The city was a ruin. Shattered glass crunched beneath Renji's sandals as he walked through the hollow remains of what was once a marketplace. Charred stalls, collapsed roofs, and ash-filled air painted the picture of a civilization that had long forgotten how to live.
And yet… in the silence, he could hear it.
The whispers.
Not of people. Not of spirits. But of truths buried beneath words and gestures, the kind of things no ordinary boy should ever be able to perceive.
That was his curse—his Fragment.
They called it Veritas: the unrelenting light that stripped away deception, that exposed everything raw. Lies cracked in front of his eyes like glass. Secrets bled through conversations. Even the smallest tremor in someone's tone told him more than they ever intended.
To be able to see too much was not power—it was loneliness.
Renji was only sixteen, yet his gaze already carried the exhaustion of someone who had lived far too long. People avoided him. They whispered when they thought he couldn't hear—that boy's presence is heavy… it feels like he knows something about me… something I don't want him to know.
And they weren't wrong.
As he wandered through the burnt streets, he caught sight of two soldiers dragging an old man by the collar. Their armor bore the insignia of the Black Sun, the faction that ruled this part of the continent. Power was their law, fear their language.
Renji didn't move. He didn't interfere. Not yet.
Instead, he watched.
The soldiers barked orders, threatening the old man for food he didn't have. Renji could hear their voices breaking, not with mercy, but with desperation. Beneath their cruelty was fear—fear of their own hunger, fear of punishment if they returned empty-handed.
The truth behind their actions struck Renji harder than the scene itself.
One soldier raised his spear, ready to end the man's life. The old man's trembling eyes met Renji's from afar.
Renji sighed. "Tch… so this is what it means to 'survive' here."
He stepped forward. His movements were unhurried, almost careless. But the soldiers froze the moment they saw his eyes—dark, sharp, reflecting truths they didn't want to face.
"You don't really want to kill him," Renji said softly. His tone wasn't pleading. It was absolute. "What you want is to feel less powerless than you are. But killing him won't change anything. You'll still wake up tomorrow, starving."
The soldier's grip on the spear faltered.
Renji tilted his head, a faint smirk curling his lips. "Go ahead, then. Prove me wrong."
The silence stretched. Neither soldier could move. The weight of his words, the rawness of his gaze—it made them feel naked. Their fear was exposed. Their weakness was undeniable.
With curses under their breath, they released the old man and stormed off, pretending they had better things to do.
The old man collapsed, gasping, tears streaking through the dirt on his face. He opened his mouth to thank the boy, but Renji raised a hand.
"Don't."
He turned away, staring at the darkened horizon.
"I didn't save you," he muttered. "I just can't stand watching people lie to themselves."
The wind carried his words into the emptiness of the street. The old man's gratitude died in his throat.
Renji kept walking, blending into the shadows of the ruined city. He knew this was only the beginning. The factions clawing for fragments, the endless bloodshed, the constant deception—he was trapped in it all.
And though he would never admit it out loud, deep within his chest, a voice whispered:
One day… I'll find people who see the world the way I do.