The Hunt Begins.
The forest whispered secrets to those who dared to listen.
Dead leaves crackled beneath Azeroth's worn boots as he slipped between thick ferns, breath held tight in his chest. The early morning fog clung to his threadbare cloak, dampening the sound of his steps but also soaking him to the bone. Still, he pressed on. The beasts didn't care for comfort, and neither did hunger.
A glint of steel caught the pale sun as he unsheathed his knife. Old, rusted, and chipped — like everything else he owned — but still sharp enough to draw blood. That was all he needed.
In the underbrush, something stirred.
Azeroth crouched low, scanning the movement. A small shadow darted across the clearing — a mortal beast, barely a threat. But meat was meat. He steadied his hand, waited for the right moment, and—
Snap.
A branch broke behind him.
He spun, knife raised. Nothing.
Just the wind.
He exhaled shakily, lowering the blade. Focus. There was no room for fear here. No one else would feed her.
Liora.
His heart softened at the thought of her — his little sister, blind since birth, waiting back in the broken house they used to call home. She never complained. Not once. Even when the roof leaked, even when dinner was just dry bread and cold water.
She smiled. Always smiled.
And that smile was the only thing keeping him from shattering.
The beast bolted. He missed it.
"Damn it," he muttered, chasing after it.
⸻
Ten minutes later, Azeroth returned to the edge of the ravine, panting and empty-handed. The prey had vanished, and his stomach screamed in protest.
He sat on a rock, wiping the sweat from his brow. His hand trembled slightly — not from fatigue, but frustration.
Tomorrow, he'd have to face them again.
The School.
Awakened brats dressed in silk and steel, laughing at the "Unconnected." Teachers who barely acknowledged his presence. He was sixteen now. Past the usual age for Awakening. Most received the system by fifteen, some as early as thirteen.
But not him.
No glowing circuit lines. No status screen. No System online.
Just… nothing.
And in a world where power defined everything, nothing made you invisible.
⸻
Hours passed. Azeroth caught a single bird. Enough for dinner.
By the time he reached home, the twin moons had risen. Their pale glow filtered through the cracks of the roof as he pushed open the creaky door.
"Zer?"
A soft voice. Familiar. Safe.
He smiled.
"I'm here, Liora."
She sat curled on the patched couch, blanket around her thin shoulders. A book rested on her lap — their mother's old poetry collection. She couldn't read it, but she liked to hold it anyway.
"Did you eat?" he asked, walking over.
She shook her head. "Was waiting for you."
He sighed and ruffled her silver hair. "I told you not to do that."
"But I like when we eat together."
⸻
Later, they sat across from each other, sharing the small roasted bird. Barely enough for one, but she smiled like it was a feast.
"Zer?" she said between bites.
"Yeah?"
"Do you ever dream of flying?"
He blinked. "Flying?"
"Yeah… up, past the stars. Past even the second moon. I saw it in a dream. Everything was quiet. But not lonely. Just… free."
Azeroth didn't answer. He just watched her. Watched the only spark of peace left in his life. And he felt something he hadn't in a long time.
Hope.