A subtle tension settled over the courtyard as the older boy’s voice cut through the lingering warmth, drawing every gaze toward him, including Damon’s, as he stood there with a guarded posture, his small frame belying the firmness in his stance, his dark brown hair slightly unkempt and his expression far too serious for someone his age, making it clear that although he might have been only ten or eleven, he carried himself with a caution shaped by something deeper than childish instinct.

His eyes remained fixed on Damon, wary and untrusting, as he spoke again, his tone steady despite the slight tremor beneath it.

"Even he must covet our home... stay away from him... he is just another bad guy."

Damon’s brows furrowed slightly at the words, not out of offense, but out of mild curiosity, as the children around them shifted uneasily, glancing at one another before looking back at Damon, their earlier excitement now mixed with hesitation.

The small girl who had asked for his name earlier stepped forward just a little, her voice soft as she spoke, "B-but... T-temba said we can play with him... so he must be good..."

Her gaze dropped as if unsure of her own words.

So the caretaker’s name is Temba, Damon noted quietly.

Before the silence could stretch further, another young boy spoke up, his voice hesitant yet hopeful as he added, "A-and he is so handsome... how can h-he be b-bad?"

A few of the children murmured in agreement, their uncertainty beginning to waver as their curiosity slowly pushed back against the older boy’s warning.

Then—

A small girl carefully approached Damon with slow steps.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide yet steady, as Damon lowered his gaze to meet hers, and before he could react, she reached out and gently grabbed his hand.

Damon flinched slightly at the sudden contact, his body reacting instinctively before stilling as she spoke.

"Y-you are not a bad guy... r-right, Alex?"

Her voice was soft.

But it carried.

And in that moment, every child in the courtyard looked at him, their eyes filled with something simple.

Hope.

Damon’s gaze moved across them slowly, taking in each expression, each expectation, before he gave a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head.

No.

The effect was immediate.

The hesitation shattered as laughter broke out among the children, bright and unrestrained as their faces lit up under the sunlight, their earlier doubts dissolving into excitement.

"Hahaha... I knew he is good!"

"Hehe... I told you, how can such a handsome brother be a bad person!"

"He-he... now we have a friend... we can play with a new friend!"

Their voices overlapped, joy replacing caution as they gathered closer, their energy returning in full.

Only one remained apart.

The older boy stood there, his fists clenched at his sides as he looked at them, then back at Damon, anger and frustration flickering across his face as he spoke again, his voice sharper this time.

"You... you... don’t cry to me then when he becomes bad..."

And with that, he turned and ran off, leaving the courtyard behind as the others watched him go, his warning lingering faintly in the air even as the rest of them moved on.

For a brief while, the courtyard remained filled with scattered laughter and chatter as the children circled around Damon with a newfound ease, their earlier hesitation gone as curiosity took its place, until one of the boys who had spoken earlier stepped forward again, his expression a mix of excitement and nervousness as he looked up at Damon.

"C-can you... tell us a story?" he asked hesitantly.

Damon looked down at him, then briefly around at the others who were already watching him expectantly, their eyes bright with anticipation, and for a moment, he considered refusing, his mind instinctively leaning away from something so unfamiliar.

...Anything is better than running around with them.

Without another word, he turned and walked toward the small set of worn steps just outside the building, sitting down with a quiet exhale as the children immediately gathered in front of him, dropping onto the ground in a loose semicircle, some sitting cross-legged, others leaning forward with their chins resting on their hands, all of them focused entirely on him.

Damon rested his elbows lightly on his knees, his gaze drifting over them once before he began, his voice calm, measured, carrying none of the exaggerated energy one might expect from someone telling a story to children.

"There was once a forest," he said, "not very different from the ones you might imagine... quiet, filled with life, and ruled not by strength, but by habit."

The children leaned in slightly.

"In that forest lived two creatures," he continued, "one was a swift-footed hare, known for its speed, and the other was a slow-moving tortoise, known for... surviving."

A few children giggled softly at that.

"The hare believed speed was everything," Damon went on, his tone even, "because it had never known anything else, and so one day, it challenged the tortoise to a race, not because it needed to win, but because it wanted to prove something that was already obvious."

"Then the hare wins!" one of the boys blurted out confidently.

Damon glanced at him briefly before continuing.

"That’s what the hare thought too."

A small pause followed.

"The race began, and just as expected, the hare rushed ahead, leaving the tortoise far behind within moments, and as it looked back, seeing nothing but distance, it laughed."

Some of the children smiled at that.

"But then," Damon continued, his voice lowering just slightly, "it stopped."

A few brows furrowed.

"It thought... ’What’s the point of finishing quickly, when the result is already decided?’"

A girl tilted her head.

"So it waited?" she asked.

"It rested," Damon replied, "not because it was tired, but because it believed there was no need to hurry."

The children exchanged glances.

"And the tortoise?" another asked.

"It kept moving," Damon said simply, "one step at a time, not because it believed it would win, but because stopping was not an option."

The courtyard grew quieter.

"The hare eventually woke up," Damon continued, "and when it did, it ran faster than ever before, its speed unmatched, its effort absolute... but by the time it reached the end..."

He paused.

"It was too late."

A soft murmur spread among the children.

"So the tortoise wins..." one of them said, a little surprised.

Damon nodded slightly.

"But not because it was better," he added calmly, "and not because it was faster... it won because it never stopped."

The children fell into a brief silence, absorbing the story in their own way.

Then one of the boys frowned slightly.

"That’s not fair..." he said, "the hare was stronger..."

Damon looked at him.

"Strength doesn’t matter if you decide the result before reaching the end," he replied.

Another child spoke up, curiosity shining in her eyes.

"So... should we be like the tortoise?"

Damon leaned back slightly, his gaze drifting for a moment before returning to them.

"You can be whatever you want," he said, "just don’t assume you’ve already won... or lost... before you’re done."

For a moment—

Silence.

Then—

"Hehe... I like the tortoise!" one of the kids said.

"No! I’ll be the hare, but I won’t sleep!" another declared proudly.

"That’s cheating!" someone else argued.

Laughter returned to the courtyard, light and unrestrained, as the children began talking over one another again, the story already taking root in their own interpretations, while Damon simply watched them, his expression calm, though quieter than before.

The light chatter in the courtyard was gradually replaced by a different kind of energy as footsteps approached from the side, and soon Temba appeared carrying a large tray filled with bowls, his posture slightly strained from the weight but his expression still warm as he looked at the gathered children.

"I see you are enjoying yourselves... come, come, come... it’s time for lunch," he said with a gentle smile.

The reaction was immediate.

The children sprang up almost in unison, their earlier discussions forgotten as they ran toward him with excitement, their small feet pattering across the worn ground while Temba lowered himself onto his knees to meet them at their level, carefully balancing the tray as each child eagerly reached out to take a bowl.

"Slowly... there’s enough for everyone," he said, though his voice carried a quiet reassurance more than certainty.

Damon remained where he was, watching the scene unfold as Temba distributed the bowls one by one, his movements practiced, careful, making sure each child received their share before he stood again and made his way toward Damon.

"Thank you for spending time with them," Temba said sincerely, his tone carrying genuine gratitude as he extended one of the bowls toward him.

Damon’s gaze dropped briefly to the contents.

Inside was a thin, pale broth, its surface barely disturbed by a few floating pieces of vegetables that looked overboiled and sparse, the aroma faint and lacking any real richness, more a means of sustenance than a meal.

He shook his head.

"I’m not hungry."

Temba paused for a moment before letting out a small, slightly embarrassed laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I know... it’s not much, but..." he began, his voice trailing slightly as if unsure how to finish the sentence.

Damon didn’t let him.

"I’m just not hungry," he repeated calmly.

Temba studied him for a brief second before nodding, accepting the answer without pressing further.

"...Alright," he said softly, before turning back toward the children.

Damon remained still for a moment longer before stepping away, his hands slipping back into his pockets as he began walking around the courtyard, his gaze drifting without focus as the sound of children eating and talking filled the space behind him.

As he moved along the edge, a few of the children noticed him again.

"Alex!" one of them called, hurrying over with a bowl in hand, "you can have mine!"

Damon glanced at him briefly.

"No."

Another followed, holding out her bowl with both hands.

"You can share with me..."

"No."

A third child approached, more insistent.

"I’m not that hungry, you take it!"

Damon didn’t stop walking.

"I said no."

One by one, they tried.

And each time—He refused.

Not harshly , nor kindly. Just firmly.

Eventually, the attempts faded, the children returning to their meals as Damon continued toward the back of the building, the noise of the courtyard dimming as he moved further away.

Then—

A different sound reached him.

Low and muted voices.

Damon slowed.

His steps quiet.

He moved closer to the source, stopping just beside the outer wall as he leaned slightly against it, his presence concealed as he looked toward the back area.

There—

Temba stood.

His posture completely different from before.

Gone was the warmth.

Gone was the ease.

In its place—

He stood slightly hunched.

Submissive.

In front of a burly man whose presence filled the small space with an unspoken pressure, his build heavy, his expression hard, his gaze looking down at Temba with clear impatience.

Temba bowed his head slightly, his hands clenched at his sides, his voice lowered...

"J-just give me more time!"