Kavrek: Keeping you in his pocket

The market always smelled the same. Spices and dust, damp cloth and overheated metal, the sharp tang of blood where a butcher’s stall had spilled. Kavrek shifted his basket from one set of hands to the other, four arms busy sorting through a vendor’s limp bundle of herbs. Half-wilted. Too much stem. He clicked his tongue softly, set them down, and moved on.

The crew wanted dinner, and dinner they would have. He didn’t mind the errands, even liked the rhythm of it. Markets were noisy and colorful in a way the ship never was. He could breathe here, blend into the crush of bodies. No one asked him for refills. No one joked that his only useful skill was chopping vegetables.

He was halfway down a row of caged fowl when he heard it — a sound too thin and sharp to belong to a bird. He turned.

The cage was wedged at the end of the row, half-hidden beneath a hanging tarp. And inside—

Not a bird. Small. Bare-limbed. Skin an unhealthy shade, bluish around the lips and fingertips. And around their throat—Kav’s stomach dropped—a metal band, faintly humming with contained charge.

Near the cage, leering, eyestalks twitching, a Zitaxian slaver leaned against the bars, spindly arms folded. Its mandibles clicked as it noticed Kav's stare. “Rare specimen,” it rasped, voice filtered through a cheap box. “From a forgotten backwater. Fragile, but entertaining. Shock unit keeps it compliant.”

Kav’s hands tightened on the basket handle. He didn’t realize he’d set it down until it thumped against the ground. “How much?”

The slaver blinked. “You don’t even know what it is.”

“I don’t need to know.” His lower arms were already reaching for his pouch.

“Breaks easily,” the slaver warned, tapping the collar with one claw. The being inside flinched, whole body jerking.

“Then I’ll be careful.”

The credits disappeared. The cage door opened. Kav crouched, shielding the small figure from view. He eased one broad hand inside, palm up. When they didn’t move, he reached for the collar instead. It took both upper hands and one sharp tug to snap the clasp. The band fell away, clattering to the ground. A weak sound escaped their throat — he wasn’t sure if it was pain or relief. Kav wasted no more time. He lifted them out, impossibly light, and tucked them into the folds of his cloak.

“Easy now, little one,” he murmured, wrapping the fabric close, leaving space for air. His voice dropped to a rumble meant for them alone. “You’re safe.”

The rest of the market blurred. He bought eggs, herbs, even remembered to haggle for spices — but his attention never left the weight at his chest. When they shifted, he shifted too, adjusting the fabric. When they coughed, he brushed his thumb over the folds to soothe them.

At a tech stall, he stopped. “Translator,” he said. The vendor produced a slim device, calibrated for speech. Kav held it in one hand while the other three kept the cloak steady.

He hesitated, then pulled the fabric back just enough to reveal wide eyes. “May I?” he asked. His voice was low, careful, offering. When he set the device in place, he bent his massive head and brushed a warm kiss to their temple, as gentle as his stone-rough skin would allow.

“There,” he said, voice soft with relief. “See, little one? You’re safe now.”

By the time he stepped onto the ship, the crew had noticed. Voices rose around him — confusion, teasing, disbelief. “Is that... a person?” “Kav, what did you bring home this time?”

He ignored them all. His hands never loosened. His cloak stayed wrapped close. Whatever else happened, the being he had rescued was his priority now — warm, protected, and impossibly precious in his arms.