Zeon's mind snapped back, dragging him to a dim, foul-smelling alley. The air was thick with the stench of rot and smoke. Trash scattered across the cracked stone floor, rats scuttling between broken crates. Shadows loomed like jagged teeth against the walls.
He was nine, pressed into the corner of a building, his small body sprawled against the cold stone. Hungry, exhausted, every muscle trembling from fear and hunger. Thugs prowled the alley, laughter dripping with malice, their boots scraping and echoing like distant thunder. He huddled tighter, arms wrapped around his knees, wishing the shadows would swallow him whole.
Zeon slowly sprawled across the grimy alley floor, his small hands trembling as he reached for a scrap of moldy bread. "F…food…" he whispered weakly, voice barely audible over the rats skittering nearby.
