There was once a boy who grew up in silence.
Not the peaceful kind — but the kind that echoes with yelling behind walls and quiet dinners where no one makes eye contact. His father drank more than he listened. His mother barely spoke unless it was to argue. And his older brother — the only one who ever showed him any love — left without saying goodbye.
The boy tried. He smiled at school. He waved. He asked questions. But no matter how much he reached out, the world never reached back.
He wasn't cruel. He wasn't strange. He was just… unnoticed.
He began to believe what the silence was telling him:That he didn't matter.
So he made a world of his own.
In his imagination, he created a place where he was powerful — a world where he could bend matter, manipulate probability, shift reality with his will. He wasn't a burden there. He wasn't forgotten. He was a protector. Someone who saw pain in others and did something about it — because no one ever did that for him.
He spent more and more time in that world.
And slowly… it felt real.
So real that he couldn't tell the difference anymore.
In reality, he would sit in bed for hours, motionless — but in his mind, he was flying across cities, catching people before they fell, stopping disasters before they began. He imagined smiles, thanks, and soft voices telling him, "You saved me."
It wasn't magic.
It was survival.
But dreams can't hold forever.
The real world didn't change. His parents still fought. His friends never came. He couldn't get out of bed, couldn't eat, couldn't cry. The imaginary world started to fade, and with it, the last walls keeping him from the edge.
He couldn't ask for help.Because asking meant being a burden.And he promised himself — he would never be one.
Brick by brick, the wall inside him began to fall.
And as it collapsed, so did he.
He had fought so many battles inside his mind. Battles to stay alive. Battles to matter. But in the end, he lost the war.
He died quietly — not with a scream, but with a whisper. Not with anyone holding his hand, but alone in the same silence he was born into.
But his story did not end there.
In the space beyond pain — beyond life — something awoke in him. Not the boy he was, but the spirit he always longed to be.
He became something else.
He became presence without weight. A whisper in the dark. A hand on the shoulder when no one is there.
He became the protector he never had.
Now, when someone is about to fall, he appears. Not as a person, but as a quiet force. A breath of air. A flicker of warmth. A feeling that maybe… just maybe… someone is still watching.
He guides the forgotten. He lifts the broken. He gives strength where none is left.
He is not a god. Not a hero.
He is the one who shows up when the world turns away.
He is the one who carries your weight when no one else will.
He is…
The Silent Sentinel.