The night was quiet, yet Suho Kim could not sleep.
He sat up on his small bed in the orphanage dormitory, staring at the cracked ceiling. The other boys around him were already asleep, their breathing steady.
"Why do I always feel... different?" Suho thought, pressing his palm against his chest.
Lately, there were times when his body felt warm, as if something was stirring inside of him. But every time he tried to grasp that feeling, it slipped away like smoke.
---
At dawn, he slipped out of the orphanage and climbed the hill overlooking the town. The wind was sharp, carrying with it the scent of rain. Below, he could see the village bustling awake—merchants setting up stalls, children running, soldiers in polished armor marching past.
Suho sighed.
"Another day of being powerless."
He clenched his fists. No spark of fire. No whisper of wind. No ripple of water. No tremor of earth. And definitely no light.
---
As he stood there, an old man approached him. Cloaked in gray robes, his beard reaching his chest, his eyes glimmered strangely under the morning sun.
"Boy," the man said in a low, calm tone. "You seem troubled."
Suho turned, startled. "Who are you?"
The man smiled faintly. "Just a wanderer. But I can see it—you're searching for something."
Suho frowned. "You must be mistaken. I don't have anything."
The old man chuckled softly.
"No… you have something very few carry anymore. A flame, hidden deep inside."
Suho froze. His heart raced, pounding against his ribs.
"What… what do you mean by that?"
The old man stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as if peering into Suho's very soul.
"Light…" he whispered. "The world may have forgotten it, but it lingers within you."
Before Suho could respond, the man turned and walked away, his cloak fluttering behind him.
"Wait!" Suho called out, but the stranger vanished into the mist of the waking morning.
---
Back in the village, Suho couldn't shake the words. Light… inside me?
He laughed nervously to himself. "That's impossible. Light doesn't exist anymore… right?"
Yet as he opened his palm, for the briefest of moments, he swore he saw a faint shimmer.
Not flame.
Not wind.
Not earth.
Not water.
But something warmer. Brighter.
Something forgotten