As soon as awareness returned and Alaric felt himself come back into focus, his gaze slowly drifted toward the street. There... his bread lay scattered across the ground.

The paper bag from the bakery had torn open, flung aside somehow when he'd nearly stumbled into the road. Some of the bread had rolled to the edge of the sidewalk, while others were crushed and broken on the asphalt.

But something else caught his eye. A small flock of wild birds, about five of them, tiny bodies covered in brownish feathers.

The birds were pecking eagerly at the pieces of bread strewn about. The soft tapping of their beaks against the crust made a sound sharper than the hum of passing traffic. They looked like they'd stumbled upon a spontaneous feast in the middle of the city's cold, hard streets.

Alaric paused a few steps away from them. He was still catching his breath after the near accident, but his eyes moved quicker, watching the birds with a conflicted expression. Annoyed, because his bread had been ruined. But also moved, because these small creatures must've been starving.

He finally stepped closer. The birds turned to glance at him, and most of them flew off, startled by his approach. Only two remained, stubbornly continuing to nibble at the pieces in front of them.

Alaric didn't chase them away. Instead, he let them eat in peace. What could he do anyway? The food couldn't be returned to its original, untouched form.

He crouched down. His hand reached for the loaves that were still intact, even though their wrapping was now dirty from the dusty pavement. One by one, he picked them up, gently blowing away any grit that clung to them, then placed them back into the paper bag that was still somewhat usable.

"Let it go," he murmured softly, eyes resting on the half-eaten bread pecked at by the birds. He had no intention of reclaiming those. To him, they no longer belonged to him. They belonged to the little creatures who had greeted him with such eager welcome.

Once the edible pieces were tucked back into the bag. His eyes fell on the others, those in worse condition. Some had been squashed under his own feet earlier, others were soaked from a small puddle near the curb. At first, Alaric thought of just throwing them away. But then he froze.

"It'd be a waste."

He began to gather the ruined bread. The pieces no longer looked appetizing, and they probably didn't taste good anymore either. But he knew there were mouths out there who would still be grateful. The stray dogs he often saw on his late night walks, or the alley cats that lingered near the dumpsters behind his building.

This time, he moved more slowly, careful not to scatter any more crumbs. He tucked the broken bread into a small plastic bag he found in the pocket of his jacket.

Once everything was gathered, Alaric stood up again. He brushed the dust from his pants, took a deep breath, and looked at what he now carried. His left hand holding the salvaged bread, his right hand gripping the bag of scraps.

"Good thing some of it's still okay," he said quietly to himself, a touch of gratitude hidden at the end of his voice.

He glanced up at the evening sky. The birds that had once pecked at his bread were now circling overhead before settling on a power line, watching him as if waiting to see whether he'd toss more their way. Alaric gave a faint smile.

"You've had your share, right? I'll take the rest with me."

Just as he was about to walk away, both hands full of bread in two very different conditions, a small voice called out to him.

"Sir…"

The voice was faint, nearly drowned out by the noise of passing cars. But Alaric's ears were sharp enough to catch it. He instinctively turned, scanning the area for its source.

Not far from where he stood, a boy appeared from behind a streetlamp. His hair was messy, his eyes tired, and his frame looked thin. He stood awkwardly, clutching the hem of his shirt, his gaze flitting to the bags in Alaric's hands.

"Um… excuse me, sir," the boy repeated, this time a little louder.

Alaric frowned slightly. He waited for the boy to continue, but the child seemed hesitant, as if struggling to force out the words. Then, finally, with a breath held in his chest, the boy spoke.

"May I… have some of your bread?"

Alaric's eyes instinctively dropped to the bags he was holding. He assumed the boy was asking for the fresh, untouched bread. But the child quickly shook his head and pointed instead with a small, slightly dirty finger—toward the plastic bag in Alaric's right hand.

"That one," he said softly.

Alaric froze for a moment, his thoughts grinding to a halt, almost in disbelief. The boy hadn't asked for the fresh, untouched bread. He was pointing to the broken, torn-up pieces. The ones trampled underfoot, the ones already nibbled on by birds.

It was a simple request, yet it struck Alaric harder than he expected. Why would a child ask for that? Was it modesty? Desperation? Or had life already taught him to lower his expectations, to reach only for what others had discarded? He was staring at the quiet reflection of a life that had learned to take what little the world would offer, and to be grateful for even that.

He stared at the bag for a long moment, then back at the boy. Something in his chest clenched.

"This?" he asked, needing confirmation.

The boy nodded slowly, still wearing an uncertain expression. One of his hands had moved to his stomach. A simple gesture, but louder than words: he was hungry.

Alaric took a closer look at him, though not in judgment. The boy didn't look homeless. His clothes weren't tattered, just worn. His shorts were faded, his sandals scuffed but still functional.

It was clear the child didn't come from comfort, but he hadn't lost everything either.

"Are you… hungry?" Alaric finally asked, his voice laced with concern.

The boy lowered his gaze. His eyes still flicked now and then toward the plastic bag, as though afraid he had asked for something he didn't deserve.

Alaric stood in silence. In his hands, he held two very different kinds of bread. One soft, fresh, and whole; the other a mess of crumbs and scraps that even the birds had already shared. A quiet contrast, pressing against his thoughts.

He took a long breath. The world around him seemed to quiet. The roar of the traffic faded from his ears, replaced by a deep inner voice stirring inside him. "Why would this child ask for the ruined one? Why not the good one? Was it because he thought he wasn't worthy? Or because he'd grown used to leftovers?"

His grip tightened around the bag.

He was already halfway through handing the plastic bag to the boy. The motion came naturally, a reflex to fulfill the request of a hungry child.

But suddenly, just before the small fingers could reach out to take it, Alaric pulled his hand back. A sharp motion that tensed the air between them. The boy froze, the glimmer of hope in his eyes replaced with quiet confusion.

Alaric seemed to be weighing something far heavier than a bag of bread. Then, he lowered himself, crouching down to the boy's level. Not in a way that towered over, but one that gently met him eye to eye.

"This," Alaric said softly, lifting the bag of scraps just slightly, "is no longer food."

He smiled, gently, warmly... before adding, "But you… you can still eat."

The simple words struck the boy silent. He looked up, unsure, trying to make sense of what he had just heard. His brows furrowed slightly. His lips stayed closed.

Alaric didn't rush him. He continued in the same calm, comforting voice. As if speaking to an old friend.

"Turns out… I'm hungry too," he said, glancing at the paper bag still in his left hand. "How about we eat together?"

The boy blinked, taken aback. His lips parted, trying to say something, but what came out was a whisper.

"W–what do you mean, sir?"

Before the uncertainty could grow deeper, Alaric held out his free hand. Not to give, but to invite. He reached out to the boy like a big brother offering a hand to his younger sibling.

The boy hesitated. His eyes darted from the bread to Alaric's face. He still couldn't fully understand. But something in Alaric's expression—calm, kind, and free from pity. Made it impossible to refuse.

He gave a small nod, though his face was still clouded with hesitation.

His tiny steps began to follow Alaric's. And though his voice was barely above a whisper, he murmured, just to be sure, "We're… going to eat together?"

Alaric didn't answer right away. He simply glanced back, nodded with a growing smile, and turned his eyes forward again.

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