"Not every savior starts with power. Some start with nothing."
The house looked forgotten.
Stone walls, cracked roof, dust coating every window.
It didn't glow. Didn't pulse.
Just sat there, like the world had passed it by and left it untouched out of pity.
Ren knocked once.
The sound echoed like it had been waiting for years.
The door creaked open.
And standing there—
A boy.
Maybe ten. Thin. Pale. Eyes too big for his face.
Wearing a shirt with more holes than cloth.
Dried blood on his neck.
No shoes.
No fear.
Just... tired.
BOY (quietly):
"Are you here to kill me?"
REN (frozen):
"…What?"
BOY (shrugging):
"You can. It's okay. I'm ready."
Ren didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Because something behind the boy — not physical, not visible — whispered.
And it wasn't magic.
It wasn't the Core.
It wasn't fate.
It was the silence of a soul that had never asked for anything.
BOY:
"My name's Azrin. There's water inside if you want.
I don't have food. Not anymore."
He turned and walked back into the house like this happened every day.
Ren stepped in slowly.
Dust everywhere.
Blankets shoved into corners. A cracked datapad with a dead screen.
Books with pages missing.
One broken toy near a mattress with no frame.
This wasn't a house. It was a waiting room for death.
REN (voice low):
"How long have you been alone?"
AZRIN (without looking):
"Since the fire. They didn't come back.
I think I was supposed to die too. But I didn't."
REN:
"Do you know what Yxtrielle is? Or Threxil?"
AZRIN (shaking his head):
"No. I've never left this block.
I just wait here. Sometimes people scream outside.
I stay quiet. That's how I live."
Ren stared at him.
No glyphs.
No training.
No clue.
And yet —
the Core had chosen this kid.
Not because he was powerful.
Not because he was special.
Because he wasn't.
Because he'd survived anyway.
AZRIN (sitting down on the mattress):
"You're not going to kill me, are you?"
REN (quiet):
"No."
AZRIN:
"Oh. Okay. Then… can you stay for a little while?"