Heroko walked like the city couldn’t touch him.

  Not because he was fast, or dangerous, or feared—though he was all of those things.

  Because he moved with the certainty of someone who believed the rules belonged to other people.

  The street was busy in that exhausted way it had become lately. Faces turned toward every sudden sound. Conversations stayed quiet. Nobody lingered anywhere they didn’t have to.

  Then a shout rose ahead.

  A bank’s front doors burst open.

  People poured out in a panicked stream, hands over their heads, eyes wide. A few stumbled on the steps and got yanked back up by strangers without either of them stopping to think about it.

  Heroko slowed.

  A girl stepped out last.

  She wasn’t much older than Alisa, if you judged by the softness of her face. But hunger had carved her down into something sharper. Her cheeks were hollow. Her clothes hung loose—stained, ripped, patched at the seams. Her hair was a dark tangle that looked like it hadn’t been brushed in weeks.

  She held a bag in both hands.

  Not a weapon. Just a heavy canvas sack bulging with money.

  Heroko’s eyes narrowed.

  A Bounded.

  He could feel the alien energy inside her like a faint hum, but it wasn’t loud. It wasn’t cruel. It didn’t press outward with aggression the way some did.

  It just… existed.

  Cassidy saw him and froze.

  Heroko didn’t draw his sword. He didn’t need to.

  “Put it down,” he said.

  Cassidy swallowed. Her gaze flicked to the street, to the watching people, to the exits. Then back to him.

  “I don’t want to fight you,” she said quickly.

  Heroko’s expression didn’t change. “You’re robbing a bank.”

  “I know,” she blurted. Her voice cracked. “I know. But I— I need it. I just… need it.”

  Heroko took one step closer.

  Cassidy flinched as if he’d raised a blade.

  “You didn’t hurt anyone,” Heroko observed.

  She shook her head hard. “No. I didn’t. I wasn’t going to. I just… I just need money.”

  Heroko stared at her for a long moment.

  There was something ragged about her that didn’t match the act. Not the clothes. The way she held herself. Like she’d been cornered for a long time and had finally bitten back, but still wasn’t sure she was allowed.

  Cassidy’s eyes shone with a fear that had nothing to do with the police and everything to do with what came after hunger.

  “Please,” she said, softer now. “Just… let me go.”

  Heroko’s gaze drifted to the bag.

  Then back to her.

  “No,” he said.

  Cassidy’s shoulders sagged. “Then I—”

  She didn’t finish.

  Heroko moved.

  One clean swipe.

  So fast the crowd didn’t understand it until her body hit the stone.

  Cassidy’s eyes stayed open. Shock froze her face in a look that wasn’t anger, wasn’t betrayal—just surprise, like she couldn’t believe the world would punish her for trying.

  Heroko stood over her.

  The street went silent in a way it never did anymore. Even the wind seemed to hesitate.

  He looked down at the dead girl, and something tight shifted behind his eyes.

  She’d been a good person in a bad situation.

  He knew it the same way he knew where “his people” were. Not through words. Through some internal sense he pretended was arrogance but wasn’t.

  Even in death, she looked… pretty.

  Not in a sweet way. In a haunting way. Like something fragile the city would have broken eventually anyway.

  Heroko bent, picked up the sack of money, and walked it back into the bank. He tossed it onto the counter like a dropped weight.

  The teller inside stared at him with trembling hands.

  Heroko didn’t speak to them. He didn’t wait for thanks.

  He returned to Cassidy.

  He crouched, slipped one arm under her knees and the other behind her shoulders, and lifted her as easily as if she weighed nothing at all.

  Then he walked away carrying her corpse.

  No urgency.

  No guilt.

  Just purpose.

  The house smelled like food for once.

  Not burnt wiring. Not oil. Not blood.

  Food.

  Taco had taken over the kitchen with a seriousness that bordered on religious. Pots simmered. A pan sizzled. Something sweet and heavy baked in the oven.

  Mino sat at the table, half-armored, looking tired. Zacheas leaned against him with her arm around his shoulders, her head near his. It was casual in the way you could only be casual when you’d earned it.

  They were talking quietly—about the sword, about hiding places, about impossible problems that had no clean answers.

  “We can’t just bury it,” Taco was saying, stirring with too much force. “What if they can sense it like Heroko can?”

  Mino rubbed his face. “We can’t leave it here either. This place is—”

  Zacheas’ voice was low. “A target. Yeah.”

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  The door opened.

  Heroko stepped in.

  The kitchen went dead silent.

  Taco’s wooden spoon froze mid-stir. The smell of something burning began to creep into the air, but nobody moved to stop it.

  Because Heroko had a dead girl slung over his shoulder like a sack of grain.

  Cassidy’s hair hung down his back. One pale hand dangled limply near his chest. Blood had dried dark on her shirt.

  Mino stood halfway, then stopped, eyes wide. “What the hell—”

  Heroko walked past them as if they weren’t there.

  Zacheas stared, mouth slightly open. Her arm tightened on Mino without her noticing.

  Taco’s voice came out thin. “Heroko…”

  Heroko didn’t answer.

  He crossed the common room, went through the security check like it was a formality, and pushed into the back weapons room.

  Garth was there.

  He stood near a table where Shediro rested. Alisa sat close to him, pressed against his shin, enjoying his absentminded attention. Garth’s fingers moved through her fur slowly as his eyes stayed on the sword, thoughtful and tense.

  Heroko entered, carrying death.

  Alisa lifted her head and whined softly, uneasy.

  Garth’s gaze snapped up.

  For a moment, he didn’t speak.

  Then, carefully, “What happened.”

  Heroko didn’t answer that either.

  He stepped to the table, reached out, and took Shediro.

  Garth’s eyes tracked the movement—sharp, alert—but he didn’t move to stop him.

  Not because he didn’t want to.

  Because something about Heroko’s posture said don’t.

  Heroko turned without looking at Garth.

  And walked to the hospital wing.

  The hospital wing was nothing like a real hospital.

  It was a couple rooms with clean sheets, a cabinet full of supplies, and the kind of order people built when they couldn’t afford chaos inside their own walls.

  Heroko laid Cassidy down on the bed with unexpected care, adjusting her limbs so she didn’t look like a dumped body.

  He stood over her, sword in hand.

  Cassidy’s chest didn’t rise. Her skin had gone dull. Her face had that stillness that made even strong people hesitate to touch the dead.

  Heroko didn’t hesitate.

  He lifted Shediro and swiped it through her torso.

  The blade should have cut.

  It didn’t.

  The sword passed through her like the air had decided to become solid just long enough to deny violence.

  Light rippled out from the line of contact—soft, bright, unreal.

  Cassidy’s wounds closed.

  Color rushed back into her face.

  Her lungs pulled in a sharp breath like she’d been drowning.

  Her eyes flew open.

  She jerked up with a gasp, hands clawing at her own chest as if trying to understand how it was still whole.

  Heroko caught her before she fell off the bed. His grip was firm, steady.

  Cassidy stared at him, trembling. “Wh—what…”

  Heroko’s red eyes held hers.

  “You will work for these people,” he said.

  Cassidy blinked, breathing hard. “I… you— you killed me.”

  Heroko didn’t deny it.

  “And now you’re alive,” he continued. “And your heart doesn’t want to hurt people. It never did.”

  Cassidy’s throat bobbed as she swallowed. Her fingers clutched at the torn fabric of her shirt like it was armor.

  Heroko’s voice stayed calm, almost detached.

  “Do good,” he said. “It is what your heart wishes to do.”

  Cassidy looked like she wanted to speak, but no words came.

  Heroko stepped back, leaving her sitting on the bed with shaking hands and stunned eyes.

  He turned and walked out.

  Garth was waiting just outside the door.

  Heroko held Shediro out without ceremony.

  Garth took it, eyes searching Heroko’s face. “Why.”

  Heroko’s mouth twitched. “Because I can.”

  Then he was gone again.

  Heroko crossed the city alone.

  Not to another fight.

  Not to another roundup.

  To a house that looked like it might collapse if the wind hit it wrong.

  Rotted porch. Windows patched with plastic. The kind of place people only lived in because they had nowhere else to go.

  He didn’t knock.

  He stepped inside.

  A woman—old, thin, hair grey and frizzed—rose from a chair with a gasp. A young girl grabbed a small boy and pulled him behind her. Fear flashed in all of them like a reflex.

  Heroko stood in the doorway, eyes glowing in the dim light.

  Then he pulled a bundle from under his coat.

  Food.

  Bread. Canned goods. A wrapped stack of something dense and heavy.

  He handed it to the girl.

  Then he set a thick bundle of money on the table.

  The old woman stared like her eyes couldn’t make sense of what they were seeing.

  The boy peeked out from behind the girl, mouth open.

  No one spoke. They couldn’t.

  By the time the girl found her voice to say thank you—

  Heroko was already gone.

  But for a brief instant, as he stepped back into the night, his eyes looked… less crimson.

  Not kinder.

  Just less sharp.

  Back at the base, Cassidy sat on the hospital bed, knees pulled to her chest, clutching her ripped clothing like it was the only thing tethering her to reality.

  Garth stood near the doorway, arms crossed, careful not to crowd her.

  “So,” he said gently, “that is what we do.”

  Cassidy’s eyes flicked up, wary. “You… bring people back?”

  “Sometimes,” Garth admitted. “If we have the sword. If it works.”

  Cassidy swallowed. “And what do you want from me.”

  Garth’s voice stayed even. “You can help us if you like. You’ll get paid. You’ll be protected. Or you can stay neutral in this war.”

  Cassidy stared at the floor for a long moment.

  Then, quietly, “Why did he let me live?”

  Garth didn’t answer immediately.

  Because the honest answer was complicated.

  Because Heroko wasn’t kind.

  Not really.

  But he wasn’t simple evil either.

  “He saw the good in you,” Garth said finally. “As do I.”

  Cassidy’s shoulders shook once. She wiped her face with the back of her hand, furious at herself for almost crying.

  After a long silence she whispered, “Okay.”

  Garth nodded. “Okay?”

  Cassidy nodded again, stronger this time. “Okay. I’ll join.”

  Then, softer, embarrassed, “Can I… get different clothes?”

  Garth’s expression warmed by a fraction. “Yeah,” he said. “Come with me. I’ll take care of everything.”

  Later, Cassidy walked through the common room in newly fitted armor—lighter than Mino’s, practical, clean. Her hair was brushed. Her face still looked tired, but there was a steadiness there now, something anchored.

  She stopped by Garth, thanked him quietly, then hesitated as if she wanted to say something else.

  Instead she just said, “I’ll be right back.”

  And left.

  Mino watched her go, then looked at Zacheas. “She seemed… nice.”

  Zacheas nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

  Mino frowned. “Was she the girl we just saw dead a while ago?”

  Zacheas’ mouth tightened. “Probably.”

  Mino stared at Shediro where it rested near Garth’s side. “So… we can die and just be brought back?”

  Taco—still rattled, still smelling faintly of burned food—spoke carefully. “Well… yeah. But only if we have the sword.”

  Zacheas’ arm slid tighter around Mino’s shoulders. Her voice went softer, but her eyes stayed hard.

  “And it can’t be good for you,” she added. “Don’t get ideas.”

  Mino’s mouth twitched. “I wasn’t—”

  Zacheas cut him off. “Don’t worry,” she said. “You won’t die on my watch.”

  Mino blinked at her, then looked away, pretending his ears weren’t turning red.

  Cassidy walked fast through the streets, heart pounding with a feeling she didn’t know how to name.

  When she reached her home—an apartment with peeling paint and a door that didn’t latch right—she froze.

  There was food inside.

  A lot of it.

  And money, stacked on the table like a miracle someone had forgotten to explain.

  Her mother’s face went white when Cassidy stepped in. Her little brother stared like Cassidy was a ghost.

  Words spilled out in fragments—questions, fear, relief, disbelief.

  Cassidy listened, dazed.

  Then she saw it clearly.

  The timing.

  The money.

  The food.

  Heroko.

  She sat down slowly, staring at the bundle on the table as if it might vanish if she blinked.

  And she whispered aloud, to the empty room, to the concept of him, to the unfairness of it all—

  “Why has he done this… all for me?”

  Her fingers curled into the fabric of her new clothes.

  Her voice went soft, almost reverent, like the words hurt to say.

  “What a great man.”

  And somewhere in the city, the hunt continued, indifferent to gratitude.