After eating, Azor slipped out of the house before his mother could notice the restlessness in his steps. The small room felt too tight, the walls pressing in on him like a warning he no longer wanted to obey. Every new town they moved to carried the same invisible rules—stay inside, don't draw attention, don't wander.
Today, he ignored them.
The street welcomed him with noise and color. Vendors lined both sides, their stalls overflowing with metal tools, cloth charms, glowing stones, and food whose scent made his stomach tighten again despite having just eaten. People moved freely, laughing, arguing, living. Azor slowed his steps, eyes wide with quiet awe.
So this is how it's supposed to feel, he thought. To walk without fear.
Then the sky shifted.
A sharp whistle cut through the air, unnatural and shrill. Azor looked up just in time to see a man flying above the street, standing casually on a sword as if it were solid ground. A red flag snapped violently in his grip, the symbol emblazoned on it impossible to miss.
Azor tilted his head, curiosity overtaking caution.
Before he could register the man's face, a screech tore through the street—loud, metallic, and wrong.
Panic followed instantly.
People screamed. Stalls were abandoned.
Baskets overturned as the crowd surged in every direction.
"What's happening—?" Azor barely finished the thought before something slammed into his shoulder.
"Move, child!" an old woman shouted, gripping the hand of a small girl and dragging her past him with frantic strength.
Azor stumbled backward, his heel catching on uneven stone.
He fell hard onto his back.
"Argh—!"
The street went eerily silent.
CRASH.
The ground trembled violently.
Azor's breath hitched as massive hooves landed inches from his face, cracking stone beneath their weight. Dust billowed into the air, burning his lungs. When it cleared, a luxurious black-and-gold carriage stood before him, its presence heavy, commanding.
He was sitting alone in the middle of the road.
"…Damn," Azor muttered.
He scrambled to his feet, hands shaking as he brushed dirt from his clothes. I should move. I really should move. His heart pounded as he glanced around, suddenly aware of how exposed he was.
Before his legs could obey—
A violent kick slammed into his chest.
The world flipped.
Azor flew backward, the impact ripping the air from his lungs. Pain exploded through his ribs as he crashed into the stone.
Bone-crushing.
That was the only way to describe it.
A shadow loomed over him.
A man stood there, towering and broad, his muscles straining against the uniform of a university student. A sword larger than Azor's body rested casually in his grip, as if its weight meant nothing.
Rage surged hot and sudden.
Mom said not to cause trouble.
"…Sorry," Azor coughed, blood trickling from his lips. "I'm leaving."
He forced himself up, chest burning.
CRASH.
Another kick.
Stronger.
Azor was launched through the air, smashing into a wooden stall. The structure collapsed, goods shattering around him. Wood splinters dug into his skin.
The man spat beside him. "Are you blind? Don't you know the rules?"
Azor struggled to breathe.
Another kick slammed into his side.
"How dare you block our path, bastard!"
Blood spilled freely now, dark against the dust.
"I wasn't…" Azor whispered, voice barely audible.
Whispers rippled through the crowd.
"What do you mean you wasn't?"
The man grabbed Azor by the collar and lifted him effortlessly off the ground.
"Let—go—" Azor gasped, fingers clawing uselessly at the grip.
Panic surged. His body screamed at him to escape.
Desperation won.
He bit down hard.
The man roared, jerking his hand back. "You little piece of—!"
Azor collapsed onto the ground, coughing violently.
"Are you trying to kill me?" Azor rasped, wiping blood from his mouth as he staggered upright. His legs trembled uncontrollably. He knew it—he wasn't a match.
"You ungrateful trash," the man snarled. "I was being merciful."
He seized Azor again and slammed him into another stall, shouting to the onlookers, "Watch carefully! This is what happens when ants forget their place!"
Azor was thrown again—this time into a wall.
Stone cracked.
"LET ME GO!" he screamed.
No one stepped forward.
Near the carriage, several students stood calmly, observing. One girl leaned on a staff, her expression indifferent. Another twirled a wand lazily, as if bored.
The man dragged Azor back to the center of the street and threw him down. He stepped on Azor's face, grinding his boot into his cheek.
"You people are nothing," he sneered.
"Without us, you're meat for monsters. And you dare bite the hands that protect you?"
Blood, sweat, and dirt filled Azor's mouth. His face burned against the stone as he clawed weakly at the boot.
The man didn't like that.
The kicks didn't stop.
Pain blurred into numbness.
How will I explain this to Mom…
She's going to worry…
The world dimmed.
He was dying in a street full of people.
No one helped.
A crooked smile tugged at Azor's lips.
"BASTARD! HE'S STILL SMILING!"
A kick slammed into his stomach.
Blood poured out.
Darkness swallowed him.
[You have got to be kidding me.]
[I finally wake up… and my master is already dying?]
Azor's eyes fluttered open.
A spirit hovered above him—faceless, cloaked in black, mist leaking endlessly from its form. Its presence felt heavy, ancient, wrong.
The spirit tilted its head, staring at the man still kicking Azor.
Its calm vanished.
It floated forward and placed a hand on the man's head.
The man froze.
Then he began to tremble violently.
Gasps erupted from the crowd.
"ADRIK!" a girl with teg staff shouted, forming a glowing magic circle around them. "Purify!"
Pure mana surged.
The spirit laughed softly. [You think this childish trick can stop me?]
The man collapsed.
What remained barely resembled a human—skin stretched tight over bone, eyes bulging, tongue hanging loose as his body convulsed.
"Is this enough, Master?" the spirit asked calmly.
The girl's gaze snapped to Azor.
Did she see it?
Azor woke up in bed.
Pain everywhere.
Bandages covered him from head to toe.
His mother sat beside him, eyes swollen and red. A healer was leaving, guided out by his father.
"Um… Mom—"
"Don't talk," she snapped, then sighed deeply.
"I'm sorry," Azor whispered. "I caused trouble."
Above him, the spirit scoffed. "What? Afraid of a woman? Incredible. I waited centuries to awaken for this?"
Azor clenched his teeth and forced a weak smile.
His mother brushed his hair gently. "You don't need to apologize. I'm angry at myself. I failed… again."
She always said things like that.
He held her hand. "What do you mean?"
She kissed his forehead. "Remember this, Azor. Mama loves you. But we must leave. Now."
Azor frowned. "No. I haven't even explored."
"You almost died!"
"THAT'S ENOUGH!"
Silence fell.
For the first time in both lives—he shouted.
"How long will you keep hiding things from me?" his voice cracked. "Why do we move every month? Why don't I look like other kids ? Why am I locked away? Why can't I play?"
His chest heaved.
"I'm done running."