Drakovitch moved slowly through the dungeon, the only sound the steady drip of water from the ceiling. But in his mind, that drip transford, growing heavier, louder, becoming the relentless, pounding drum of a storm from decades past.
The mory struck him.
He was a boy then, dressed in a flawless school uniform. He had been walking through the lower districts when a small, freezing hand suddenly clamped onto his polished shoe. He had frozen, his heart hamring in surprise.
From the shadows of a rain-pooled alley, a girl had crawled toward him... Her face was a mask of grey mud, slowly being washed away by the downpour to reveal skin that was bruised a deep, sickly purple. Her lips were drained of all color, trembling as she tried to form words that wouldn’t co.
"Help..."
She was "Grounded" in the literal sense—born into the dirt, living in the rain, while he stood above her, a creature of born into the rich. The status between them was a chasm that should have been unbridgeable: a rich boy of the lineage and a holess girl of the slums.
However...
The young Drakovitch had knelt in the mud. He gathered the shivering, skeletal girl into his arms, ignoring the stench of rot and the way her gri stained his uniform. He carried her through the relentless downpour, his small legs trembling under her weight, until he reached the heavy doors of a district hospital.
He had waited. He sat on a cold stone bench for hours refusing to leave until the doctors confird the girl would live.
When she finally woke, the young Drakovitch was still there, sat on the edge of the hospital bed.
"Are you... okay now?" He said.
The doctor, standing by the door.
"She was poisoned. Her system is a wreck. It’s a miracle she’s even conscious."
The girl looked up at Drakovitch.
"Poisoned? Must have been the stew. I gathered so fat worms and a couple of green frogs near the sewer pipe... boiled ’em in a tin."
Drakovitch let out a sudden wheeze of disgust, his face paling.
"You... you ate that? Why would you ever—?"
"Because I was hungry..."
To his absolute surprise, she didn’t wait for a hand to help her. She swung her thin legs over the side of the bed and stood up. She wobbled for a heartbeat, her face turning ashen, but then she locked her knees and stayed upright.
The young Drakovitch watched Maddy with a mixture of bewildernt and budding respect. She stood there, swaying slightly like a reed in the wind, but her eyes never left his.
"T-thank you... you had helped . I do not have anything to pay you, maybe so... worms?"
Drakovitch froze, his mouth hanging open for a second. Even as a young boy, he was a verified genius and heir to a fortune that could buy the very hospital they stood in. The idea of being paid nearly made him short-circuit.
"Worms? Keep your worms, girl. Money doesn’t matter as long as I save a life."
The doctor stepped forward, handing over a complex, hand-written prescription. He expected the boy to hand it to a servant, but Drakovitch snatched it and scanned the lines with a clinical, sharp gaze.
"The alkaloid content in this tonic is too low for her weight. She needs the concentrated extract if you want the poisoning to stop recurring."
The doctor’s jaw dropped.
"How... how do you understand the chemical balances of—?"
"I read," Drakovitch snapped, already grabbing the girl’s arm. "Co on. We’re going to a pharmacy!"
He dragged her out into the cool afternoon air, his small hand firm on her wrist as they marched toward the apothecary. To the girl, he was a strange, hero; to him, she was soone to help.
But as he looked at her frail fra, a thought struck him: she couldn’t just drink dicine on an empty stomach. It would tear her apart, her eyes wide eyed shock, Drakovitch pulled her into a nearby eatery—a place far too clean for soone like her—and ordered a massive, steaming al.
"Eat," he commanded, sliding a bowl of thick beef stew toward her. "And stay away from the sewer frogs and worms!"
Drakovitch sat across from her, his arms crossed over his ruined silk uniform, watching her with a mixture of horror and fascination. The girl didn’t just eat; she attacked the food. In her desperation, she took a massive gulp of the steaming broth, letting out a sharp yelp as the liquid scalded her tongue.
"Slow down, you idiot," Drakovitch muttered, though he pushed a glass of water toward her. "The stew isn’t going to run away. Unlike those frogs, it’s already dead."
The girl panted, faning her mouth with a hand, but she didn’t stop. Between bites, Drakovitch looked at her—really looked at her. "What do they call you? What is your na?"
The girl paused, a piece of beef halfway to her mouth. She looked confused, then bit her lip. "I don’t have one," she said quietly. "No one ever called ... anything. I’m just ’the girl’ or ’hey, you.’ I don’t have a na."
Drakovitch leaned back. He looked at the way the mud was caked into her hair, the way the gri of the city seed to be a part of her skin, and how the rain had turned her into a little creature of the earth.
"Maddy..."
The girl blinked, her eyes wide.
"Maddy?"
"You’re drenched in mud and you’re a ss. So, Maddy. That’s your na now. At least until you wash off the sewer."
A radiant, broken smile spread across the girl’s face—the first real light he had seen in her eyes.
"Maddy..."
She whispered, testing the sound. She looked at him with a sudden, intense devotion.
"Thank you... you’re my hero."
Drakovitch’s face instantly blushing. He looked away quickly, huffing and adjusting his collar.
"I-I’m not a hero! D-Don’t be ridiculous! You... you were just lucky I happened to be walking by. Anyone... anyone could’ve—helped you!"
But Maddy knew better. No one would dare to help her. Her hero hadn’t left. He had stayed, steadfast, until the bowl was scraped clean.
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