Temple of the Demon Lord of Wishes

Darian's words lingered in the air, heavy with something unspoken.

Ivaim almost let it drop, but something in Darian's tone made him pause.

Instead of pushing back, Ivaim simply tilted his head.

"Maybe not. But I know what kindness looks like, even when it comes from unexpected places."

Darian didn't reply.

His gaze flicked to the retreating figures of the homeless, their burdens lightened, if only for a while.

Before Ivaim could say anything more, a sudden commotion erupted down the street.

A desperate shout pierced the quiet evening.

"Thief! Someone stop him!"

A young boy darted through the crowd, clutching a small sack tightly to his chest.

His face was pale with fear as he weaved between the stalls, knocking over crates and scattering fruits across the cobblestone street.

The few merchants who tried to grab him missed by inches, their curses filling the air.

Ivaim tensed, expecting Darian to ignore the scene like most passersby—but then something surprising happened.

Without a word, Darian moved.

His steps were swift and purposeful, cutting through the chaos with practiced ease.

Ivaim watched in stunned silence as Darian closed the distance between himself and the boy.

The kid, wild-eyed and desperate, turned sharply down an alleyway, thinking he'd escaped.

But Darian was already there, blocking his path.

The boy skidded to a halt, breathing heavily, his knuckles white around the stolen sack.

"Easy."

Darian said calmly, raising a hand. His voice was low, steady—completely devoid of threat.

"I'm not here to hurt you."
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The boy's chest heaved, his eyes darting around for an escape.

"You can keep the bread."

Darian said gently, nodding toward the sack.

"But stealing isn't the way, kid."

For a moment, the boy hesitated, clearly expecting punishment.

But Darian made no move to grab him.

Instead, he reached into his own pouch, pulling out a few silver coins.

He tossed them onto the ground between them.

"Go on," Darian said quietly.

"Buy what you need next time."

The boy's lip trembled.

He looked down at the coins, then back up at Darian.

Without a word, he snatched the money and bolted, disappearing into the shadows.

Ivaim approached slowly, his expression unreadable.

"Didn't peg you for the charitable type..."

He remarked.

Darian shrugged, slipping his hands into his pockets.

"People do what they have to when they're desperate."

He said simply.

"Doesn't mean they're bad."

Ivaim let out a low whistle.

"You really are your mother's son, huh?"

Darian shot him a glance, but there was no bite this time—just a faint weariness.

"You think too much."

Darian said, turning to leave.

Ivaim chuckled, falling into step beside him.

"And you think too little," he teased.

For the first time, Darian's lips curved into something closer to a genuine smile.

It was brief, but it was there.

In that moment, Ivaim realized something: beneath Darian's cold, disinterested exterior was a man who cared deeply—too deeply, perhaps.

He just didn't wear it on his sleeve.

'He really is kind... that kindness qualifies him to take on the curse.'

Ivaim thought, a bit saddened at the thought of such a kind man having to bare such a curse in the story of this Fractured Reality.

...

For the next few days, Ivaim stuck around, much to Darian's obvious annoyance.

"You're still here?"

Darian muttered one morning, adjusting the worn strap of his leather armor.

"Don't you have somewhere better to be?"

"Nope!" Ivaim grinned, leaning lazily against a market post.

"Turns out pestering you is wildly entertaining."

Darian sighed heavily but didn't bother to argue.

They were walking down a quiet alley when a pitiful mewling sound echoed from a pile of wooden crates.

"Sounds like danger."

Ivaim said with mock seriousness.

"Leave it..."

Darian replied curtly, his expression as blank as ever.

Naturally, Ivaim did the opposite and peeked behind the crates.

"Hey, look at that—a kitten."

He grinned, pulling out a scrawny, shivering black-and-white furball.

"It likes me."

"It probably thinks you're food."

Darian remarked.

"Oh, come on. Poor thing looks half-dead. We can't just leave it."

Without a word, Darian quietly took the kitten from Ivaim's hands and walked toward an elderly merchant's stall.

"Here." Darian said, placing the kitten in a straw-lined box.

"It needs milk."

The merchant nodded, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

"A good deed, young man. You've got a kind heart."

Darian's only response was a grunt.

"Softie," Ivaim muttered under his breath, earning a glare.

...

Later, at the bustling market, a wiry man with desperate eyes was being dragged by two guards, shouting as he struggled against their grip.

"Please! I didn't steal it—I was just hungry!"

Darian stood nearby, watching silently for a moment before stepping forward.

"Wait," he said firmly, halting the guards.

"You know this man?"

One guard asked suspiciously.

"No."

Darian replied coolly, pulling out a small pouch of coins and tossing it at the merchant.

"But I'll cover it."

The merchant hesitated, then nodded reluctantly.

The guards grumbled but let the man go.

"You didn't have to do that..."

Ivaim said as they walked away.

Darian shrugged. "He's just trying to survive."

"You're really building up this whole softie reputation, you know."

Darian didn't bother responding as he walked away slowly.

Late one night, Ivaim followed Darian through dimly lit streets, curiosity piqued by his unusually restless behavior.

"You always take midnight strolls, or is this a special occasion?"

Ivaim asked.

"Go back to sleep."

Darian said flatly.

"Not a chance."

They reached the edge of the square, where a few homeless families huddled beneath makeshift shelters.

Without a word, Darian began distributing blankets he had brought with him.

Ivaim watched in stunned silence.

Darian's expression remained stoic, his movements efficient, but there was no denying the care behind each gesture.

"You don't get paid for this, do you?"

Ivaim asked quietly.

"No."

"Then why?"

Darian paused, his face half-hidden by shadow.

"Because someone has to."

For once, Ivaim didn't have a witty comeback.

As they made their way back through the dark streets, Ivaim broke the silence with a chuckle.

"You're a real softie, Darian. You know that, right?"

Darian sighed heavily.

"You're insufferable."