The day after the encounter with the cloaked figure, the slums felt different—too quiet, too watchful. Arin stayed close to Lyra, nerves sharp, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something else was coming. Something worse.
By afternoon, he realized he was right.
They were walking back from the market, Arin carrying a small bag of stale bread, Lyra humming softly beside him. The street was mostly empty—just the echo of distant fighting, a barking dog, and the lazy chatter of slum residents trying to survive another day.
Then Arin saw them.
A group of six men blocking the narrow road.
Local gang colors.Rusty weapons.Predatory grins.
Arin's stomach tightened.
"Lyra," he whispered, "stay behind me."
The leader strutted forward—a tall man with a scar crossing his nose, gold teeth flashing when he smiled.
"Well, well," the gang boss drawled. "If it ain't the miracle brat and her brother."
Arin stepped back. "We don't want trouble."
"Oh, but trouble wants you."
The boss's eyes dragged slowly over Lyra, hunger and greed swirling beneath the surface.
"Your sister's special. Heard she healed a dying dog with a touch."He leaned forward. "Imagine what she's worth to the right buyer."
Lyra's small hand trembled.
Arin's blood turned to fire. "Don't touch her."
The men laughed.
"You gonna stop us, boy?" the boss sneered.
"Yes," Arin said.
The boss smirked. "Then die trying."
He snapped his fingers.
The gang surged forward.
The Fight Begins
Arin pushed Lyra behind him an instant before a fist swung toward his face. He ducked, shoving his attacker aside—but another man's knee slammed into his stomach, knocking the breath from his lungs.
He staggered.
A hand grabbed Lyra.
"No!" Arin roared.
He lunged, grabbed the man's wrist, and bit down hard. The man screamed. Arin wrenched Lyra free and shoved her away.
"Run to Mira's house!" he ordered.
Lyra shook her head, tears forming. "No—"
"GO!"
She ran.
The boss snarled. "Bring her back!"
Three men chased after her.
Arin's heart hammered. He couldn't let them near her. He charged the boss, aiming for the throat.
But he was small. Weak. Hungry.And they were grown men.
One grabbed his arms. Another punched his ribs. Another yanked his hair. Arin fought like a wild animal—biting, clawing, kicking—anything to keep them from reaching Lyra.
Still, they overpowered him.
Blood filled his mouth. His knees hit the dirt. A heavy boot pressed on the back of his neck.
"Stay down, kid," the boss said. "You had guts. I respect that. But we're taking her."
Arin's vision blurred.
No.
No.
His sister.His only family.His only purpose.
No.
He thought of Lyra crying in that dark alley.Thought of her glowing tears.Thought of their mother's voice whispering through fever:
My son… survive…
A spark lit inside him.
No—not a spark.
A shadow.
A pulse of cold, black energy rippled through his spine, coiling like smoke under his skin. His fingers curled into the dirt. His heartbeat deepened.
And then—
He heard a whisper.
Not from the world.
From inside him.
"Stand."
Arin's eyes snapped open—darkness swirling inside them.
The man pressing him down stumbled backward as if pushed by invisible force.
Arin rose slowly to his feet.
The air shivered.
The shadows behind him stretched unnaturally, like living tendrils writhing in hunger.
The boss hesitated. "What the hell…?"
Arin didn't hear him.
He was already moving.
Awakening of Shadow
He lunged forward—not like a child, not like someone weak and starved—but like a creature driven by pure instinct.
His fist struck the nearest man's jaw.
A crack rang out.
The man flew backward, crashing into a pile of crates.
The others froze, stunned.
Arin breathed heavily, but each exhale came out like mist—dark, cold mist.
The boss roared, "Kill him!"
But fear coated his voice.
Three attacked at once.
Arin dodged the first swing effortlessly. The world felt slower, heavier, as if something guided his movements.
He grabbed a broken pipe off the ground and struck the second man in the knee—the bone bent. The man howled.
The third slashed with a dull knife.
Arin caught his arm mid-swing, twisted, and slammed his head into a wall.
The boss gaped.
"This isn't possible," he whispered.
Maybe it wasn't. Maybe it was madness.But Arin didn't care.
He stepped toward the boss, shadows curling like smoke around his feet.
"You tried to take my sister," Arin said quietly.
The boss's bravado cracked. "W-Wait. We can talk—"
Arin punched him once.
The man's arm snapped under the force.
He screamed, collapsing onto the dirt, clutching his shattered limb.
Arin raised the pipe again.
He wanted to crush the man's skull.
He wanted—No.
No.
A tiny voice pierced the haze.
"Arin!"
Lyra's scream.
His vision cleared.
The shadows retreated like a startled animal.
Arin froze mid-swing, pipe trembling in his grip.
Lyra ran into the alley, panting, Mira behind her with a broken stick in hand. Mira skidded to a stop, eyes widening at the carnage around them.
"Holy—Arin, what did you do?!"
Elira appeared next, silent and alarmed.
Tobin arrived last, gasping, "Arin—are you—oh gods…"
The gang members lay scattered and unconscious.
Arin dropped the pipe.
It clattered on the ground louder than any scream.
His hands shook violently.His breath came ragged.And the shadow inside him curled like a sleeping beast.
Lyra threw her arms around him. "Arin, I was so scared!"
He hugged her tightly, heart pounding.
But someone else watched him with far sharper eyes.
Elira.
She whispered, barely audible:
"You're not normal either… are you?"
Arin's blood went cold.
Before he could respond—
A slow clap echoed from the far end of the alley.
All five children turned.
The cloaked man stood there again.
This time, he removed his hood.
Beneath it was a pair of glowing golden eyes.
Eyes filled with ancient power.
Eyes that recognized Arin's awakening.
The man smiled faintly.
"Now," he said, voice smooth like silk and death,"your real story begins."
Cliffhanger:The cloaked man has witnessed Arin's shadow awakening—and has finally revealed part of who he is.