A ghost or a skeleton could be mistaken at first glance—if not for the faint cloud of vapor exhaled from the boy's shivering frame.
Nameless, with no sense of purpose or home, yet he survived nonetheless.
As far as he could remember, it had always been this way: day and night, running and stealing, cherishing each bite while enduring the beatings that came with his countless thefts.
He had once held deep hatred towards the gods, demanding to know why his life was so cursed. Once devout, his faith had long since withered. Now only indifference and apathy remained.
Finally, he snapped. He wandered into the dungeon with no weapon, only intent—intent that this would be his final destination. He could not take his own life with his own hands; courage had always eluded him.
It was night, a time when most were celebrating their haul or resting at home with their families.
The boy, too, wished to join his family again—though only in death, in the same dungeon that had claimed his parents.
A child of twelve, he took his first step into the abyss.
***
Rather than the bustling city—whose taverns once overflowed with laughter—the dungeon was silent. Serene, almost as if the silence itself was singing to him, granting a fleeting moment of peace before his eternal rest.
Memories rose unbidden: birthdays once celebrated, laughter once shared, meals once eaten with those now gone.
A small smile began to form—until a goblin appeared.
Panic surged. This was not what he had expected. He thought he could simply face death, waiting quietly for it to come. But now, instinct screamed of danger.
Why? Why can't I just die? Why does my body cling to life? he cursed.
He tried to run, but his body was frail. He tripped, scraping what remained of his skeleton-thin frame.
Conflict tore through him—regret, anger, sorrow—but above all, the overwhelming desire to live.
He didn't want death. He wanted the pain to end.
"Pleas—" His voice broke off. The goblin lunged.
Silence.
For a moment, he thought he was dead. But no—his ragged gasps reminded him he was still alive. Then darkness claimed him.
***
"Ains! W-wait up! Why did you suddenly run?" Worry flashed across her face.
"Mm. I thought there was a stray that had split off."
"Oh… and who's this boy?"
"I don't know."
"We shouldn't leave him here, right? We should report to Finn."
"Mm."
No more words were exchanged. They hurried back to their group, carrying the unconscious boy with them.
***
Headaches assaulted him when he stirred awake. Strangely, he realized he hadn't wanted to wake for a long time.
He wanted to live, yet he didn't. Relief mingled with sorrow. The problems hadn't vanished, but he still felt oddly grateful to be alive.
For a twelve-year-old mind, such contradictions were impossible to untangle. Tears welled up and fell, born of frustration.
I wasn't made for this. I wasn't built for this.
That damned dungeon… if only it hadn't taken my parents…
But deep down, he knew the tears were futile. His anger had no outlet. Conditioned by suffering, his emotions soon dulled into emptiness.
Then, without warning, warmth enveloped him—a hug. A gentle embrace, as if to soothe the pain he carried.
"Hush… there, there. It must have been hard, hasn't it? You did well to survive."
Tears blurred his vision once more.
"W-who are you? W-why am I here?" His voice trembled, confused by sudden kindness.
"It's okay. You're safe now. It's alright. You're with me. No more starvation. No more danger."
He was seen. He was understood. And that was all it took for him to break down, sobbing in earnest.