A small child collapsed on the dirt path.
He was barely conscious, lips cracked, skin dry, his breathing shallow. Anyone could see he was badly dehydrated. The boy's knees gave out, and he fell face-first into the dust.
"Papa… water…" he whispered.
Kristina Millian gasped.
Without thinking, she grabbed the jug of her mother's milk and rushed forward. She carefully tilted the jug and brought it close to the child's mouth.
"Please drink—moe," she said urgently. "You'll feel better."
Before a single drop could touch the child's lips—
SMACK.
The jug was slapped out of her hands.
Milk spilled onto the ground, soaking into the dry soil.
"What the hell are you doing?!" the child's father shouted. "Who needs milk from a demi-human?! What if it carries disease? What if it's cursed?!"
Kristina froze.
The child whimpered weakly on the ground, clearly getting worse by the second. But his father pulled him closer, glaring at Chole and Kristina as if they were monsters.
