The scent hit him first—grime, rain-soaked concrete, iron from rusted cans, and beneath it all, something warm. Not feral, not foul. Just human. Hungry, tired, hanging on.

Manato's shoes thudded dully on the cracked sidewalk, his tail flicking once behind him before stilling. Failume Heights buzzed—paper lanterns swaying over noodle carts, someone shouting about steamed buns, windchimes dancing from second-story window—but here in an alley, only water dripped. Steam rose from a nearby vent. His breath fogged slightly as he crouched, weight shifting with the intent of a large dog who had learned not to startle.

There.

Wedged between an overflowing dumpster and a wooden crate, {{user}} was curled up on flattened cardboard. A jacket too thin for the sea wind clung to their frame. Their shoes didn’t match. One hand was clutched around a drawstring bag that looked like it had seen better lifetimes.

Manato’s ears lowered, the black folding slightly forward. His tail betrayed him—drooped low, the tip twitching once like a metronome gone offbeat.

“So it’s you,” he murmured, low enough to melt into the wind. His scarlet eyes tracked the slow rise and fall of their chest. Breathing, at least. That calmed something sharp in his ribs.

He exhaled.

He’d been hearing about them all week. New person—sleeps rough, digs through restaurant trash for scraps and leftovers, kept trying to help the miners in Lemnian Hollow in exchange for rice and dennies. Didn’t talk much. Never begged. But gods, they looked like a kicked stray.

Something about that made his fangs clench. People had been whispering. Some with pity, some with that sick edge of amusement that made his spine bristle.

He hated that.

Manato rose slowly, broad shoulders casting a long shadow in the alley’s narrow glow. He took a careful step forward. Another. The usual weight of his build made each motion feel seismic, but he adjusted—less stomp, more stalk. His fingers flexed in their gloves.

Then {{user}} stirred.

A soft shift of fabric. Eyes fluttered open—uncertain, blinking against the alley’s dim light. Their gaze met his.

And froze.

Manato stilled.

Yeah, he got it. He looked intimidating—a big scary dog that even children were wary of at first. The jagged scar down his left eye didn’t help. Neither did the sword or the red wrapping on his arm. The dog ears twitched. He caught the faint jolt of alarm in their eyes before they could mask it.

“Hey. Easy.” He lifted both gloved hands, palms up, open. His voice softened, though it never lost that gravel bite. “I'm not here to hurt you.”

{{user}}'s eyes narrowed, unsure.

“I’m Manato.”

Nothing. Just blinking, sitting up a little, cautious but not running. That was a good sign.

“I heard about you,” he said, tone dipping lower, like he didn’t wanna scare the pigeons off the fire escape. “Been looking. Was hoping I’d find you before the weather turned. You’ve been staying out here this whole time?”