In a dark alley where the city lights barely reached, a commotion stirred the silence. People passing by looked briefly, then turned away, pretending not to see. In this part of the city, no one asked questions.
"Brother! Help me!"
A girl's desperate cry echoed through the narrow passage. She was around thirteen, her small frame trembling as two men in black suits dragged her toward a waiting car. Nearby, a boy—fifteen, maybe sixteen—was on his knees, blood trickling down his chin as another man kicked him to the ground.
"Re... release her," the boy gasped, struggling to stand. "If you hurt her again, I'll—"
"You'll what, boy?" sneered the man towering over him. "You should've stayed quiet. Our master takes what he wants. Be grateful we don't end your miserable life here."
The man holding the girl lifted her easily and tossed her into the car. She screamed and kicked, her voice echoing down the alley, but the door slammed shut, cutting her off.
The men gave the boy one final blow to the ribs before walking away. The car engine roared, and in seconds they were gone—leaving the boy broken and bleeding in the cold rain.
For a long while, only the sound of water dripping from the rooftops filled the air. Then, slowly, the boy stirred. His hand pressed weakly against the wall, dragging his battered body upright. His breathing was shallow; every movement sent waves of pain through his limbs.
"Fraya…" he whispered, his voice barely audible. His eyes were empty yet burning, a mix of sorrow and rage hidden behind exhaustion.
He leaned against the wall, clenching his trembling fist. If only I were stronger...
Raindirk's gaze lifted toward the dark sky.
"I will not face this helpless situation again."
The words echoed only in his mind.
Years Earlier
Two years after being abandoned, a seven-year-old boy named Raindirk—Rain, as he called himself—was scavenging through piles of trash in the backstreets of the slums. His black hair hung messily over brown eyes dulled by hunger.
"Bread!" he exclaimed softly, brushing off dirt from a half-eaten loaf. "Still soft, too… and bottled water. Lucky day."
He sat beside a rusted dumpster, ready to eat, when something caught his attention.
Rustle…
One of the garbage bags a few meters away moved.
Rain froze. His instinct told him to run—movement in alleys often meant rats or worse. But then he heard it:
"Mmmm… mmmm…"
A faint, muffled cry.
His heart thumped faster. Slowly, he picked up a stick and approached, his bare feet splashing in shallow puddles. He poked the bag lightly. It jerked, and the crying grew louder.
"Someone's in there," he murmured, dropping the stick and tearing at the plastic with his hands.
Inside was a small girl, no older than five. Her mouth was gagged with a rag, wrists and ankles bound tightly with rough rope. Her cheeks were streaked with tears, her eyes wide with fear.
Rain's breath caught. He had seen cruelty in the slums, but never something like this.
"Hey, it's okay," he whispered quickly, undoing the ropes. "I'm not gonna hurt you."
When the last rope fell, the girl gasped and clung to him, trembling. He hesitated for a second, then gently patted her back.
"Shh… you're safe now."
It took several minutes before she could speak. "Th-thank you…" she said softly, voice cracking.
"What's your name?" Rain asked.
"F-Fraya."
"Fraya, huh?" He tried a smile. "I'm Raindirk. But just call me Rain."
She nodded weakly, wiping her tears.
"Why were you in there?"
Fraya's eyes lowered to the ground. "Some men… they took me from my home. I don't know why. They said I was… special."
The word hung in the air.
Rain didn't understand, but he knew enough to recognize danger. The men she described didn't sound like ordinary kidnappers. There was something deliberate—organized—behind what they did.
Still, she was just a child. Alone, afraid, and crying. And he remembered what it felt like to be exactly that.
"Here," Rain said, breaking the bread in half. "Eat this. You look hungry."
Fraya hesitated. "What about you?"
"I'll be fine," he lied easily.
She took the bread, nibbling timidly at first, then devouring it when she couldn't resist anymore. When she finished, she looked up, embarrassed.
Rain laughed quietly. "Don't worry. That means it was good."
Her lips curved into a small, genuine smile. It was the first he had seen in a long time.
From that day, they stayed together. Two children lost in the world, surviving one day at a time.
Rain scavenged for food and scraps; Fraya helped him sort through what was edible. They slept under broken roofs, hid when thugs passed, and shared what little warmth they had.
At night, Fraya would hum softly before they fell asleep—a tune Rain never knew but somehow found comforting. It made the cold nights feel less endless.
As the years went by, they learned to navigate the slums better than anyone. Fraya was clever and quick, able to barter with shopkeepers and charm even the grumpiest of strangers. Rain, strong for his age, protected her from the dangers lurking around every corner.
Despite their harsh life, there was peace in their small world. A fragile happiness built from nothing.
Until the day everything changed.
Rain first noticed the black car while they were returning from a small repair shop that sometimes gave them work. It had tinted windows and no license plate—a rare sight in the slums. He thought nothing of it, at first.
But the same car appeared again. And again.
Then, one night, it stopped right in front of them.
Men in black suits stepped out. Their movements were calm, too calm, like they already knew what they wanted.
Fraya froze beside him. The tallest man smiled faintly.
"There she is," he said to the others. "Our master's interest was not misplaced."
Before Raindirk could react, one of them moved with impossible speed. A blow struck his chest, sending him sprawling. He gasped for air, trying to get up, but his body refused to move. kicks and punches rain toward his body.
He saw Fraya reaching for him, screaming his name. Then darkness.
Minutes Later
The rain poured harder, washing the blood from Raindirk's face. The car's fading taillights were gone, leaving only silence and the echo of his heartbeat.
His eyes opened weakly. Pain burned through every inch of him, but the ache in his chest wasn't from the blows—it was from loss.
He pushed himself up, one shaky step at a time, until he was standing. His clothes clung to him, soaked and torn, but his gaze was steady now.
The world around him felt distant, muffled by the rain. Every drop that fell seemed to whisper the same thing—move.
He did.
Slowly, Raindirk began to walk down the alley, his silhouette barely visible beneath the flickering light. His steps were uneven at first, then steadier, driven by something deeper than strength—by resolve.
The rain followed him, washing away the blood, but not the memory.
He walked toward the darkness ahead, where somewhere beyond, an unknown path waited.
And though he was still small and broken, his back no longer bent.
It carried the quiet, unshakable weight of a promise.