Now aero is 16 year old
The first thing Aeron learned at sixteen was that tiredness didn't go away.
It just changed shape.
Morning light slipped through the narrow window of the rented apartment, pale and thin, catching dust in the air. The building was old—older than the war, older than the promises that followed it—but it stood. That alone made it valuable.
Aeron sat on the edge of his bed, pulling on his boots.
They weren't polished anymore. He didn't have time for that now.
The room was small. Two beds pushed against opposite walls, a narrow table between them, a kitchenette squeezed into the corner like it was ashamed of taking space. But it was warm. The walls didn't leak. The door locked.
That made it a home.
Behind him, fabric rustled.
"You're early," Lina said, her voice still thick with sleep.
Aeron glanced back. She was sitting up, hair tied loosely, already reaching for her jacket.
someone calls aeron on the phone that the "Cargo shift moved up," he replied.
Is new "New ore shipment." arrived .
the other side of person replied yes . and cut the call .
lina
She yawned. "I'll make soup."
"You don't have to—"
"I know," she said, cutting him off gently. "But I will."
She was fourteen now.
Not a little girl anymore. Not fragile. Her hands were steady when she cooked, when she scrubbed clothes at the basin downstairs, when she argued with shopkeepers over prices. She had learned the rhythm of survival the same way she had—by necessity.
Aeron stood, grabbed his jacket, and paused.
"…Don't forget to rest," he said.
Lina smirked. "and said be safe and come back home early ."
He snorted once, quiet, and stepped out. with a smile on the face and a strong will to return home safely . to live another day with his little sister .
who don't know the danger and greed that people kept in there hearts in the outside world to survive .