A thin mist and the acrid stench from open sewers enveloped the ruins of what was once called the "Star Garden." Now, only concrete rubble, the charred skeletons of buildings, and ramshackle huts made of hemp grass and animal hides remained. Leo crept like a shadow, his body trembling not just from the cold, but from exhaustion and gnawing fear. In his arms, Drake felt increasingly cold and weak, his breath ragged like a rat caught in a trap and dying. His cracked scales looked duller, and the lumps on his back pulsed faintly with an unnatural, dim light – a sign of life-threatening internal injuries.
A temporary shelter. That was Leo's only thought. The slums were no longer an option; they were surely being watched. He needed a hole to hide in, tend to Drake, and plan his next move. According to the system, at Drake's current Rank F, natural recovery would take 6 to 8 months.
First, he tried walking to the western edge of the Nexus slums bordering the forest, where there was an empty hut made of bamboo and woven hemp grass. But the moment he huddled down, his back against the cold wall, a thin woman with eyes as wary as a rat's appeared from behind the bamboo door.
"Get out!" she hissed roughly, gripping a long wooden stick. "This place is mine! Don't bring sickness here!" Her eyes flickered towards the limp Drake in Leo's arms, and a grimace of disgust wrinkled her face. "Take that disgusting creature away!"
Leo tried to defend himself, his voice hoarse, "But... I just need..."
"Get out! Or I'll drive you out by force!" The stick was raised. Leo had no strength left to fight. He left, humiliation burning in his chest.
Then, near a pile of smoking trash, the remnants of someone's night-time bonfire, a group of orphaned street children caught his scent. Their eyes were sharp, hungry. Leo tried to pick up a piece of stale bread lying in the mud, perhaps missed by scavengers. But before his fingers could touch it, a larger boy, probably the leader of their small gang, kicked his hand.
"Hey, that's our share, newcomer!" Leo stumbled and fell, shielding Drake with his body. The children snatched whatever scraps of food they could find – the small piece of bread, some rotten fruit peel – then darted away, leaving Leo with a throbbing hand and a stomach growling even louder. Drake only let out a weak hiss of fear, as if sensing his master's despair.
The sun rose higher, but offered no warmth. Despair began to creep in like a cold fog. Leo walked aimlessly, his legs heavy as if tied to stones, his vision starting to blur. Drake in his arms felt lighter, colder. His breathing was almost inaudible. *No. Not now. Hold on, Drake,* Leo prayed silently, hot tears welling in his eyes.
Then, at the end of a dead-end alley, hidden behind a bent iron fence covered in wild, climbing weeds, his eyes caught the shadow of a structure. A ramshackle hut. More accurately, a haphazard assembly of discarded crate wood, rusted sheet metal, and perforated animal hides, propped against a ruined wall on one side. The door was just a thick piece of animal hide hung as a curtain. It looked fragile, liable to collapse in a strong gust. But it was shelter. And crucially, it seemed empty.
With his last reserves of strength, Leo slipped inside. The air inside was stifling, dusty, and reeked of sharp herbal medicine mixed with the smell of sickness. Dim light filtered through gaps in the roof. In the corner, atop a pile of junk and old newspapers, lay an old man.
His face was deeply wrinkled, like dried tree bark. His sparse hair was white and matted. His eyes, though sunken, were half-open and followed Leo's movements with dull wariness. His chest rose and fell irregularly, and the sound of his rasping breath filled the small space. A glass bottle containing a brownish liquid and a few bundles of dried leaves lay nearby. Leo's first interaction with a sick slum dweller.
"Rude... barging into another's home like this..."
"Sorry... Sir..." Leo spoke huskily, his voice cracking. "I... could I just stay for a little while? My friend... he's badly hurt." He showed the barely moving Drake in his hands.
The old eyes shifted to Drake. There was no look of disgust as Leo had feared, only weariness and deep assessment. The old man's voice came out, rusty and labored, "Place... not mine... But... not for long." He coughed, a dry, hacking sound that shook his frame. "What... creature is that? Looks... worse off than me."
"A dragon... he's a dragon," Leo whispered, feeling foolish saying it given Drake's pitiful state. "He's badly wounded. I'm trying to care for him..."
The old man looked at Drake longer. His clouded eyes seemed to narrow, remembering something. "Dragon... huh." He coughed again. "I seen... strange things... long ago. Before these lungs... turned to garbage." He drew a heavy breath.
"He's dying, young man. Wound's deep. His aura... Very dim. Like an oil lamp... wick spent."
Leo bowed his head, guilt and sorrow washing over him. "I know... But I can't... I can't leave him."
"Sentimental..." grumbled the old man, but his tone was no longer harsh. "Here... I'll give you shelter for the night. But be quiet. And... don't expect much. I too... have nothing to share." He pointed to an empty corner opposite him. "There."
Leo nodded, a simple gratitude flowing through him, small but real. "Thank you, Sir." He crawled to the corner, laying Drake down with utmost care on a fold of his dirty jacket. He gently stroked Drake's cold head. "We're safe, for a bit, Drake. Rest now."
As he searched for a somewhat comfortable sitting position, his gaze swept across the hut wall near where the old man lay. Amidst charcoal scribbles and peeling, outdated newspapers, something hung that made his heart beat a little faster.
A poster. Its paper was worn, torn in places, and soiled by dust and rain splatter. The colors were faded. But the image was still recognizable: a crude, dark brown claw symbol grasping the earth, with bold lettering beneath it.
"GUILD CLAWARTHA (EARTH'S CLAW)"
"ACCEPTING MISSIONS: Escorts, Deliveries, Investigations, Minor Creature Handling."
"PAY COMMENSURATE WITH RISK. LOCATION: ETHERIA CITY"
Beneath, in smaller, almost illegible print: "Seeking new members. Must be able to fight or possess special skills."
Leo stared at the poster. A low-tier guild.
Minor Creature Handling. His mind raced. They handled minor creatures? Maybe... maybe they had information? Or even a way to help Drake? But 'pay commensurate with risk'... and 'must be able to fight'. Leo looked at his thin hands and the dying Drake. What could he offer? The fear of their thugs and bosses was still fresh. But looking at Drake, growing weaker, his breath barely detectable, that small hope shone like an ember in the darkness. Even though at first, Drake had been hostile, always looking at him with contempt, the creature had helped him several times.
Remembering this, Leo's guilt surged anew. Drake's current condition was, inevitably, also a result of his own forced-taming skill.
Leo then stared deeply at the poster, Earth's Claw. The name felt dirty, dangerous, but maybe... just maybe... it was the only way.
He looked at the old man, who had closed his eyes again, his breathing heavy and irregular. Then he looked at Drake, the pitiful little creature whose fate now rested with him. In the cruel slum ruins, in the ramshackle hut of a sick man, Leo had found not just temporary shelter, but also a clue, a new gamble that was even riskier.
The worn poster hung on the wall, like a claw reaching into the uncertain darkness of his future.