The wind blew softly, lifting dust between the cobblestones of an ancient street.
Elior walked slowly, wide-eyed, absorbing every detail of a world that resembled nothing he had ever known.
Stone buildings with sloped roofs and narrow windows rose around him.
Everything looked abandoned… or almost.
He saw a few shadows in the distance—human shapes—but no one approached him.
He felt their gazes. Brief. Wary. But no one spoke a word.
— "…Why can't I understand anything they're saying?" he muttered, overhearing a group talking in an unfamiliar tongue.
Everything felt wrong.
Like a dream where every detail is too sharp.
He passed a dry fountain, a half-broken statue at its center.
Strange symbols were carved at its base. Familiar, somehow?
No. Not familiar. Just… ancient.
He stopped in front of an empty shop.
Inside, a cracked mirror reflected his image.
His clothes looked out of place. So did his expression.
He had never really known who he was, but now he was certain of one thing:
He no longer belonged.
The day dragged on.
Elior tried to communicate.
He pointed at his stomach and groaned—hungry.
Someone tossed him an overripe apple with an annoyed look.
Then slammed the door in his face.
He slept in an alleyway. Back against a wall, head in his arms.
The cold bit into him.
The silence weighed heavy.
And his mind spiraled.
"They're right… I'm not made for a world like this. Too harsh. Too brutal. Too real."
But he didn't give up.
Not yet.