall.
Everyone in the shop froze for a second, then carried on as if nothing had happened.
Everyone except Ivy.
The sack slipped from Ivy's grasp and spilled across the floor, flour and grains scattering across the ground.
"Is this the fourth one this month?" one of the men muttered, glancing at his companion.
"I believe so," the other replied, continuing to arrange his shelves. "There've been too many sightings lately. Strange creatures outside the wall. I wonder what they're trying to do since no one will ever be able to cross it anyway."
Kanka, however, noticed Ivy's expression. Her face had gone pale. He moved quickly to help her refill the spilled bag.
"What's wrong, Ivy? Are you all right?" the old man asked, concern softening his tone as he handed the refilled bag back to her.
But Ivy barely heard him.
The sound of the alarms, that long, shrill cry, tore through her chest like a knife. The others in The Grind might have grown used to it, but she never could. Those sounds still haunted her like a nightmare. They carried her back to that day, the day she lost her mother.
Those same alarms had blared then, just before the world fell apart. She knew what would come next: the booming shots of the wall's cannons, the thunder of defense turrets firing at the creatures outside.
She couldn't bear that sound again.
Her pulse quickened, panic clawing up her throat.I need to get far from here, quickly.
Without another word, she forced herself to stand, grabbed the bag, and ran out of the store, ignoring Kanka's worried voice calling after her.
Outside, the sun blazed on the black wall, and the alarms continued to scream, a song of war that only she could still feel.
With the heavy sack of ingredients slung across her back, Ivy hurried through the alleys, ascending the winding paths toward the tavern, the only place far enough from the growing roar of the defense guns that were about to come alive.
Despite the burden, her speed was startling. She darted through the narrow passageways with effortless agility, her feet barely touching the cracked ground. Her physical strength was nothing short of astonishing; she covered the distance in moments, driven by one desperate need: to get away from the sound of the guns.
But halfway to the tavern, the first thunderclap echoed across the slums.
The booming roar of projectiles and gunfire filled the air, rattling windows and shaking dust from the rooftops. The vibrations crawled through the ground, through her legs, through her chest, until they reached her spine like icy fingers.
The noise was too familiar. Too close to that incident.
The scene she tried to bury clawed its way back into her mind, the same piercing alarms, the same thunder of the guns, the same helpless terror as the world burned around her, and her mother's blood stained the ground.
Her breathing hitched.Her legs faltered.
No matter how many times she told herself it was over, her body remembered. The sound alone could freeze her heart in place.
She knew that if she stopped now, if she let the fear root her in place, she wouldn't move again until the guns went silent.
With trembling hands, she clamped her palms tightly over her ears, pressing hard until her fingers ached, then gripped the corner of the heavy sack with her teeth.
The rough fabric bit into her jaw, but she didn't care. She dashed forward, sprinting through the maze of alleyways, her body moving faster than thought. The sack bounced against her ribs as she ran, and every echo of gunfire felt like an explosion in her chest.
The deeper she went, the more the sound began to fade, muffled now by distance and walls. The world slowly grew quieter, less violent.
At last, she reached the tavern.
Panting, she dropped the sack at the entrance with a heavy thud and slowly uncovered her ears. Her fingers trembled as she lifted her hands away, half-expecting another deafening blast.
The sound of gunfire still lingered faintly, distant now, but still there, like a bad memory that refused to die. She winced, but it was bearable.
Inside, the tavern was calm. A few people sat at the tables, drinking, laughing faintly, as if the chaos outside belonged to another world entirely. The normalcy felt unreal.
Zander wasn't behind the reception desk, and the sight made Ivy release a small breath of relief.
Without wasting a second, she hurried toward the kitchen, clutching the sack in her hands. The smell of spices and old wood filled the air as she slipped past the dining area, ignoring the murmur of casual conversation. Even now, while the defense guns fired at some unseen creature beyond the wall, no one seemed to care.
She reached the kitchen, but to her surprise, Allen wasn't there either.
Ivy frowned, her pulse still racing. She set the sack down gently in its usual place, straightening the edge of the fabric as if to steady herself. Then, without another word, she turned toward the washing area.
She needed to be busy.She needed the noise of running water, the clatter of dishes, anything to drown out the faint rumble of cannon fire that still echoed beyond the walls.
After dropping the sack of ingredients in the kitchen, Ivy hurried toward the washing area. If Allen were still there, cleaning dishes, she would have to make her stop and take over the work herself.
She followed the narrow passage from the kitchen toward the washing corner. But as she reached it, her steps slowed. A large number of utensils still lay scattered, untouched, exactly as she had left them. Allen hadn't cleaned a single one.
Looking at the pile, Ivy thought to herself, Maybe she had other chores to do. I should finish this before she comes back and insists on doing it herself.
She rolled up her sleeves, grabbed the dishes, and began washing. The metallic clinks and splashes of water echoed faintly against the distant sounds of gunfire and cannon blasts somewhere far beyond the walls.
As she scrubbed the third plate, she realized the cleaning solution had run out. Wiping her damp hands on her clothes, she turned and hurried toward the small room where Allen had earlier treated her wounds. There would be a bottle of cleaning solution there.
But as Ivy reached the doorway, she froze. Soft voices drifted from behind the half-closed door.
"You know we can't rely on Ivy for everything. We have to look for more people now," said Zander. His voice was low, almost a whisper.
Ivy stopped at the entrance, her breath catching in her throat. She didn't want to face him, not now.
"And on top of that," Zander continued, his tone sharp but restrained, "you always ask me to punish her in such a crude way. What if Ivy decides to run away instead of working here? Do you even realize what that would cause? Who will handle all of the chores?"
His voice was uncharacteristically cautious, almost concerned. Ivy blinked. Zander, the man she had always seen as cruel and cold, was speaking with hesitation and… worry? She leaned closer, unable to stop herself.
Then another familiar voice answered.
"You don't have to worry about that. She won't leave this place."
It was Allen.
Ivy's body tensed. She wanted to push the door open, but something held her back.
Maybe I misheard her, she thought.
"You just keep doing what I asked you to do," Allen said coolly. "It's important that you continue acting the way you always have, and I'll play my part like all the time."
Ivy stood frozen, her heart pounding. Outside, the distant booming of artillery still thundered faintly.
"And besides," Allen went on, her tone calm and poisonous, "you've seen her strength. We won't find another one like her.
Oh, and about your whipping, it's getting weaker. You should put more force into it next time she slacks off."
Those words shattered something deep inside Ivy.
All this time, she had thought of Allen as a mother figure, the only one who showed her care. But here she was, the very reason behind all her pain, her bruises, her humiliation.
The roar of cannons in the distance faded away, and a suffocating silence fell over the room and the hall where Ivy stood.
"When I applied ointment to her back," Allen said with a mocking laugh, "she didn't even flinch. Your strikes are getting soft, Zander. Put your hips into it next time."
Allen smirked, unaware that Ivy was listening. She kept her voice low enough that only Zander could hear, or so she thought.
But after the incident when her mother died, Ivy's body had changed in ways beyond human reason. Her senses had sharpened. Her ears could catch even the faintest whisper if she wished. And now, she heard everything.
Zander's voice returned, edged with uneasy curiosity. "And why do you think that, after all we've done to her, she still won't leave?"
"Because of hope," Allen said, her voice dripping with amusement. "The hope I gave her."
Ivy's heart squeezed painfully in her chest as she listened.
"I told her," Allen continued, "that I was saving up to open a new restaurant, a better place, where her life would finally become easier. She works herself to the bone because of that hope."
Each word stabbed through Ivy like a knife.
"You're truly evil, Allen. You know that?" Zander said, smiling as if it were a compliment.
"Evil?" Allen chuckled. "I'm giving her a second chance. You just keep playing your part, and I'll play mine. People like her are rare, strong, obedient, desperate. We'll work her until she breaks, and she'll keep going because she believes in me."
Allen's voice drifted lazily, as if she were talking about something trivial. But for Ivy, the world had gone hollow. The woman she had trusted most had been her greatest deceiver.
She didn't know what to feel: anger, grief, or shame. The words of others echoed in her mind: Hope is a cruel thing. She had refused to believe them.
Now, standing there, she realized no one was to blame for her suffering except herself.
Water dripped from her fingertips to the floor, tiny drops echoing in the silence.
Then, a long, haunting howl tore through the sky.
It was the same sound she had heard once before, when she found herself outside the great walls. And with that sound, the air shifted. The light dimmed. The same creeping chill and chaos that had taken her mother was returning once again.