The city was alive with indifferent noise—the hum of traffic, distant sirens, and the chatter of a thousand lives that didn't notice Lu Fan at all.
He stood on the cracked sidewalk outside his apartment building, hands shoved deep in his coat pockets. Eighteen years old tomorrow, but no one cared. Not the kids at school who ignored him, not his father who'd stopped asking questions, and certainly not the world.
Lu Fan's gaze drifted to the gray sky, rain threatening to fall. Another day like any other—except a strange feeling simmered deep inside him, something he couldn't name.
That afternoon, as he waited for the bus, a frail old man sat hunched on a bench, his eyes distant yet sharp. The man's clothes were worn, soaked from the drizzle, and yet he held a calmness Lu Fan hadn't seen before.
Without really thinking, Lu Fan stepped forward and offered his umbrella.
The old man looked up, a faint smile breaking through decades of weariness.
"You have kind hands, boy," he said, voice low but steady. "Take this."
From inside his tattered coat, he pulled a pendant—a cracked, ancient piece that pulsed softly, as if alive.
Lu Fan blinked, hesitant.
"Your veins still sing," the man whispered. "Tomorrow, it will awaken."
Before Lu Fan could ask more, the old man was gone—lost in the crowd, like a fading shadow.
That night, alone in his small room, Lu Fan clutched the pendant. His heart thudded unevenly as a warmth spread from his chest, and strange symbols flickered beneath his skin.
Tomorrow, his world would change forever.