The boy in the shadow
The streets were cruel, and so was the wind that night.
Oscar had always lived with the cold—both the kind that seeped into your bones and the kind that curled up in your heart when no one in the world remembered your name. He was just a boy, maybe ten or eleven, with hollow cheeks, bruised arms, and a soul too exhausted for his age. Born into nothing. Raised by no one. Surviving on scraps and kindness that never came.
The slums were alive with bitter noise—drunks shouting, dogs barking, the occasional scream. But Oscar lay silent on the snow-dusted edge of the alley, his body broken after a group of older boys beat him near-unconscious for defending an old woman from being robbed. No one else had stepped in. Why would they?
His vision blurred, frost biting at his skin. He thought this was the end.
But then... she came.
Footsteps echoed through the night. Slow. Certain. A figure cloaked in deep blue stepped out from the mist. A young girl—not much older than him—kneeling beside him with eyes like molten silver and hair that shimmered like moonlight.
"What is your name?" she asked softly.
He tried to speak, but blood choked his throat. She pressed a warm hand to his chest and said, "Don't worry. You're coming with me."
Before the darkness took him, he saw her face. Serene. Unafraid. Divine.
He woke up to warmth.
The sheets were clean, the bed soft. A scent of herbs floated in the air. Light peeked through golden curtains, and by the bedside stood the girl again, holding a bowl of soup.
"You're awake," she said with a gentle smile. "From now on, you'll live here. With me."
Her name was cera.
She was young, but everything about her felt older than the stars. The palace she lived in was quiet, grand, and watched by silent servants who bowed when she walked. She fed Oscar herself, cleaned his wounds, and gave him a room filled with more comfort than he had ever known.
But comfort doesn't erase fear.
The servants muttered behind closed doors.
"He's street trash."
"He's only here because the Mistress pities him."
"She'll throw him out once she sees what he really is."
Oscar heard it all. He swallowed the words with every bite of warm food and buried them under every breath of kindness.
And so, he began to work. Hard.
He learned to carry trays, clean halls, polished blades. He stole books from the library at night, learning to read and practicing sword forms in secret until his hands bled. He just wanted to be worthy—to be useful—to not be thrown away.
One evening, cera noticed his swollen hands as they dined.
"What happened to you?" she asked.
Oscar quickly hid them. "No… no one did this. I was just working. I wanted to—"
cera's face darkened. "This is not your work. Who told you to do all this?"
He panicked. "Please don't throw me out! I'll do better. I'm useful, I promise. I can do anything, just don't—don't get rid of me…"
Tears fell before he could stop them.
cera was silent for a moment. Then, her voice turned soft and clear.
"Oscar… why do you think I would throw you out?"
He looked at her, trembling. "The servants… they said once you realize I'm worthless, you'll abandon me like everyone else."
cera shook her head. "You're wrong. Do you remember that night I found you?"
He nodded.
"I saw an old woman being attacked. Everyone turned away. But you—you stood up for her. You were just a boy, and still, you fought. You didn't hesitate. That's why I brought you here. Because you are special."
Oscar couldn't speak. No one—not once—had ever called him that.
That night, as he lay in his bed staring at the ceiling, he made a silent promise to himself.
I will serve cera. I will protect her. I will give my life for her, if I must.
For the first time in his life… he had someone worth living for.
He wat not alone