Jack awoke in a dim, shabby room—walls cracked, light weak, silence heavy.
A woman in her mid‑seventies entered quietly. Her voice was soft, steady:
"What's your name, boy?"
His answer came slow, ragged.
"Jack."
She placed a bowl of warm food before him.
He didn't hesitate — he ate as though he hadn't tasted peace in years.
She watched him, a gentle smile forming.
"You must be hungry, child."
---
The next morning, her granddaughter returned—a teenager named Jasmine, fierce reputation in tow. She knocked at the door; when it opened her face shifted from expectation to confusion.
"Hey, Granny."
Her grandmother, busy at the sink, turned. Surprise softened her features.
"My baby Jasmine... you're back..."
They embraced. Then Granny motioned towards Jack, seated quietly in a corner.
"I found this boy on the streets. Brought him here for help, and I feel he should stay."
---
In that moment the room held more than warmth—it held possibility. Jack, broken yet breathing. Jasmine, sharp yet tender. Granny, kind yet strong.
And as dawn's light filtered through the cracked window, the unspoken question hovered among them. What happens now?
Later that day, Jack stepped out into the narrow hallway and ran into Jasmine.
It was awkward. He froze. Almost instinctively, he turned to leave.
"Hi!! Uhmm... my name's Jasmine. You can call me Jas," she said, voice light, forcing a small nervous chuckle.
"Yours is Jack, right?"
Jack didn't answer right away. His face gave away nothing—expression blank, unreadable. Finally, he muttered.
"Yes."
Then he walked away.
"Looking forward to... uhmm, seeing you again?" she tried again, softer, almost hopeful.
But he didn't look back.
Didn't pause.
Didn't reply.
Just walked into the room and closed the door, leaving her outside, her words hanging in the silence like unanswered prayers.
Jack wasn't just broken.
He was shattered.
Shards of someone who used to feel, now walking like a ghost too tired to haunt anything.
He didn't need comfort.
He didn't want kindness.
He just... wanted it all to end.
Days passed.
He spoke to no one.
A shadow in a borrowed space.
The only signs of life were the soft clinks of cutlery or the floorboards creaking under his slow, wandering feet.
But Jasmine noticed.
Despite her tough edge, her sharp tongue—she noticed.
The silence wasn't arrogance.
It was grief.
The way he stared into nothing, like trying to remember a face he could no longer afford to forget.
The way his shoulders curved, like he bore the weight of a thousand regrets.
That night, Jasmine did something small.
Quiet.
She left a cup of warm tea at his door. No note. No knock. No words.
By morning, the cup was empty.
Cleaned.
Returned.
That was it.
The first crack in the wall he'd built around himself.
Soon, it was time for school. Jack was officially enrolled in the same academy as Jasmine.
That morning, they ate in silence. But not the kind that suffocates—this one was quiet... gentle.
Jasmine had unknowingly created a space where silence felt safe. She chatted on about the academy's bizarre rules and even weirder students, her voice light and teasing. Jack nodded occasionally, but he wasn't really listening.
His mind had already spiraled into familiar darkness—visions of lockers slamming, fists flying, faces sneering. Of laughter. Of silence. Of being nothing.
He braced for it all again.
But what he found... wasn't what he expected.
The academy gates opened like the jaws of another world.
Jack froze.
The courtyard buzzed—not with idle chatter, but with raw, surging power. Students hovered in the air mid-conversation, some standing atop levitating books, others riding summoned beasts made of flame or starlight.
Magic danced freely in every corner—sigils glowing underfoot, enchanted wind pulling hair upward like whispers from another realm.
Jack's breath caught in his throat.
This wasn't chaos.
It was order, wrapped in arcane beauty.
And he—he had nothing.
Jasmine had to tug his sleeve to bring him back.
"Come on, don't just stand there like a statue," she teased, smiling, pretending not to notice how pale his knuckles were.
Inside the classroom, it was less grand. But no less cruel.
The teacher stood before the class, voice clear:
"We have a new transfer student today—Jack. Please welcome him."
For a heartbeat, there was silence.
Then... the moment someone whispered
"He has no magic", it shattered.
Laughter broke out like a wave.
"No way! He'shyg powerless?!"
"In this school?"
"A magicless runt?"
"Must be some kind of charity case."
At the back, a boy smirked. Bigger, older, layered in magic aura. His voice cut through the noise:
"Don't worry. We'll teach him how it works... the hard way."
Jasmine's fists clenched under her desk. Jack said nothing.
After the commotion, the teacher finally restored order, silencing the laughter with a stern gaze. With a motionless hand, he pointed.
"Jack... take the seat next to Jasmine."
Jack walked without a word, eyes forward, ignoring the glances and smirks that followed him like shadows.
The moment he sat, he shrank into the chair like it might shield him. Jasmine gave him a sideways glance but said nothing.
The rest of the day crawled.
Every glance felt like a dagger. Every whisper—a blade twisted between his ribs.
Still, Jack didn't flinch. Didn't speak. Didn't break.
But inside, his heart was pounding like a war drum.
When the final bell rang, students surged for the door. Jack didn't move. He waited—waited for the room to empty, for safety in silence.
It didn't come.
A group of boys lingered, smirking. Predators scenting blood.
"Hey," one of them sneered, walking up. "Is it true? You really don't have powers?"
Laughter exploded behind him.
Jack stood, calm, trying to pass. But a hand grabbed his shoulder—tight.
"Where do you think you're going, weak boy?"
The classroom roared with laughter.
From the side, Jasmine stood. She stepped forward, voice sharp like a blade drawn halfway from its sheath.
"Stop it," she said.
Not a request. A command.
The laughter faltered. The boys backed away—slightly. But it was too late.
Jack snapped.
A blur.
His fist collided with the boy's jaw—sharp, direct, human. The crack echoed louder than any spell.
The boy staggered back, stunned.
Gasps filled the room.
And Jack—Jack ran.
Panic blurred his senses as he sprinted down the corridor. Behind him, footsteps thundered. The boys gave chase, magic in their fists and cruelty in their eyes.
"Get him!"
One raised a hand—CRACK
A bolt of electric magic surged, striking Jack square in the back. His body spasmed, crashing onto the ground like a rag doll.
Then came the fists.
The kicks.
Boots slamming into ribs.
Laughter echoing through the halls.
A human boy, powerless, beaten by the children of gods.
Then—
"ENOUGH!"
A teacher's voice split the air like thunder.
The boys scattered like startled animals, vanishing into corners.
The teacher knelt beside Jack's crumpled body.
"Are you alright?" he asked, trembling, shocked.
Jack, bruised, bleeding, barely breathing... smiled.
A broken smile.
"...Yeah," he whispered. "I'm fine."
Jasmine stood there, trembling. Her fists clenched so tightly, her nails dug into her palms.
She had never felt this useless.
She ran home. Silent. Burning.
But deep inside Jack—where only silence lived—something had stirred.
A whisper not his own.
A flicker that had no name.
A spark.
The first sign...
That something inside him wasn't human after all.