The wind always woke Elias before the bell.
It slipped through the cracked stones of the orphanage like a thief, carrying the smell of rust and wet ash from the ruined city beyond. The old world still stood around them in pieces—broken towers clawing at the gray sky, bridges that led nowhere, streets swallowed by weeds and bones. Civilization had not ended with a scream. It had ended with silence… and then hunger.
Elias opened his eyes to the dim ceiling above him. The roof had once been painted with angels. Now their faces had peeled away, leaving only hollow shapes staring down at rows of thin blankets and thinner children.
"Up," Kael muttered from the other side of the room, already sitting upright. His dark hair fell into his eyes, and there was always something sharp in his gaze, like a blade that had never been sheathed. "If we're late, the big ones will take everything."
Liora was already on her feet. She moved quietly, but her presence carried weight—broad-shouldered and steady, her hair tied back with a strip of cloth scavenged years ago. She glanced at Elias and gave a small nod, the kind of nod that said she'd have his back, no matter what.
Elias sat up slowly. In this world, speed meant survival, but calm meant control. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, listening to the creaks of the old orphanage. Somewhere in the shadows, rats scuttled across the floor. Hunger gnawed faintly at his stomach.
Outside, the bell rang—three hollow strikes of iron against iron. Breakfast.
The children poured into the hall like a flood of bones and elbows. The hall had once been a chapel; the stained glass windows were long gone, replaced by planks of wood that rattled in the wind. Two baskets of hard bread sat on the long table at the center.
Not enough.
The first shove came before anyone spoke. A boy lunged forward, grabbed a loaf, and another tackled him. Bread hit the floor. A girl screamed. Someone kicked. Someone bit.
Hunger stripped manners faster than war ever could.
Elias watched for a breath, then another. Long enough to understand the pattern. The bigger kids would overpower the smaller ones. The smaller ones would cry. By midday, the weak would be too exhausted to work.
"This is stupid," Kael growled, already stepping forward with fists clenched.
"Wait," Elias said sharply. Liora glanced back at him. She trusted his thinking the way he trusted her fists.
Another loaf fell. A small boy—Tarin—curled over it protectively as someone tried to pry it from his arms.
Elias moved. He didn't shout. He climbed onto the bench and kicked an empty metal bowl beside him. The clang rang louder than the bell.
"Stop!" he yelled.
They didn't.
So he did something else. He jumped down and stepped directly into the fight, grabbing a loaf and holding it above his head.
Kael seized the moment. He shoved two older boys apart and planted himself between them, jaw tight. Liora pulled Tarin to his feet, gently wiping blood from the boy's lip.
Elias tore the loaf in his hands into smaller pieces. He handed them out with careful precision, checking each child's face for panic or anger. The bigger kids resisted at first, but they yielded when Kael subtly cracked a knuckle in warning.
The bread was divided. Not fair. Not enough. But no one left empty-handed.
When breakfast ended, Elias, Liora, Kael, and three of the bigger boys slipped out the back of the orphanage.
The city greeted them like a graveyard pretending to be alive. Ruined buildings leaned against each other for support. Old metal carriages lay rusted in the streets. Vines crawled over statues of forgotten heroes. Somewhere in the distance, something howled—a sound too low to be a wolf.
"Keep your eyes open," Liora whispered, stepping over a broken shard of glass. "Don't make a sound if someone's watching."
Elias glanced at her. "Do you think anyone will interfere?"
Liora snorted. "Interfere? In this city? We'd be lucky if they just ignored us."
Kael trailed behind, scanning the alleyways. "I don't like this quiet," he muttered. "Quiet means someone's hunting us."
They moved carefully, slipping into the trading quarter. Merchants from outer settlements sometimes passed through, selling dried meat, cloth, and scraps of ancient technology scavenged from deeper ruins. Where there was trade, there were pockets to pick.
Elias brushed past a trader, fingers light, lifting a small pouch from a loose belt. Kael snatched a strip of dried meat from an unattended crate. One of the bigger boys grabbed a coil of thin rope.
"Don't slow down," Liora warned. "We're easy targets if we linger."
It was going well.
Too well.
Elias felt it before he saw it—the shift in the air, like a held breath. A man stood at the edge of the square, watching them. His eyes were wrong. Too bright. Too aware. Rogue system-user.
Elias didn't hesitate. He pulled Kael and Liora aside.
The man's gaze locked onto Liora.
"You little rats," he called softly.
The crowd thinned. People backed away. No one interfered in system matters.
Elias's heart pounded. Liora turned to them.
"Go," she said, her voice calm, but her eyes burning. "I'll stop him at the corner."
Elias and Kael hesitated, but she didn't wait. She disappeared into the alley, crouching at the corner.
Seconds later, the man appeared, gliding toward her with unnatural speed. She waited, brick in hand.
"Run the moment I strike," she whispered.
He lunged first. She swung the brick, aiming for his head—but he blocked effortlessly, faster than she expected. The next instant, he countered, hitting her square in the chest. She flew back, skidding across the cobblestones, pain bursting in her ribs. Her head spun, blood trickling from a split lip, and two teeth fell to the ground.
She hit the wall, struggled to rise. Her body ached, but she forced herself up, fists raised.
Then his eyes locked on hers. Pain exploded through her skull. Memories of her family dying flashed in her mind. She screamed and fell to her knees, clutching her head.
"What happened to your little rat? Did you see a nightmare?" he whispered with a cruel smile.
Liora couldn't move. She could barely breathe, let alone fight. But as he stepped closer, she gritted her teeth and lunged, pressing a shard of broken glass to his neck.
His hand shot out, stopping the blade just in time. Blood ran from a cut on his palm. Liora's hand was cut as well, red and slick, but she smiled at him through the pain.
"What big loser? Did you see a nightmare?" she spat.
His frown deepened. He kicked her hard, sending her flying against a wall.
"I've been easy on you. It's time to finish this comedy," he said, advancing.
Liora tried to kick, but he dodged effortlessly, catching her by the neck in one swift motion.
"You little rat. Feel any regret before dying? Maybe you should have stayed away from our market?" he sneered.
She spat blood on his face, grinning through the pain. "That's the only thing I feel now."
Suddenly, his movements faltered. Dizziness hit him like a hammer. Liora twisted free, dropping to the ground but springing back up immediately.
From behind, Elias and Kael appeared, bats raised. Elias swung with everything he had, smashing the man across the back of the head. The rogue system-user fell forward, stunned.
The other three kids rushed in, armed with bats and broken glass. Like a pack of wild dogs, they swarmed him.
Blood flew. Pain exploded in every arm and leg. Every strike carried the weight of fear, rage, and survival instincts honed in the cruel orphanage streets.
The rogue system-user struggled, but the children attacked as one. They did not hold back. Every hit counted. Every movement was precise, practiced, instinctive.
Finally, he collapsed, pinned and battered, unable to rise. Liora leaned against the wall, chest heaving, blood running from multiple cuts. Elias and Kael stood nearby, bruised but alive.
They had survived. Not through luck. Not through words. But through courage, instinct, and refusing to give in.
Above them, the ruined towers cast long shadows. Somewhere in the distance, a faint hum vibrated through the city—a reminder of the ancient world that had been.
Elias clutched Liora's shoulder. Kael wiped blood from his own face. They didn't need words. The alley told the story of their victory, their unity, and their defiance.
In a world that had tried to break them, they had survived.