The sun had started to dip behind the slum's broken skyline as Emery led Griff down the narrow alley, twelve ragged children trailing behind like shadows.
Two of the biggest, Bronx and Sabo, moved close on either side, like living sentries. Bronx walked left broad-shouldered, fists clenched like iron, stomping with the confidence of a war beast. Sabo moved right silent, alert, eyes flicking constantly, cataloging every window, rooftop, and doorframe like a soldier born into war.
They stopped before Emery's crooked shack, a battered little fortress barely holding itself up at the edge of the slums. Bronx and Sabo took their posts no words, no salute just a nod from Sabo and a crack of knuckles from Bronx.
"Friends of yours?" Griff asked with a smirk as he passed them.
"Yes," Emery said softly, glancing at the two with a rare softness. "I met them the day my power first woke. Bronx was the first to stand between me and a gang of older kids trying to jump me. Took a brick to the face and didn't flinch."
He nodded toward Sabo. "That one didn't say a word. Just showed up, slit a bully's belt, and disappeared. Next day, both of them followed me without question. Haven't left since."
Griff raised an eyebrow. "So, they're not just muscle?"
"No," Emery said. "They're something else."
Inside, the little home smelled of damp cloth and root stew. Emery's mother, Mara, moved quickly as they entered lighting the lantern, wiping her hands on her apron, smiling so wide the years seemed to melt away.
"You're early, Emery and you brought a guest?" she asked, eyes scanning Griff with a mother's fierce pride.
Griff gave a polite nod. "Griff. It's good to meet you, ma'am."
"You hungry?" Mara asked without waiting for an answer, pulling out the better bowls and the real meat the rare treats she usually saved for holidays.
Griff glanced at Emery and whispered, "Does she usually do this?"
Emery shook his head with a warm smile. "No, not really. I think she's just excited. You're the first person I've brought home."
Griff smiled softly, feeling the weight behind that simple truth.
Outside, Bronx shifted, muscles tensing as he kept watch. Sabo's eyes flicked toward the street, sharp and unblinking.
Bronx cracked his knuckles. "Feels like things are moving."
Sabo nodded once. "They are. Boss met someone important."
Bronx thumped a closed fist against his chest. "Good. We're ready."
Inside, across the eastern slums, ten other children moved like shadows young pickpockets and nimble thieves working the crowded stalls and muddy paths.
The youngest distracted merchants with fake cries or feigned stumbles, while others slipped hands into pockets or cut purse strings with dull blades. The stolen coin and goods were swiftly passed to runners who disappeared down dark alleys.
Back at the shack, Mara bustled, serving bowls of steaming stew too rich for what she should afford. Griff watched her with quiet respect. Emery sat opposite, quiet but calm.
Just then, the door creaked open, and Joren stepped inside, armor dusty and worn. He stopped dead in his tracks, eyes narrowing as he took in Griff.
"Who's the fancy guest?" Joren asked, voice low and suspicious.
Joren's gaze flicked toward the door. "Why the hell are there two giant kids posted outside like bouncers? You running a club now?"
Outside, Bronx shifted, muscles tensing as he kept watch. Sabo's eye flicked toward the street sharp and unblinking.
"We're the No Nonsense Crew," Bronx declared proudly.
Joren raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "Sure you are," he said with a smirk, then laughed. "Alright, No Nonsense Crew. Just keep my boy safe."
He lowered himself onto a broken chair, rubbing his neck tiredly.
"Griff, huh? New friend?"
"Yeah," Griff replied, with a small smile. "Old friend, you might say."
"Family eats," Joren said firmly.
After the meal, Emery led Griff outside into the humid night, standing under the rust-colored moon. The city's noise softened to distant barks and a faint scream.
"Good meal," Griff said.
"Good people," Emery replied. "You're lucky."
"No," Emery said, eyes sharp. "I earned it."
Griff smirked. "You always say that."
Emery turned to him. "You know the others will come. I don't know when. But they will."
"And when they do?"
"We build," Emery said. "Not just a gang. Not just an empire. Something that lasts."
They stood together, two little warlords in borrowed bodies, under the slum sky with nothing but grit and ghosts.
Back near the alley's mouth, Sabo shifted. "They'll be moving soon."
Bronx thumped a closed fist against his chest. "Then we move too."
And across the slums, Emery's gang vanished back into the night, pockets heavier, eyes sharper, ready to carve a future from the bones of the world.