Rain poured heavily over the small village of Black Hollow.
The ground was muddy. The air smelled of rot and wet wood. People hurried through the streets, avoiding the storm.
Near the edge of the village…
A child lay in the dirt.
He was about seven years old.
Thin. Bruised. Barefoot.
His clothes were torn, and his body was covered in cuts.
But his eyes…
One gold.
One black.
The boy slowly opened them.
"…still alive…" he whispered weakly.
A group of older boys stood nearby, laughing.
"I told you he wouldn't die," one said.
"Monster never dies," another added, throwing a small stone at him.
It hit the boy's shoulder.
He flinched but didn't cry.
"Get up, demon," a third boy sneered. "Or are you too weak?"
The boy said nothing.
He slowly pushed himself up, his hands trembling.
"I said… get up properly!" the first boy shouted, kicking him in the stomach.
The boy coughed and fell again.
More laughter.
"You don't belong here," one of them said. "No parents. No name. Just a cursed thing."
The boy clenched his fists.
Still… he said nothing.
Because he had learned something very early in life.
Words didn't save you.
Strength did.
The boys grew bored after a while.
"Let's go," one said. "He's no fun."
They walked away, still laughing.
The boy lay there for a moment.
Rain hit his face.
He stared at the sky.
"…I won't die," he whispered.
Slowly, painfully, he stood up again.
No one helped him.
No one ever did.
The villagers feared him.
They called him names.
"Devil child."
"Bad omen."
"Thing with cursed eyes."
He didn't remember his parents.
He didn't know where he came from.
All he knew… was pain.
And hunger.
He walked through the village, ignoring the stares.
A woman pulled her child closer when she saw him.
"Don't go near him," she whispered.
"He brings bad luck."
The boy kept walking.
He reached the back of a small food shop.
The smell of bread filled the air.
His stomach growled loudly.
He looked around.
No one was watching.
Slowly… he reached for a loaf left near the window.
"Hey!"
A loud shout stopped him.
The shop owner rushed out, his face angry.
"Thief!"
The boy grabbed the bread and ran.
"Stop him!" the man yelled.
People turned.
Some tried to block him.
But the boy was fast.
He ran through narrow paths, jumping over broken wood and puddles.
"Catch him!"
A man grabbed his arm—
The boy twisted sharply and bit his hand.
"Agh! You little beast!"
The boy broke free and kept running.
Finally, he reached the forest outside the village.
He didn't stop until the voices were gone.
Only then did he slow down.
Breathing hard.
Heart pounding.
He looked at the bread in his hand.
For a moment…
He just stared at it.
Then he sat under a tree and began to eat.
Fast.
Desperate.
Like someone who didn't know when the next meal would come.
"Easy there."
The boy froze.
A voice.
Calm. Old.
He turned sharply.
An old man stood a few steps away, leaning on a wooden staff.
His clothes were simple, but his eyes were sharp.
"You'll choke if you eat like that," the old man said.
The boy said nothing.
He stood up quickly, ready to run.
"Relax," the old man said. "If I wanted to harm you, you'd already be dead."
The boy narrowed his eyes.
"…who are you?"
The old man smiled slightly.
"Just someone passing through."
Silence.
The boy didn't trust him.
Not one bit.
"Why are you here?" the boy asked.
The old man looked at him carefully.
"Because I felt something strange," he said. "Something… not human."
The boy's expression hardened.
"…leave."
The old man chuckled.
"You've got spirit."
He took a step closer.
The boy immediately stepped back, raising a stick from the ground.
"Don't come closer."
The old man stopped.
Then… he laughed softly.
"Good," he said. "You're not weak."
The boy frowned.
"What do you want?"
The old man's eyes locked onto his.
"Tell me, child… do you want to stay like this forever?"
The boy said nothing.
"Beaten," the old man continued. "Hated. Starving."
The boy tightened his grip on the stick.
"…I'll survive."
"Survive?" the old man asked. "Or suffer?"
Silence.
The rain began to slow.
The forest grew quiet.
Then the old man spoke again.
"What if I told you… you don't belong here?"
The boy's eyes flickered.
"…what do you mean?"
The old man smiled.
"Your eyes," he said. "Your presence. That strength hiding inside you."
He tapped his staff lightly on the ground.
"You're not just a stray child."
The boy's heart began to beat faster.
"…then what am I?"
The old man leaned closer.
His voice dropped.
"Something the world is not ready for."
The boy stared at him.
Confused.
Angry.
Curious.
"…can you make me strong?" he asked quietly.
The old man's smile widened.
"Yes."
A pause.
"But strength comes with pain."
The boy didn't hesitate.
"I already know pain."
The old man studied him for a long moment.
Then he nodded.
"Good."
He turned and began to walk deeper into the forest.
"Follow me," he said.
The boy looked back once… toward the village.
Toward the life he hated.
Then he turned.
And followed.