Li-Yo-r

The house was different when Lior stepped inside this time. Not cold, not suffocating—just… quiet.

His mother sat on the ground, her back straight despite the exhaustion in her eyes. In front of her, Tally sat with her chubby hands clapping together, her face alight with laughter as she watched their mother's hands move in quick, practiced motions.

Sign language.

Lior froze at the doorway, watching.

It was a rare sight—his mother and Tally alone like this, communicating in their silent world. Usually, there was always someone else in the room, always noise. Cass coming in and out, their father's weary sighs, the constant shuffle of footsteps from the neighbors outside.

But now? It was just them.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, his mother was smiling.

It was a small thing, barely there, but it softened the tired lines on her face. Her fingers moved fluidly, and Tally's eyes flickered between them, eager, trying to understand.

Then, suddenly, she let out a tiny, excited shriek and raised her hands to mimic their mother's gestures—completely wrong, clumsy, but happy.

Lior had never seen anything more beautiful.

He leaned against the doorway, suddenly forgetting the stolen coins burning against his palm.

For all the filth and rot of Blackmire, for all the hunger and cold, for all the ways their lives felt like a trap with no way out—

There was this.

His baby sister laughing like she had never known pain.

His mother smiling like she had never lost her voice.

And for a moment, Lior wished he could stay in this moment forever.

Tally's laughter rang out again, high and bright, echoing through the small room. It was the kind of sound that didn't belong in Blackmire, the kind that felt too pure, too untouched by the weight of the world outside their home.

Lior exhaled, slow and quiet, as he took a step inside. The wooden floor creaked under him, and his mother's head snapped up, her hands stilling in mid-air.

Tally turned too, her round face lighting up when she saw him. "Yo-Yo!"

His throat tightened. She always called him that. Not quite his name, not quite the word she meant to say—but hers, all the same.

He swallowed, shoving his hands into his pockets, feeling the rough edges of the stolen scrips. For a second, he thought about telling his mother where he had been—about the marketplace, about the people he had watched, about how he had been so, so close to taking more.

But then he saw the softness in her expression. The moment that still hung between her and Tally, something untouched by the filth and cruelty outside.

And he couldn't bring himself to break it.

So instead, he forced a small grin, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "What's so funny?" he asked, nodding toward Tally.

His mother tilted her head slightly, then slowly raised her hands again, signing.

She was trying to say my name.

Tally beamed and smacked her little hands together, as if proud of herself.

Lior huffed a quiet laugh. "That so?" He crouched down next to her, poking her round cheek. "Did it sound anything like 'Ma'?"

Tally blinked at him, her tiny mouth forming an exaggerated 'O'. Then, with utmost confidence, she said, "Ba!"

His mother's shoulders shook with silent laughter, and for a second, Lior felt something ease inside his chest.

Today hadn't been all bad. Maybe not everything in this city was as rotten as it seemed.

Lior let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head. "Alright, alright, I get it. I guess I'm just Yo now."

Tally giggled, clapping her hands together. "Ba!"

His mother smiled, a small, tired curve of her lips, and Lior felt something warm settle in his chest. It wasn't often that he saw her like this—soft, at ease. Not weighed down by the exhaustion of the day, the silence she had to live in, the struggles they all knew but never spoke of.

So he did what any decent brother would do.

He flopped onto the floor beside Tally and poked her stomach. "Alright, little rat, since you've been laughing at me, let's see how you like it."

Tally squealed as he tickled her, her little body twisting as she tried to escape. "Nooo!" she shrieked, breathless with laughter.

Their mother shook her head but didn't stop them. Instead, she simply sat back, watching with a look that Lior couldn't quite name—something caught between amusement and something deeper.

Lior grinned as Tally attempted to tickle him back, her tiny fingers pressing against his ribs with all the strength of a kitten. He let out an exaggerated gasp and pretended to fall back, clutching his stomach. "Agh! You got me! The mighty Yo has been defeated!"

Tally let out a triumphant cheer, clambering onto him, her tiny hands pressing against his cheeks. "Ba down!" she declared.

Lior groaned. "I have fallen... What will become of me now?"

Tally tilted her head, thinking hard. Then she clapped her hands and wobbled slightly on his chest before patting his face with her tiny hands.

"Ba stay!" she declared with all the authority of a queen on her throne.

Lior huffed a laugh. "Oh? And what if Yo wants to get up?"

Tally squinted at him, then shook her head firmly. "No."

"Ah, I see. So I'm trapped forever?"

Tally nodded, very serious. "Yo no go."

Lior sighed dramatically, flopping back. "Well, guess I live here now."

His mother chuckled silently, shaking her head.

His mother shook her head, hands moving.

You already do.

Lior paused.

For a second, the room felt warmer. He looked between her and Tally, feeling that same, unfamiliar thing settle deep inside him—the thing that made his chest tight, that made his throat feel strange.

Maybe happiness wasn't an extra loaf of bread.

Maybe sometimes, it was just this.

***

The room was dimly lit by a single oil lamp, its weak glow barely keeping the shadows at bay. The scent of boiled potatoes and thin broth hung in the air, filling the small space with something warm, something familiar. It wasn't much, but it was home.

Lior sat cross-legged on the ground, his bowl balanced on his lap. Tally sat beside their mother, swinging her legs as their mother carefully fed her spoonfuls of broth. Their father, as always, ate in quiet, his gaze distant, his shoulders weighed down by the day's work.

Cass sat across from Lior, his back against the wall, eating methodically. He looked worse under the dim light—his bruises deepened into ugly purples, his knuckles raw. But if it hurt, he didn't show it. He never did.

Lior was halfway through his meal when Cass's voice broke the quiet.

"Where'd you go today?"

Lior hesitated, his spoon pausing mid-air.

"Nowhere," he said finally, taking a bite.

Cass exhaled sharply, not quite a laugh. "That so?"

Lior nodded.

Cass didn't press immediately, just tore another piece of bread. "You had dirt on your hands when you came in."

Lior shrugged. "It's the Sewers, Cass. There's dirt everywhere."

Cass held his gaze, unreadable. Then he scoffed, shaking his head. "If you're gonna lie, at least make it believable."

Lior's fingers curled around his spoon. "It's not a lie."

Cass took another bite, chewing slowly, then swallowed. "You're a shit liar, Lior."

Lior glared at him. "And you're annoying."

Cass didn't react. He just sat there, watching. And the longer he did, the heavier Lior's chest felt.

Their mother tapped the table with her fingers. Enough.

Cass leaned back slightly but didn't look away. "You know I don't care what you do," he said, voice quieter now. "But if you're getting into trouble, I need to know."

Lior clenched his jaw. "I can take care of myself."

Cass let out a humorless chuckle. "Yeah? Thought the same thing once." He gestured vaguely to the bruises on his face. "Turns out, not so much."

Lior looked down at his food. He didn't know what to say to that.

Tally, completely oblivious, reached for Lior's bowl. "Yo eat!" she chirped.

Lior exhaled, shaking off the weight of the conversation. He tore off a piece of bread and handed it to her.

Cass watched him a moment longer, then sighed, rubbing his temples. "Just don't be stupid, alright?"

Lior didn't answer.

But he heard him.

***

Lior woke up to the dim light creeping through the cracks in the wooden walls. The house smelled of damp wood and the faint remnants of last night's meal. The air was thick with the usual morning cold, seeping in from every corner, wrapping around his limbs as he lay there, blinking sleep from his eyes.

The blanket, the one Cass never used, was tangled around his legs. He kicked it off and sat up, rubbing the sleep from his face. Across the room, their mother was already gone, off to work before dawn as always. His father's place in the corner was empty too.

Cass was still asleep, or at least, lying still enough to seem like it. He slept curled up against the wall, arms folded, like he was keeping something—or everything—out. The bruises on his face looked worse in the morning light.

Lior's gaze flickered to the small crate by the wall where Tally usually slept, but it was empty. His stomach tensed for a second before he remembered—Old Huang.

Tally had gone to spend the morning with Old Huang, the old woman who lived a few houses down. Their mother had left her there before work. Lior could picture it: the grizzled woman, squinting down at the toddler as she babbled nonsense at her. Old Huang would act annoyed, but she'd keep her entertained. She always did.

With a quiet sigh, Lior stood, brushing the dust off his clothes. His shirt was still decent, but his pants had a new tear near the knee. He'd have to be careful today. Couldn't afford to look like a street rat, not if he wanted to blend in.

He walked over to the small wooden shelf against the wall and picked up the quarter loaf of bread left from last night. Instead of eating it, he tore a piece off and tucked it into his pocket. No telling when he'd get another chance.

Then, without a word, he stepped out of the house.

The morning air was sharp against his skin, carrying the smell of sewage and wet stone. The Sewers never really smelled clean, but the morning made it worse—like everything that festered overnight was rising with the mist. The wooden walkways creaked under his feet as he made his way out, past the stacked shacks and murky canals, past the sunken-eyed workers trudging to their labor.

He didn't stop.

Not until he stepped past the Sewer Gates, slipping into the city beyond.

It was time for work.

Time to steal.