Two years had passed since the war began—two years that had twisted the world into something unrecognizable.
Cities that once pulsed with life were now little more than hollow ruins, their streets paved with ash and silence.
The rebels had raged through like wildfire, burning, looting, tearing down walls with their fury, only to fall in heaps of broken corpses when the Imperial army struck back.
The boy moved carefully through the wreckage, his footsteps muffled against the shattered stone. His eyes, dark and restless, searched every corner, every fallen body—as though somewhere among the lifeless he might uncover a fragment of hope. Fear no longer touched him. The stiffened faces, the pale hands outstretched in frozen agony, the stink of death carried on the wind—these things no longer pierced his heart. He had grown numb to them, as one becomes numb to the cold after too many winters.
In a world where mercy had been abandoned, the boy had learned the first rule of survival: to become a predator in the kingdom of carrion.
He knelt beside a corpse, his trembling hands working with practiced care. Fingers searched pockets, pried open clenched fists, turned over belts and satchels. A few coins. A rusted ring. A cracked watch whose hands had stopped long ago. Every trinket mattered. Every scrap of metal or copper meant another chance at bread—bread that could silence the gnawing hunger that clawed at his stomach day and night.
And yet, beneath the hardened shell, a fragile ember of longing still burned within him. The boy dreamed of the day when he would no longer need to dig through the dead to feed himself. A day when his hands would be clean, when food would come without shame or blood.
As he rifled through the coat of another fallen man, a sudden chill seized him. Cold fingers gripped his ankle.
The boy froze, heart hammering against his ribs, his breath trapped in his throat. Slowly, he turned.
A blood-soaked hand reached out from the ground, trembling, desperate. The broken figure of a woman lay before him, her body torn and bleeding, her voice rasping in uneven gasps.
"P-please… boy… the girl… take her… don't leave her…"
Beside her, a small child crouched in silence, wide eyes glistening with tears. She stared at her mother, uncomprehending, trembling as though the world had collapsed beneath her feet.
Though she could not grasp the finality of death, she knew enough—that life was slipping away, and nothing could stop it
"Take her… please… don't let her die here…", the woman pleaded again, her voice breaking with ragged gasps as she reached out toward him. The boy recoiled instinctively, trying to pull away from a scene he had never been prepared to face. His instincts screamed to flee, to escape this nightmare, yet he found himself rooted in place, his chest tightening with each desperate word.
"I… I can't…" he whispered, his voice barely audible as he turned his gaze away from her bloodied, tear-streaked face. But even as he tried to detach himself, an invisible weight pressed him forward, drawing him closer to her fading presence.
Her breaths were shallow, erratic, her body trembling under the weight of life slipping away. Blood mixed with tears streaked her cheeks, glistening in the pale light of the ruined city. Her final words hung in the air like a fragile thread of hope: "Please… don't leave her…"
Then she went still. Her head slumped to the ground, and the last tear rolled silently down her cheek, a quiet testament to her final, unspoken plea. The silence that followed was absolute, heavy, as if the city itself were mourning.
The boy swallowed hard, his throat tight. His heart pounded violently against his ribs. God… what have I gotten myself into? How could he possibly care for a child when he could barely keep himself alive? Panic surged through him, paralyzing him for a heartbeat, while the little girl clung to her mother's lifeless body, her small sobs muffled against the cold earth.
And then he saw them—soldiers approaching in the distance, inspecting the bodies with their customary cruelty. God… if they find me here… I'm dead.
The soldiers moved methodically, checking each corpse, their rifles cold and unflinching as they executed the final brutality on the fallen. A surge of terror ripped through him. Without thinking, he flung himself to the ground, pressing his body among the corpses. He grabbed the girl and held her close to his chest, shoving her mother's body atop them like a shield.
The soldiers drew closer, firing into the piles of bodies one by one. Bullets thudded against the corpse that lay across him. Each impact sent a shiver through his bones. He willed his heart to slow, praying it wouldn't betray him with its rapid pounding. Above all, he was grateful—the girl had not cried, not even a whimper. Any sound would have revealed their hiding place instantly, sealing their fate.
The city around them was death incarnate, yet amidst the ruin and the blood, the boy clutched the child tighter. Survival demanded more than strength; it demanded cunning, courage, and a recklessness he had never known before. And for the first time in his short, hardened life, he understood the true weight of a promise whispered in the dying breaths of another: to protect, no matter the cost.
Fortune, if it could be called that, favored them as shadows deepened with the approach of night. The patrol passed swiftly, their boots clattering against stone, yet they spared no glance for the boy and the girl among the corpses. Relief washed over him, fleeting and fragile, for Leo knew that the true danger had only just begun. Spending the night amid rotting bodies was far from safe; with darkness comes scavengers—starving dogs and beasts drawn to the scent of death. They would have to wait, hidden, until the patrol vanished completely, and escape before the night unleashed its horrors.
Leo held the child close, his arms tight around her frail body, eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of movement. This was only the first step in a long chain of battles yet to come, he realized. Every sound, every flicker of motion could spell death.
Gently, he moved the mother's body aside, preparing for flight. For a brief moment, he forgot about the child, still clinging to her mother's lifeless form. His steps quickened, driven by the primal urge to survive, as if the very ground beneath him demanded it. He did not look back, each stride carrying him farther from the carnage. Yet with every step, his conscience weighed heavier. Can I really leave her here?
He turned once, and what he saw froze him to his core: a gaunt, hungry dog, eyes gleaming in the dim light, creeping toward the girl.
No… damn it! I can't leave her like this.
Adrenaline surged through Leo as he sprinted across the field of corpses. His feet slipped on broken stone, and sometimes the slick, cold earth sent him sprawling, but he pressed on without hesitation. The girl clung to her mother's dress, her small hands gripping fabric as if it were a lifeline. With careful but swift movements, Leo freed her, lifting her into his arms just as the dog lunged.
But the threat was far from over. Soon, a pack of snarling, starving dogs joined the chase, their growls and barks slicing through the night air like a chorus from the abyss. Their breaths came in ragged bursts, each step shaking the ground beneath them.
Leo ran with all the strength he could muster, heart hammering, lungs burning, until a ruined house appeared in the distance. Summoning his last reserves, he burst through the crumbling doorway and ducked into the shadows within. Gently, he set the girl on the floor, trembling with the effort and fear of the escape.
Tears ran slowly down her cheeks, yet she made no sound—not a sob, not a whimper. She simply sat there, silent, eyes wide, absorbing the terror that had just passed over them. For Leo, the quiet was almost more terrifying than the attack itself. He realized then, in the dimness of the ruined house, that survival was no longer about himself alone—it was now about protecting her, come what may.