Perhaps it was the warmth. Or maybe just the exhaustion etched into his bones. But Arcose drifted back to sleep without a fight.
When he woke again, dawn was bleeding across the sky. Soft light slipped through cracks in the wooden walls, and a breeze drifted in through the open window, carrying the scent of iron, smoke—and something unfamiliar.
Peace.
He stretched and yawned, letting the moment sink in. "Man… I could get used to this," he murmured, voice still thick with sleep.
Life was returning to him, slow and deliberate, like the tide reclaiming a forgotten shore. His gaze dropped to his arms and legs. The bruises—deep and vicious just yesterday—had faded into dull yellows and sickly greens. He didn't blink at that. His wounds always healed fast. Too fast.
The house was still. Silent. He rose with the practiced silence of a street rat and padded to the window. Cool air kissed his skin, and—for once—he didn't flinch from it.
Then came the thought. Familiar. Uninvited.
They seem well off… for slumfolk.
His eyes scanned the room: a handwoven rug, worn but soft. A basket of root vegetables. A copper kettle. Nothing flashy. Nothing rich. But more than most.
If I took something small… they wouldn't miss it.
His fingers twitched. Old instincts.
It wouldn't hurt anyone. A few coins. Some bread. Enough to keep warm another day.
But then—her voice. That brightness. That strange, warm way she'd offered him soup. No fear. No pity.
Vivi.
The thought of stealing from her left a sour taste in his mouth. It felt... wrong. Like stomping on something fragile. If he took from her, maybe that light—whatever it was—would go out.
And there weren't many lights left in this world.
Why the hell should I care, though? he thought, bitter. Why the fuck do I care if some girl smiles or not?
Creeeak.
A floorboard.
His body reacted before thought—he spun, shoulders tense, fists clenched, every nerve screaming for a fight.
"Just me!" came a soft, familiar voice. Unafraid.
She stood in the doorway with both hands raised, a sheepish grin tucked beneath wild violet hair.
Arcose let out a breath. "Shit… you scared me."
"Thought you were asleep," he added, trying to play it off.
"We're usually up around now," she said, padding into the room like she belonged in silence.
Then came the frown—arms crossed, brow furrowed, lips pursed in exaggerated seriousness. "Now it's my turn. You've been all broody and mysterious. But you never told me your name."
Arcose blinked. Name?
Right.
His lips parted, then closed again. Shame stirred in his gut like a slow poison. They'd fed him. Saved him. And he'd almost robbed them.
"…Arcose," he muttered.
"Huh?" she leaned forward. "Didn't catch that."
He looked away, voice louder this time. "My friends used to call me Arcose."
A beat passed.
Vivian smiled. Not teasing. Not mocking. Just… soft.
"That's a good name."
He glanced at her. "What about you?"
She dipped into a dramatic bow, grinning like a street performer. "Vivian. But everyone calls me Vivi."
What in the Jimminy-Fuck-a-roo was that?! Arcose thought, stunned by the full-performance intro.