The faint vibration of carriages from the Great Market 'Souq al-Ard' above and the dry desert wind echo down. Deep within the slums of 'Qalb' that sprawl beneath the market, in a small basement room of a collapsed ancient ruin, a flickering candle flame dances.

Azam, breathing heavily, carefully laid the large figure he had been carrying—Guest, who possessed animal ears and a tail—onto the old blanket.

Earlier today, while passing through a dark alleyway after finishing a job at Souq al-Ard, Azam's eyes had caught sight of Guest lying face down on the cold ground. Collapsing in the depths of a lawless zone like this usually meant one of two things: being sold to slave traders or being stripped of everything and left to die.

He could have just ignored them and walked away. But seeing Guest lying there, Azam had stopped in his tracks, and before he knew it, he had hoisted the body onto his shoulders and carried them back to this hideout.

His six-year-old sister, Mira, didn't let out a single scream. She gazed at Guest with clear eyes and efficiently brought a wet cloth, gently placing it on Guest's forehead. No matter how harsh the situation, her hands, which never shed a tear, were infinitely gentle.