---
Somewhere far from the noise of Korrbend Fringe…
Where the structured glow of crafted stalls faded into neglect—
There lay a place people did not name.
Not because it lacked identity.
But because naming it would mean admitting it still mattered.
---
It was a dumping ground.
Not of waste alone—
But of things that had failed to remain useful.
Fragments of broken celestial constructs lay half-buried in soft, ash-like dust. Torn fabric that once shimmered with rune-thread now hung limp over crooked frames, their glow long since dimmed into dull echoes. Discarded vessels—cracked, hollow—rested in uneven piles, their surfaces still carrying faint traces of sigils that no longer responded.
Even the air felt… abandoned.
Not empty.
Just uninterested.
---
Amidst it all—
An old man knelt.
His back curved unnaturally, spine bent like something that had learned to carry weight long before it should have. His robes were layered in age—threads frayed, edges darkened—not from filth, but from time itself settling into them.
His hands rested loosely on his knees.
Still.
Unmoving.
Like a statue that had forgotten the concept of motion.
His eyes, however—
Were awake.
---
"…Mmm…"
His voice slipped out slowly.
Not directed at anyone.
Not even fully formed.
"…a tale told forward… or backward… hmm…"
He tilted his head slightly, as if listening to something only he could hear.
"…one rises… others follow… not from courage… no… no…"
A soft chuckle.
"…from fear of being left behind…"
His fingers twitched faintly.
"…structures trembling… designers stepping out from hiding… ah… yes…"
His lips curved faintly—not quite a smile.
"…they gathered… did they not…?"
His gaze drifted upward.
"…that one… ah… the one who stood at the edge of order…"
A pause.
"…he did not call them… no… he simply moved…"
Another quiet chuckle.
"…and they followed…"
---
His words twisted.
Not quite a story.
Not quite a memory.
Something in between.
Something that refused to settle into a single meaning.
---
"…they say he failed…"
The old man tilted his head again.
"…did he…?"
Silence lingered.
Then—
A faint shake of his head.
"…no… no… no…"
"…failure implies an ending…"
"…and endings…"
His voice softened.
"…have not arrived yet…"
---
He exhaled slowly.
"…what remains… is far more amusing…"
His gaze lowered.
"…disorder dressed as purpose…"
"…defiance wearing crowns…"
"…children fighting over a board they do not understand…"
A dry laugh escaped him.
"…how ironic…"
---
His fingers brushed lightly against the ground.
"…this coil… this small turning thing…"
"…and its branching reflections…"
"…so many versions…"
"…so many outcomes…"
"…and yet…"
He paused.
"…even I…"
A small breath.
"…do not know which one will stay…"
---
He leaned forward slightly.
"…curious…"
His eyes narrowed just a fraction.
"…another one walks…"
"…eyes that do not see themselves…"
"…threads that do not belong…"
"…and yet… they cling…"
His head turned.
Slowly.
Toward a distant direction.
"…perhaps he knows…"
"…or perhaps…"
A faint smile.
"…he has forgotten knowing…"
---
The old man fell silent.
Still again.
As if the moment had ended.
---
Then—
Footsteps.
Loud.
Messy.
Breaking the stillness without care.
Children.
---
A group burst into the open space nearby.
Running.
Laughing.
Shouting.
One of them—the smaller one—darted ahead, arms flailing as if directing invisible forces.
"Don't let them escape!"
Behind him, two larger boys stumbled awkwardly, their movements exaggerated as they tried to keep up.
"We're under attack!"
"Fall back! Fall back!"
Their voices overlapped in chaotic imitation of something grander than themselves.
---
Then—
Another figure entered.
Older.
Larger.
Slower.
A teenager.
His presence carried a different weight.
Not playful.
Not imaginative.
Heavy.
Sharp.
---
The children noticed too late.
The smaller one veered away.
The others tried to scatter.
But one of the larger boys tripped.
He fell hard near the old man.
Dust rose around him.
Before he could stand—
A hand grabbed his collar.
---
The teenager yanked him upward.
Fingers tightening around his neck.
"Where do you think you're running?"
The boy choked slightly, struggling.
"I—I didn't—"
A slap cut him off.
Sharp.
Loud.
His head snapped to the side.
"Didn't what?"
The teenager leaned closer, sneering.
"You think this place is your playground?"
The other kids froze.
Fear replacing their earlier laughter.
---
The old man did not move.
He simply watched.
Expression unchanged.
Unreadable.
---
The teenager raised his fist.
"Let's see if you can still run after this—"
Then he paused.
His eyes shifted.
Toward the old man.
Watching.
Silently.
---
Something about that gaze—
Unblinking.
Unreactive.
—
Irritated him.
He clicked his tongue.
Then shoved the boy aside.
The child hit the ground with a dull thud.
The teenager stepped toward the old man.
"Hey."
No response.
"You."
Still nothing.
His irritation sharpened.
"What are you staring at, you old piece of trash?"
The old man did not answer.
Did not move.
Did not even blink.
---
The teenager raised his fist again.
"Think you're funny?"
He stepped closer.
"Let me fix that look on your face—"
---
A small figure moved between them.
---
The same child from before.
The one who had been leading the others.
He stood there.
Arms slightly raised.
Not steady.
But not retreating either.
---
The teenager stopped.
Then laughed.
"Well, look at that…"
He leaned forward slightly.
"The little hero finally grew a spine."
His grin widened.
"What now?"
His hand shot out.
A slap.
The child's head snapped sideways.
He stumbled.
Fell.
---
The teenager didn't stop.
A kick followed.
Then another.
"Where's your great protector now, huh?"
Another kick.
"Thought you were something special?"
Another.
"Call him!"
He laughed harshly.
"Go on—call him!"
---
The other children flinched.
None moved.
None spoke.
---
The teenager spat on the ground beside the fallen boy.
Then glanced back at the old man.
Still watching.
Still unmoving.
His expression twisted.
"Stay out of it."
He turned again.
Looking at the other children.
Cracking his neck slowly.
"Guess I'll deal with all of you next—"
---
"Stop!"
---
The voice came weak.
Shaky.
But loud.
---
The boy on the ground pushed himself up.
Barely standing.
His legs trembled.
But he stood.
---
The old man's hand rested briefly on his shoulder.
Helping him stabilize.
"…mmm…"
The old man murmured softly.
"…a warm one…"
He looked at the boy.
"…rare…"
His hand moved to the boy's chest.
Lightly tapping.
"…this here…"
"…not many carry it anymore…"
---
The boy swallowed.
"…Thank you…"
His voice was quiet.
Uncertain.
He looked down.
"…but…"
His shoulders lowered.
"…it doesn't matter…"
A small shake of his head.
"I can't even protect myself…"
"…how can I protect anyone else…"
---
The old man tilted his head.
Then—
Slowly—
He leaned forward.
Rested his forehead gently against the boy's.
"…strength…"
He whispered.
"…is a costume…"
"…it fades…"
"…it breaks…"
His hand tapped the boy's chest again.
"…this…"
"…does not…"
---
Then he pulled back.
Returning to his original position.
Still.
Silent.
---
The teenager scoffed.
"Done talking?"
He stepped forward again.
Cracking his knuckles.
"Good."
---
"STOP!"
---
This time—
It was not weak.
---
The boy moved.
Not running.
Not stepping.
His body—
Shifted.
Like wind slipping through space.
A blur—
No.
Not even that.
A presence displaced.
And reappeared.
---
He stood in front of the teenager.
Closer than before.
Too close.
---
The impact came immediately.
A single motion.
The teenager's body lifted—
Then dropped.
Flat.
Unmoving.
---
Silence.
---
The other children stared.
Frozen.
One of them pointed.
"T-That…"
His voice shook.
"When did you become a bearer…?"
---
The boy blinked.
Confused.
"I… didn't…"
His voice faltered.
He turned.
Toward where the old man had been.
---
Nothing.
---
Empty space.
Dust.
Broken fragments.
Silence.
---
The old man was gone.
---
The boy's expression shifted.
Shock.
Fear.
Confusion.
All at once.
---
And somewhere far away—
A quiet chuckle echoed.
Unheard.
Unseen.
Watching.
---