Shadow Slave: Kindness

"What?" he snarled. "Want a thanks, bitch?"

Nephis blinked.

The boy's voice was rough. Bitter. Every word laced with venom that had nothing to do with her.

She stared at him — at the filth smeared on his cheek, the bruises on his arms, the way he shook like he was too cold for summer.

He looked like he hadn't eaten properly in days.

But his eyes were alive. Burning. Spiteful.

Like he'd decided a long time ago that the world was his enemy — and everyone in it was a part of the problem.

Including her.

Nephis said nothing.

She didn't step back. Didn't retaliate.

She just watched him.

And in that quiet, ragged second — she understood something.

This boy… had nothing.

Not a name. Not a title. Not protection. Not love.

Nothing.

Except that fire.

That anger.

She didn't know it yet — not fully — but this moment would burn itself into her memory.

Because later, long after their lives changed, she would remember this boy.

This foul-mouthed, dirty, sharp-eyed boy.

And she would remember…

He didn't thank her.

But he never forgot her either.

"Why were they chasing you?"

Nephis kept her tone cautious, body slightly tense. Her instincts warned her not to push too hard. The boy's stance — stiff, coiled, ready to bolt or lash out — wasn't just fear. It was survival instinct, honed and raw.

She took a few deliberate steps back, hands visible, posture relaxed.

Though Nephis was being trained harshly, it wasn't to the point where she was completely cut off from interacting with others. She didn't speak to many people, true — but her social skills were at least developed enough to hold a conversation without sounding awkward or robotic.

"Relax, I'm not here to hurt you."

The boy's glare only sharpened.

"Why do you care? Don't stick your nose in my business. I had it handled pretty well."

He spat — again — this time with more force.

Nephis gave him a flat, unimpressed look. Then sighed.

"Sorry, kid. But you didn't look capable of handling much of anything back there. If I hadn't stepped in, they would've turned you into a smear on the pavement."

That got his attention.

"Kid? Kid?! Who're you calling a kid, bitch? I'm your age, probably older. And those guys? Please… I was gonna take care of them myself."

Nephis arched an eyebrow, crossing her arms.

The boy turned away without another word, stomping off a few paces down the street. Nephis watched him carefully, expecting him to bolt. She was about to call after him when he suddenly crouched behind a pile of debris and yanked something free.

A straight bone. Wrapped in wire.

Her eyes narrowed.

The boy gave one sharp tug — and then—

Thud.

The ground beneath her buckled.

Before she could move, her feet slipped, and she was yanked downward by sheer gravity.

She landed hard.

In mud.

Sticky, cold, reeking muck that clung to her uniform like oil. 

Her clothes were ruined.

Along with her beautiful face and her hair.

Though, her honed instinct trained by years in training kicked in, and in less then a few seconds she had analyzed enough of her situation.

The pit wasn't deep — but it was cleverly disguised. Just enough debris, arranged just right. Even the bone had acted like a primitive locking mechanism — the wire was just a trigger line to pull it out mid-run.

Ingenious.

Fast.

Dirty.

Exactly like the boy.

Nephis sat there for a second, her breath fogging, her jaw clenched.

She was covered. Head to toe. Her pants, shirt, arms, even her hair. Everything smelled like rot and grime.

She grimaced.

…Her side still hurt from the earlier knife cut.

And now this?

She was going to strangle that little—

"Calm down, Nephis… you are composed. Controlled. Graceful. Benevolent… above such things…"

She inhaled sharply.

And then exhaled slowly.

Only now did she realize it wasn't just a ditch. It was a trap. A roofless underground chamber, concealed with junk and debris. The trigger, the fall, the design — crude, but brilliant. Made from scavenged junk.

It could've caught anyone.

And it had.

Above her, the boy peered over the edge.

He tried to laugh — but it came out as a cough. He wiped his mouth, sneered, and finally managed a raspy chuckle.

"Hah! Take that, bitch! Who's the kid now?"

He grinned triumphantly. "Now you're in the same pit as those goons. Ain't karma sweet?"

He scratched his chin. "Serves people right. People like you. People who look down."

Then he paused.

His eyes shifted to the broken bone trap — now destroyed by the collapse.

"…Ah, shit."

His smug expression twisted into a grimace.

"Now I gotta build it all over again."

He glared down at Nephis like it was her fault. "You! This is on you, you hear me?"

He kicked a stone.

Then muttered to himself, half-defeated, half-annoyed:

"Lesson learned, Sunny… don't give in to emotions."

Nephis, still sitting in the mud, just stared up at him.

"…Sunny? Is that your name?"

The boy — Sunny, apparently — didn't answer. He just kept walking away, casually, like he hadn't just pulled her into a pit of filth and insulted her to her face.

Nephis was silent for a second. Her breath even. Her expression blank.

Then her composure cracked.

The anger, controlled until now, rose in a slow, heated wave. That brat's words—his tone—his insufferable smugness… it all stirred something sharp under her skin. His mouth really was something else. Sharp, fast, unfiltered.

A tongue like a blade that somehow got under hers—figuratively—and pulled something raw to the surface. His scalding hot tongue and mouth bothered her at the core. 

She grit her teeth.

Why was she letting him get to her?

Because he was infuriating.

Because that reckless, dirty little street rat had the audacity to insult her, trap her, and then walk away like it meant nothing.

She climbed out of the ditch in one swift, practiced motion. For most people, it would've been a struggle—slippery mud, sheer walls—but Nephis had trained for worse. Fighting waist-deep in swamp water. Navigating terrain in pitch black. Sand. Ice. Drowning fog.

This?

This was nothing.

She landed lightly on the ledge and wiped a smear of mud from her cheek, eyes narrowing at the boy's retreating back.

"Come back here, you little shit!!"

The words ripped from her throat before she could stop them—loud, furious, uncharacteristic.

She hated being dirty.

She hated being disrespected.

She especially hated that she'd done her hair that morning.

Sunny turned at the sound of her shout, eyes wide with surprise. Maybe he hadn't expected her to get out so quickly. Maybe he hadn't expected her to yell.

He opened his mouth—probably to say something else infuriating.

Then thought better of it.

And ran.

Fast.

Nephis snarled under her breath and gave chase, her boots slapping against the cracked pavement. She didn't care about the mud anymore. She didn't care about appearances. Right now, she looked like she belonged to the outskirts herself—disheveled, wild, streaked with dirt.

All she cared about was catching that boy.

And maybe—

Just maybe—

Shutting that mouth of his for good.

One way or another.