A thatched cottage basks in morning sunlight, surrounded by lush greenery and dew-kissed leaves. The scene is peaceful, with the warm glow of the sun casting a serene ambiance.
The serene ambiance feels like a cruel lie to Ash, stirring awake on the straw bed, dazed by sunlight streaming through holes in the ceiling. His ribs still ache, his head throbs, but the unusual silence of the empty cottage cuts deeper.
"Ugh..morning already… too bright. Mom, you'd hate how it stings the eyes." He rubs his face, voice soft, as if she's still there. "Sis, you'd laugh at me, still talking to you both like this."
He stands, wincing, and shuffles to the back of the cottage, where two fresh gravestones sit under a gnarled tree. He kneels, pressing his forehead to the cool earth,a tattered scarf tight around his neck, his mother's last memory.
"Mom, Sis… I'm heading out again. Gotta keep going, right? You said to live, to find joy. I'll try. I promise I'll make you proud." His voice cracks, but he swallows hard. "Rest easy. I'll be back."
Ash rises, brushing dirt from his knees. The cottage feels too small, too heavy with ghosts. Begging's all he knows today—no stealing, not after yesterday's beating besides he hasn't healed form the beating yet.He grabs a cracked bowl, the only thing left to hold coins, and steps into the morning, the city's noise calling him.
The city's slums swallow him, the air thick with smoke and the stink of rotting fruit. He weaves through muddy alleys, past vendors shouting and carts rattling, until he reaches his usual spot—a busy corner by the market, where merchants and passersby toss scraps to beggars. He kneels, bowl out, eyes down, trying to look pitiful and weak.
"Spare a coin, please? Just a bit for food…" His voice is small, practiced, but his mind drifts. "Superpowers… how do they even work? I don't have much knowledge in that.That young master,he awaken a power related to fire. They said he burned a whole house with his. Fire's strong, but… what's mine? Gotta be something. Maybe pain wakes it up, like they say. Or hunger. Got plenty of that." he thought self mockingly.
Hours pass, the bowl collecting a single bent copper. Ash's thoughts churn—stories of kids awakening talents in desperation, in dreams, in fights. He's ten, not early for it, but not too late. He clings to that hope, picturing a power to keep Kael's gang away, to never beg again.
A shadow falls over him. Three figures loom—Kael, the gang leader, his eyes glinting with cruel amusement. Tog, the stick-wielder, taps his two-by-two against his palm. Rin, scar-cheeked and silent, cracks his knuckles. Ash's stomach drops, the memory of yesterday's beating flashing hot.
"Well, well. Look who's back, groveling like a dog. Thought we taught you a lesson, thief."
Ash voice low, gripping the bowl. "I ain't stealing today, Kael. Just begging. Leave me be."
"Begging, huh? Looks like you're still in our spot, rat. This corner's ours. You pay to sit here, or you bleed." together sneered.
Frowning ash asked "Pay? With what? Got one copper, and it's mine. You don't own the street."
Kael Laughs, sharp and cold. "Big words for a nobody. A poor family, no talent, just a mouth that don't know when to shut up. You hear about the young master's fire? That's power. You? You're dirt. Bet you're dreaming of a talent, though. Pathetic."
Rin snorts, speaking low. "Kid's got guts. Stupid, but guts.
Kael snorted "Desperate? Hah! He's a bug, Rin. Crush him, and he's done. But I'll humor you, rat. Tell you what—give me that scarf, and maybe we just break one arm today."
Clutching the scarf, voice shaking but firm. "Touch this, and I'll fight you. It's my mom's. You don't get it. Not ever."
Tog grinned, raising the stick. "Oh, I like when they fight back. Makes it fun. Ready to dance, beggar?"
Ash scrambling to his feet, bowl clutched tight. "I'm not scared of you. Hit me, and I'll keep getting up. I've got nothing left to lose."
Kael stepping closer, voice low. "Nothing to lose? What about your sick mother....? "
Ash heart dropped
"Wait... I see now. Your worthless hoe of a mother finally kicked the bucket". Kael said in realization.
Ash's heart pounds, the single copper coin digging into his palm as Kael's words cut deeper than any stick. The market's noise fades, the stink of rotting fruit swallowed by the roar of blood in his ears. His mother's scarf burns against his neck, a tether to her memory, now defiled by Kael's venom.
Voice shaking, his fists clenched. "Take it back, Kael. Don't you dare talk about my mom like that. She was good—she was everything. Say it again, and I'll make you choke on those words."
Kael Laughs, a cruel, barking sound, stepping even closer. "Oh, the rat's got teeth! What, you gonna cry for your dead whore of a mom? She raised a thief, didn't she? Worthless, just like you. Bet she's rotting proud."
Ash eyes blazing, voice raw. "Take. It. Back!!. She's not worthless, and neither am I! You don't know her—you don't know me! Say you're sorry, or I'll—"
Tog twirling the stick, grinning. "Or what, their? You'll bleed some more? Look at you, shaking like a leaf. You ain't got no fight, just a big mouth."
Kael snorts, eyes glinting with that sickly yellow glow. "He's nothing, tog. But I like a challenge. You want me to take it back, rat? Prove you're worth my breath. Meet me at the clearing—y'know, the one by the slag pits, where they dump waste, a perfect place to dispose a waste like you. Midnight. Just you and me. We'll settle this, once and for all."
Ash breathing hard, the flicker in his chest burning hot, like a coal flaring to life. "You're on, Kael. I'll be there. You'll eat those words, I swear it. For her."
Kael smirking, leaning in close, his breath sour. "Big talk. Midnight, then. Bring whatever guts you got left. But that scarf? It's mine when I'm done breaking you. Boys, let's go. Let the rat stew."
Laughing and tapping the stick on the ground. "See you tonight, beggar. Hope you pray good before then." tog said.
Quiet, almost hesitant. "Don't be late, kid. Kael don't play fair, be prepared". Kin advised.
The three turn, their laughter echoing as they melt into the market crowd. Ash stands frozen, the cracked bowl trembling in his hands. The flicker in his chest pulses, warm and strange, but he can't tell if it's rage or something more. His mother's face flashes in his mind—her tired smile, her cracked lips whispering his name. He won't let Kael taint that.
Ash muttering, clutching the scarf. "He's wrong, Mom. You weren't worthless. You were strong. You kept us going. I'll show him. Midnight… I'll make him sorry.
A passerby tosses a half-rotten apple into his bowl, startling him. The market hums, oblivious to his burning resolve. He glances at the sky—hours until midnight. He needs a plan, a way to face Kael without dying.
He needs it fast.