No one saw him arrive.
Not the guards posted on the rusted watchtowers. Not the merchants closing their stalls under the rain. Not even the sky itself.
One moment, the narrow alley behind the abandoned shrine was empty.
The next—someone was lying there.
Rain poured relentlessly, hammering stone and broken tiles, flooding the street with muddy water. Yet around the boy's body, the rain curved unnaturally, as if afraid to touch him. His clothes remained dry. His skin untouched.
Silver-white hair spread across the ground like shattered moonlight. His face was calm—too calm for someone unconscious. No wounds. No scars. No signs of struggle.
People gathered.
"Did someone dump him here?"
"No blood… then why do I feel like I shouldn't get closer?"
They felt it. Everyone did.
A pressure.
Not heavy, not violent—but vast. Like standing at the edge of a cliff without seeing the bottom.
Inside the boy's mind, darkness ruled.
Pain lived there.
A headache so severe it felt deliberate, as if something was pressing down on his thoughts, sealing memories he was never meant to access. Every attempt to wake was met with resistance—chains scraping against his consciousness.
Still sleeping…
A voice echoed. Old. Cold. Watching.
The darkness cracked.
A vision forced itself upon him.
God—kneeling.
Bound in glowing chains carved with unreadable symbols. Head lowered. Power restrained, not defeated.
The boy tried to scream.
Pain surged.
The vision shattered.
In the alley, his fingers twitched once.
Far beyond the mortal world—
Something noticed.
____