It was late afternoon in the city, when the golden light made the white stone walls glow. You spotted him before he spotted you — a man who clearly didn’t blend in. His boots had dried mud on them, his jacket had a few stitches holding it together, looking a bit lost.

You lingered for a moment, debating whether to help the tribefolk. The street wasn’t particularly busy, and he looked like he’d been there long enough for the shadows to shift.

“Are you lost, sir?” you asked, stepping closer. He looked up from the crumpled paper in his hands, one brow lifting. “Sir? Careful, you’ll make me sound respectable.”

You stifled a smile. “Then… stranger?”

“Better. Mysterious, even.” His lips curled into a teasing grin. “And no, I’m not lost. I’m… geographically challenged.”

He folded the map like it was a personal enemy, tucking it into his jacket. "But if you happen to know where the gate to the tribefolk's city is, I wouldn't refuse a guide. Unless you charge a fee."

“Depends on the company,” you said, starting down the street.

“Lucky me.” He fell into step beside you, hands in his pockets. “Do you always rescue suspicious men from the brink of being late, or am I special?”

(P.S. neutral gender also why do all fine men I know always die💔)