The Loom of the Last Law

The rain slowed to a mist as they moved through the back alleys of Sector 5. Cracked pavement. Lights that buzzed but didn't shine. Buildings that leaned too far into the street, like they were tired of standing.

Elaris didn't look back.

She just walked — like she knew exactly where they were going. Like nothing in this world could touch her.

Her white hair, slick from the rain, clung to her back and shoulders. Her steps were sure, boots clean despite the filth. The coat she wore was long, black, tailored. Definitely noble — but worn like it meant nothing to her.

Cael kept a few steps behind, watching her with cautious eyes.

Eventually, they stopped in front of a rusted checkpoint booth — long abandoned, its windows shattered, its metal frame tagged with warnings and slum signs.

Elaris turned and leaned casually against the booth, arms crossed.

"You always walk like someone's going to stab you."

"I always expect someone to," Cael replied flatly.

She smirked. "That's healthy."

Her eyes flicked down to his soaked clothes, then back up to his face.

"You look like a corpse they forgot to bury."

"Still breathing."

"Barely."

She reached into her coat and tossed him something small — a pill packet. Then a sealed ration bar.

"Eat that. Won't kill you."

Cael stared at it. Then at her.

"…Why are you doing this?"

She raised an eyebrow.

"Because you look like a lost dog, and I like dogs."

"That's not a reason."

Elaris tilted her head, studying him.

"No, but it's the one you're getting."

Cael didn't answer. But he took the bar.

He ate it slowly, his hands shaking just enough to notice. She didn't comment.

When he was done, she turned again and started walking.

He followed.

They passed through a broken perimeter gate — one Cael had never dared approach. Beyond it, the world changed.

Trash fires vanished.The smell faded.The buildings stood taller, straighter.

Clean power lines. Silent drones overhead. Streetlamps that actually worked.

This wasn't the slums anymore.This was the edge of the noble district.

Cael hesitated.

Elaris glanced back.

"What? Afraid the clean air will burn your lungs?"

"This isn't my place."

"It is now."

He didn't move.

Elaris stepped closer, her voice lower now.

"You don't have to belong to walk through a door. You just have to walk."

Cael looked past her, at the streets he wasn't supposed to see. The people in high-collared coats, the smooth-paved roads, the drones that watched everything.

And still… he stepped forward.

One step. Then another.

They turned into a side street — narrow and faded. Old concrete. Cracks in the walls. The wealth didn't reach this deep. It was a forgotten corner of a polished world.

At the end of the street, a steel door sat under a broken sign.

Elaris tapped in a code.

It opened with a soft hiss.

"Home sweet hole," she muttered.

Inside, the space was quiet and warm. Dim lights glowed from hidden fixtures. A couch, a sink, a door to another room. Old furniture. Real floorboards.

No mold. No rust. No leaking pipes.

Cael stood still, letting the silence surround him.

"It's not much," she said, throwing her coat over the back of a chair. "But it's mine. Mostly."

She glanced at him.

"You can sleep here. Shower. Eat. Whatever you do besides stare at things like they owe you money."

He didn't move.

Didn't speak.

Just looked around slowly, as if expecting it to vanish.

"Sit down," Elaris said. "You're dripping on the floor."

He sat.

The cushion gave under his weight. Real fabric. The warmth of the heater pressed against his arms.

It felt… wrong.

Safe.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked, finally.

Elaris grabbed two chipped mugs from a shelf, poured something hot from a kettle.

"Told you," she said, handing him one. "I like lost dogs."

"Still not a reason."

"Still not your business."

She sat across from him, curling her legs under herself like she owned every inch of the room.

"You want to keep sulking in the rain, fine. I just figured someone should do something. You were starting to look like scenery."

Cael held the mug but didn't drink. The steam rose, warming his face. It smelled like old spices and something bitter.

"This place isn't safe."

Elaris gave a lazy shrug.

"Nothing is. But it's quiet. No cameras. No nobles. Just a cracked door and a heater that sometimes sings to itself."

She sipped her drink and gave him that crooked grin again.

"What? You think I dragged you to the palace?"

The silence stretched, soft and dense.

For the first time, Cael let himself lean back.

His eyes scanned the ceiling. The corners. Every shadow.

No movement.

No rats.

No dripping pipes.

"You sleep in the back room," she said. "I'll take the couch. Try not to bleed on anything. It's hard to clean dried trauma off cheap blankets."

He didn't smile.

But he stood.

Walked to the open doorway.

Paused.

"I don't get it," he said. "You don't know me."

Her voice was quiet.

"You looked like someone who'd forgotten how to be human. I've been there. It's hard to crawl back on your own."

He didn't reply.

Didn't have the words.

He stepped into the dark.

Closed the door.

For the first time in years, he lay in something that wasn't soaked.

And still, sleep didn't come easily.

His fingers twitched.

His body kept expecting noise — the scream of wind through cracked walls, the echo of something hunting.

But here, there was nothing.

Only a broken heater.And one locked door between him and the rest of the world.

He let his eyes close.

Just for a while.