In a small town within the territory of Zhagrova, a boy lay stretched out on a cart loaded with straw.
His name was Kaelion of Zhagrova.
Blood-red eyes.
Long black hair.
A sly, knowing smile resting quietly on his lips.
Under the pale morning sun, he slowly lifted the straw hat covering his face and observed the market street.
Merchants passed by, distracted and busy.
It was the perfect moment.
Kaelion slipped down from the cart without a sound, moving with the grace of someone who'd done this a hundred times.
He followed one of the merchants, blending into the crowd like a shadow.
The man stopped in front of a bakery and went inside to speak with the shopkeeper.
Kaelion waited patiently behind a nearby crate, unbothered, invisible.
Then he moved.
In a single fluid motion, he snatched a sack of bread left unattended near the entrance and bolted down a narrow alley.
He didn't look back.
Looking back got you caught.
—
He cut through three backstreets, slid under a broken fence, and climbed a cracked wall.
Only once he was sure no one had followed, he allowed himself to slow down.
His hideout wasn't far.
It was an abandoned building, eaten away by time and weather.
The windows were just holes in the walls. The roof had collapsed long ago.
No one lived there. No one dared.
Except him.
Kaelion slipped through a gap in the rubble and made his way to a hidden room, sealed off by fallen beams and loose stone.
This was his home.
Four bare walls.
A broken bed.
A single, torn blanket.
It was enough.
He sat on the ground, opened the sack, and devoured a warm loaf of bread.
He washed it down with a gulp of cold water from a bottle he kept hidden beneath the bed.
Then, carefully, he tucked the second loaf into a corner, covered it with a plank of wood and weighed it down with stones — just in case someone ever found the entrance.
—
Not long after, he left again.
He needed to wash.
He walked with sharp caution through the outskirts of town, where weeds grew wild and the trees leaned like drunks in the wind.
His eyes scanned everything.
Every sound, every shifting leaf could be a threat.
He'd learned to fear beasts.
Some walked on four legs.
Others on two.
None of them had mercy.
But luck was with him today.
Instead of teeth or claws, he found a tree full of sour green apples.
He picked one, took a bite, and kept moving toward the river.
—
There were a few people at the river — women washing clothes, men collecting water.
Kaelion ignored them, as always.
He stepped behind a large rock, undressed, and washed himself quickly.
Embarrassment wasn't something he could afford.
Survival left no room for shame.
Everyone in the town knew who he was.
The wild child.
The one without a home.
Without manners.
Without anything.
But no one bothered him.
No one wanted to.
—
Once clean, Kaelion returned to his hideout.
He checked the room carefully, making sure nothing had been touched.
Then he collapsed onto the bed.
For the past few days, a strange fatigue had gripped him.
It didn't matter if he slept five hours or ten — the heaviness never left.
A strange drowsiness, unlike any he'd felt before, clawed at him every night, stronger and stronger.
"This isn't normal… Something's coming."
He closed his eyes.
And the world faded.