As Jed was about to begin his work at his aunt's house, he paused. A figure sitting by the corner near the alley caught his eye — an old beggar in familiar, tattered clothes. Jed's body froze for a moment, his heart began to race. Flashes, faint and distorted, passed through his mind — a red paper, a void, his mother's face.
He slowly approached.
"Do you remember me?" Jed asked, his voice low but tense. "You gave me a red paper… one with strange symbols."
The old man squinted, then shook his head. "I am old… many things slip from my mind. I don't remember something like that."
Jed clenched his fists. "No. You have to remember. Because of that damn paper—my mom died."
A heavy silence lingered before the old beggar finally said, "I'm sorry for your loss. But I have no memory of what you speak. Perhaps... you've mistaken me for someone else."
Jed looked down, ashamed at his outburst. "I'm sorry. I just… I couldn't bear everything that happened."
He reached into his pocket and handed the man some cash. "Here. For accusing you."
Then, turning away, he took a deep breath and walked on — but just as he passed the corner, he heard a whisper, barely carried by the wind:
"Bear the weight… your fate will soon turn."
Jed spun around — but the beggar was gone.
A chill ran down his spine, but he shook it off. He had work to do.
At his aunt's house, things were as relentless as ever. She barked orders, piled up chores, and hurled blame at him like knives. Every time she brought up his mother, her death, and his "disappearance," it hit Jed like a fresh wound. He said nothing in return — not because he agreed, but because deep down, the guilt gnawed at him. He still didn't understand what exactly had happened… only that somehow, he was responsible.
Every day repeated the same cycle: school, work, study, sleep — barely five hours on good days. It was a brutal rhythm for a sixteen-year-old, and yet, Jed never fell ill. His body held strong, almost unnaturally so, despite the exhaustion. But even so, he felt the wear on his soul — and it was that fatigue he couldn't shake.
He didn't know it yet, but something inside him… something long buried, was beginning to stir again.