*CHAPTER II
The Boy Who Didn't Play**
Arden never truly learned how to play.
He knew how to run.
He knew how to throw a ball.
He knew how to sit on a swing.
But all of it felt like empty movement.
Behind the massive house stood a polished metal slide, iron swings, and a wooden playhouse complete with tiny windows. They had been purchased as a package. Like furniture.
Not because Arden asked for them.
Because his parents wanted the house to look like a normal family lived there.
Most days, Arden didn't touch any of it.
He stood beneath the large tree in the corner of the yard, hands in his pockets, watching the guards train in the distance.
He observed everything.
The stance.
The slight bend of the knees.
The curve of a finger before pulling a trigger.
The recoil when a bullet struck the wooden target.
Gunshots never startled him.
To Arden, loud noises were routine.
Sometimes children from neighboring houses played near the front gate. They ran, shouted, chased each other with breathless laughter.
One afternoon, a boy approached him.
"Hey, wanna play tag?"
Arden looked at him.
Sweat on his forehead. Dirty shoes. A smile too bright.
Arden shook his head.
"Why?"
Arden didn't answer.
The boy lingered for a moment, then ran back to the others.
Arden felt nothing.
Not loss.
Not victory.
Just absence.
One day, a little girl tripped near the gate.
Her knee scraped against the asphalt. Thin lines of red appeared.
She cried instantly.
Arden crouched in front of her.
He stared at the blood.
Red.
Warm.
Flowing slowly.
"Why are you crying?" he asked.
"It hurts!" she sobbed.
Arden nodded.
He reached out and touched the wound.
The girl screamed louder.
He pulled his hand back, frowning slightly.
Not in regret.
In confusion.
He felt nothing.
The crying was just sound.
Guards rushed in and carried the girl away.
Arden returned to the backyard without looking back.
At night, he often stood on his bedroom balcony.
The city lights shimmered like artificial stars.
He wondered if other houses carried muffled gunshots behind thick glass.
If other children watched adults beaten for small mistakes.
He didn't know.
He only knew one thing:
The world was not gentle.
One afternoon, rain fell without warning.
Guards hurried inside. The yard lights flicked on automatically.
Arden stood beneath the canopy, watching water darken the soil.
He scooped up a handful of wet mud and let it drip between his fingers.
Cold.
Sticky.
Strangely calming.
Then—
A small voice from beyond the gate.
"Hey."
Arden turned.
A little girl stood there holding a large umbrella that seemed too big for her body. Her hair was tied in two small ponytails. Her shoes were soaked.
But she was smiling.
A smile that wasn't afraid of rain.
A smile that wasn't afraid of tall gates.
"I'm Caldora," she said brightly. "We just moved next door."
Arden didn't respond.
He simply stared.
Most people hesitated near his house.
Caldora didn't.
"Do you want to play?" she asked, holding out her small hand.
Arden looked at it.
No one had asked him that since Bu Ratna disappeared.
Time slowed.
There was no warning in his mind.
No alarm.
Only something soft. Unfamiliar.
Arden stepped closer.
He took her hand.
Small.
Warm.
It was a small decision.
But it would change his entire life.