Ben's junior high school graduation day arrived without any fanfare. There were no large banners, no family photos with wide smiles, no congratulations echoing through his yard. Everything was as usual—too ordinary. He stood in the line of high-achieving students, receiving the blue folder containing his graduation results with a blank expression. Applause rang out, but to him it was just a passing sound.
As before, he remained one of the top students in school. His name was called proudly by the principal, and some teachers even patted him on the shoulder hopefully. However, there was no small party at home. No simple cake. Even the congratulations from the villagers sounded bland—as if his achievement were simply a "meaningful" occurrence.
For Ben, academic achievement wasn't about pride. It was merely a tool. A tool to silence the cynical whispers that had been following his progress. A tool to prove that he wasn't as lowly as they thought. That a village boy, a child from a humble family, could stand on equal footing—even surpass.
That afternoon, after the graduation ceremony, Ben sat on the side of the road with Saddam. They enjoyed warm fried food and sweet iced tea from the small stall they usually frequented after school. The road dust swirled gently in the breeze, and the sun was beginning to set in the west.
"So… where do you want to go?" Saddam asked, taking a bite of bakwan (a fried meatball), his voice casual but his eyes full of curiosity.
Ben shrugged. "To a public high school in the sub-district town. The important thing is it's cheap and you can work while you're at it."
Saddam smiled faintly. "You're weird, Ben. Other people are thinking about how to relax after graduation. You're thinking about working again."
Ben stared straight ahead at the deserted street. "If I quit now, everything I've done so far will be in vain. I don't want to be just another story of 'the smart kid who ended up just so-so.'"
Saddam paused for a moment, then nodded slowly. They ate in silence again, each lost in their own thoughts. Beneath the lighthearted conversation, there was an unspoken feeling—as if the future was beginning to pull them in different directions.
But the small happiness of that afternoon was short-lived. When it was time to enter high school, Ben returned to his old routine without complaint. In the mornings before school, he helped collect fallen coconuts in the neighbor's garden for extra money. After school, he helped harvest the fields. In the evenings, he worked in Mr. Darto's small workshop—cleaning oil, holding lamps while machines were being repaired, or simply sweeping the floor covered in metal scraps.
His body was tired, but his mind remained sharp. He knew every drop of sweat was part of his own struggle.
One afternoon, as Ben sat in front of the workshop cleaning his hands with a shabby cloth, he saw Saddam walking toward him. His steps were slow. His face wasn't his usual relaxed smile—nothing of the easygoing smile he usually carried.
"Saddam? Why do you look like you lost a bet?" Ben joked, trying to lighten the mood.
Saddam didn't answer immediately. He sat beside Ben, staring at the road for a few seconds before finally speaking.
"Ben... I have to move."
Ben's hand stopped moving.
"What do you mean?"
"I'm going to continue my studies outside the city. With my relatives. They say there are better opportunities there." His voice was heavy, as if every word took effort to come out.
The afternoon breeze blew softly, carrying the scent of oil and wet earth. For a moment, all that could be heard was the sound of passing motorcycles.
"So soon?" Ben finally asked.
"Next week."
The answer felt like an invisible blow. After Akhir's departure, Saddam was the only friend who truly understood his thoughts. The only one who knew about his big dreams without finding them strange.
"Good," Ben finally said, forcing a faint smile. "You should take this chance."
Saddam turned, staring at him sharply. "And you? You'll be alone again."
Ben sighed softly. "I'm used to it."
But deep down, he knew—loneliness wasn't something you could truly get used to. It could only be accepted.
The sun slowly set behind the trees. The two friends sat side by side in silence, realizing that life had separated them once again. And once again, Ben would have to walk alone into the next chapter of his life.
After Saddam's departure, Ben's life felt even lonelier. There were no more afternoon conversations on the side of the road, no more quick jokes to break the tiredness after work. He immersed himself in routine. School from morning to afternoon, helping out in the afternoon outside the village, and odd jobs at night to earn extra money. Being busy became his way of dispelling the feeling of loss.
But amidst that routine, something new slowly entered his life: the internet.
In the district where he worked, stood a small internet cafe with a faded sign. The neon lights inside flickered dimly, and the sound of a fan...
The old wind swirled lazily, and rows of tube computers were tightly packed in the cramped room. At first, Ben just passed by, peering out curiously. He often saw kids his age laughing in front of the screens, their fingers moving quickly over the keyboards.
One afternoon, after receiving his wages from the repair shop, Ben ventured inside.
It was the first time he had ever sat in front of a computer screen, connected to a limitless world.
At first, he only learned the basics. How to create an email address. How to search for information using a search engine. He typed in simple questions: "how to be successful," "how to make money online," "school scholarships," "learn basic computer skills." Each answer that came up made his eyes sparkle. The world was much bigger than the small village where he grew up.
Then he discovered social media. He saw people flaunting seemingly perfect lives—vacation photos, new motorcycles, expensive clothes. He read the comments, saw the number of followers, and understood that popularity could be built from just a small screen.
Then he tried online games. The competitive virtual world made his blood boil. He learned about levels, strategies, teamwork, even digital transactions for purchasing items. He began to understand the concepts of top-ups, digital balances, and virtual accounts. It all felt like a neat system—and one that could be learned.
But one other thing caught his attention more than anything else.
Flashy advertisements promising instant money.
Brightly colored banners with large letters:
"Win millions with just one click!"
"Small capital, big results!"
"Genuine proof of transfer!"
At first, Ben just stared at them curiously. Then he opened one of the sites. The colorful display, spinning animations, rapidly moving winning numbers. There were testimonials from people who claimed their lives changed overnight.
Ben's heart beat faster.
"If this is true… then I don't have to tire myself out doing this," he muttered to himself.
He began to read how the game worked. About deposits, bets, odds, and winnings. The system seemed simple. Too simple, in fact. Just register, deposit money, and then choose a game.
His mind began to play with the logic he had constructed.
He had always worked hard for every penny. But the internet seemed to offer a shortcut. For the first time, he felt like he'd found a loophole in his destiny.
"This might be my chance," he thought.
"Maybe this is God's way of making my life change faster."
That confidence grew not from understanding, but from hope.
The problem was, he didn't have a personal bank account. The site requested a transfer to an account in his own name. Without much thought, Ben searched for information on how to open one. He went to the bank in the sub-district town, dressed simply and with a determined expression. His hands trembled slightly as he filled out the form.
The bank officer explained the procedure kindly, while Ben nodded, though part of his mind was already preoccupied with visions of a big win.
When the passbook was finally in his hands, he felt like he held the key to a different future. A tool to "speed up" his life.
That night, in a stuffy internet cafe booth, he made his first deposit.
It was a small amount, the money he'd earned over the past few days.
The screen displayed a spinning animation, and the sound of a small win sounded. His balance briefly increased slightly. A faint smile appeared on his face.
"See... I can do it," he whispered softly.
In his mind, this wasn't gambling. It was strategy. It was opportunity. It was fate finally on his side after so much testing.
He didn't realize that what he thought was a doorway to opportunity... was actually the first door to a slow, silent, and merciless destruction.
Without realizing it, the internet was the beginning of his downfall. His initially exploratory interest slowly transformed into a binding obsession. Where once he'd only visited internet cafes for an hour or two to search for information, now he could sit for hours without realizing the time had passed. The money he earned that should have been saved or given home was slowly being used up to pay for the internet cafe booth.
He discovered online games, and Point Blank became an addiction that destroyed his focus. The thrill of shooting, climbing the ranks, and defeating other players gave him a sense of instant victory he couldn't get in the real world. Every time his name appeared on the scoreboard, a sense of satisfaction made his chest flutter—as if he'd once again become "the best," just like when his name was called at his graduation ceremony.
But games weren't the only trap.
In between games, he saw advertisements for the online gambling sites he'd tried before. This time, he had no doubts. He already had an account. He knew how to deposit. Initially, he only had a small amount left after playing. Then, when he lost, he...
He felt compelled to recoup his losses. When he won a small amount, he felt like luck was on his side.
"Just one more time," he muttered almost every night.
"If I win big, I'll quit."
His once-regular days changed drastically. He began spending more time at the internet cafe than at school or work. Staying up late into the morning became a habit. Cigarette smoke from the neighboring booth, the incessant clicks of the mouse, and the piercing glare of the screen became part of his life.
When the sun rose, he was still sitting in the same plastic chair.
While his friends were getting ready for school, Ben walked home, his eyes red and his body weak. He tried to go to class several times, but his head felt heavy and his vision blurry. In the end, he opted to skip class. "I'll just go in tomorrow," he thought. The same thing happened again and again, until it became a habit.
Day by day, his addiction worsened. He became close to the regulars of the internet cafe—young people who were equally immersed in online games and gambling. They laughed loudly when they won, cursed when they lost, and then repeated the process endlessly. Among them, Ben felt accepted. No one judged his background. No one talked about his past. All he cared about was levels, ranks, and victories.
Slowly, his dreams faded.
He no longer opened his textbooks. He no longer talked about the future. The promises he had made at his grandmother's grave—that he would succeed, that he would prove something—began to feel distant and vague.
He hadn't been to that grave in a long time.
The real world felt slow and boring. The screen world felt fast and promising. There, he could be anyone. There, he could win without having to lift a coconut or clean up oil.
Finally, the first semester ended.
Ben received a warning letter from school for his poor attendance. The official handwriting, stamped with the school stamp, felt cold in his hands. The school even sent a summons to his parents.
He stared at the letter for a few seconds.
Then he let out a dry chuckle.
"What's a letter like this?" he muttered to himself. "School won't change my life."
Without hesitation, he tore the letter to pieces. He threw the paper into the trash near the internet cafe. He even burned some of it behind the building, watching it blacken and warp in the flames.
There was no guilt. No regrets.
There was only a stubbornness that grew stronger.
He felt like school no longer mattered. Grades were no longer a priority. All he wanted was quick money from online gambling, winning games, and freedom without rules. He convinced himself he was choosing his own path—one that no one else understood.
Yet, without realizing it, every small decision was pulling him further away from the determined, dreamy version of himself.
At the internet cafe, amidst the sound of virtual gunfire and the players' boisterous laughter, Ben met someone named Eddi.
Their meeting was anything but ordinary.
That night, Ben lost big at online gambling. His account balance was wiped out in a matter of minutes. His hands were shaking, his breathing heavy. He stared at the blank screen with a mixture of anger and despair. The money he had worked so hard for so long was gone.
"You've only played so much and you're already gone?" a deep voice came from behind him.
Ben turned around. A young man leaned against the wall, wearing a shabby black jacket, his hair a little long and unruly. His gaze was sharp, but calm—as if he'd seen worse things than just losing at gambling.
"Just having a bad day," Ben replied curtly.
The young man chuckled. "Not bad. You don't understand how the game works yet."
Ben frowned. "Do you understand?"
"My name is Eddi," he said, pulling up a chair and sitting next to Ben without being asked. "If you just want to play for fun, go ahead. But if you want to recoup your investment… there's a way."
That was the beginning.
Eddi was known in the internet cafe as a street kid with many "acquaintances." No one knew for sure who his parents were. He moved around—sometimes in an abandoned house, sometimes staying with friends. But one thing was clear: people respected him. Even the internet cafe attendant rarely dared to reprimand him if Eddi made a fuss or didn't pay on time.
Ben was drawn to the way he spoke—calm, confident, and unhesitant.
A few days after that meeting, Ben lost again and looked upset. Eddi approached him again.
"You keep playing without thinking," Eddi said.
"Then what should we do?" Ben replied.
"If you want money fast, don't just rely on luck."
Ben fell silent. "What do you mean?"
Eddi grinned faintly. "Sometimes, the money doesn't come from games."
From that night on, they began sitting together more often. At first, they just shared cigarettes. Eddi offered one to Ben.
"Just try it. It'll take the edge off your head."
Ben hesitated for a few seconds. He remembered how much he used to hate the smell of cigarettes. But that night, for some reason, he accepted it. The first puff made him cough loudly. Eddi
Laughing.
"Slowly. It all starts like that."
Their closeness grew quickly because of one thing in common: they both felt the world was against them.
But Eddi's world was much darker.
Ben gradually began to discover a different side of his friend. Eddi often "took care of" people with small debts at internet cafes. Sometimes he brokered the sale of cell phones without proper documentation. Several times he disappeared overnight, only to return with a substantial amount of money without a clear explanation.
One night, Ben witnessed something that left him speechless.
A high school student in uniform came into the internet cafe, his face panicked. He had lost online gambling and owed someone money. Eddi stood before him, his voice low but threatening.
"I don't care what your excuse is," Eddi said quietly. "The money will be here tomorrow afternoon. If not… well, you know for yourself."
Eddi's gaze was cold. He didn't shout, he didn't hit. That was precisely what made him even more frightening.
After the boy left, Ben asked quietly, "What are you really doing?"
Eddi stared at him blankly. "Only help people who can't collect their own debts. This world is tough, Ben. If you don't have the courage, you'll get stepped on."
Those words stuck in Ben's head.
Slowly, he began to accompany Eddi to various places—delivering messages, accompanying him to meetings, even once or twice standing behind Eddi while he "negotiated." Ben didn't do anything, just standing there. But his presence was enough to create pressure.
At the same time, Ben began to feel ashamed of his former work as a coconut harvester and farm laborer. Every time he looked at his rough, scarred hands, he remembered how Eddi always brought in money without breaking a sweat in the sun.
"It's so tiring being a coolie," Ben muttered one night.
Eddi looked at him. "That's why you shouldn't be a coolie."
It was a simple sentence, but it shook him.
The only job he still kept was the repair shop—and even that was just to keep him earning legitimate money. The money never fully reached home. Most of it was spent on cigarettes, games, and online gambling. The rest disappeared who knows where.
Ben felt like he was moving up a level in his life—bolder, freer, more "grown-up." He no longer felt as small as he used to. With Eddi, he felt like he had a place. He had power.
But without realizing it, he was stepping further into territory beyond mere screen games or small bets. The world Eddi was entering wasn't one that warned him before destroying him.
And Ben… was standing right on the edge.
Not only that, his relationship with his family had also deteriorated drastically. The house that once felt cramped yet warm now felt like a prison to him. He came home less and less. When he did, it was only to shower, change clothes, and then leave again without a word.
His father began to notice the changes. Ben's gaze was no longer the same. His speech was harsh. The smell of cigarettes lingered on his clothes. The money he had always sent home was now unknown.
One night, when Ben returned home after midnight, his steps heavy and his eyes red, his father was waiting in the living room. Only one light was on, casting long shadows on the walls.
"Where have you been?" his father asked quietly but firmly.
"Outside," Ben replied curtly, about to enter the room.
"Stop." His father's voice was louder this time. "You think I don't know you're skipping school? The school sent a letter. You never told me!"
Ben stopped. His jaw clenched.
"That's none of my business."
"None of my business?" The old man's voice trembled. "I'm your parent! I work hard so you can go to school! So you can have a better life than I do!"
Ben turned around, the anger he'd been suppressing exploding.
"Better? Better like what? A lifelong laborer? Someone who only orders people around without understanding the world today?"
His father glared at him. "What world are you talking about? Internet cafes? Gambling? Those thugs?"
The word "thugs" inflamed Ben.
"Stay out of this!" he snapped.
"I just want you to get back on the right path!" his father shouted, raising his voice like that for the first time.
In an uncontrollable outburst, Ben pushed away his father's hand that was trying to restrain him. The push was too strong. His father's body staggered and fell against a wooden chair.
The silence was broken by the sound of something falling.
Ben was silent for a split second, but his ego was greater than his guilt.
"I'm an adult!" he shouted in a voice filled with hatred. "I can make my own money! I don't need your advice!"
His father slowly rose to his feet, his face pale. There was no anger there—only hurt. His eyes, once filled with determination, were now filled with tears.
"You're not like this, Ben…" he said softly.
That's when Hana—his cousin—ran out of the room. The Hana he had once protected so desperately when they were children. The Hana who had once cowered and hid behind him as a drunken man tried to drag her into the back garden.
"Ben, "Stop!" Hana shouted, standing between them. "What are you doing?! That's your father!"
"Stay out of it!" Ben snapped.
"You've changed! This isn't you!" Hana's voice cracked, almost crying.
Ben, overcome with emotion, pushed her out of the way. The push sent her crashing to the floor. Her body hit the ground hard.
"Ben!" she screamed in pain.
But Ben didn't stop.
"You damned woman!" he snapped harshly. "You know that without me, you'd be ruined! Don't act all holy in front of me!"
Hana froze. Her face was pale.
"You're bringing that up now?" her voice trembled. "I never asked you to be a hero so you can keep insulting me!"
Ben laughed sarcastically. "Don't feel so right! I'm always the one standing at the front when everyone else runs away!"
Hana's tears fell freely. "And that's no excuse for you to be a monster!"
Those words silenced the room once more.
Monster.
His father stared at Ben with an expression more hurt than anger. Deep disappointment.
Ben saw his father's tears fall. He saw Hana still sitting on the floor. But his heart was already filled with hatred and blinding ego.
Without another word, he entered his room, roughly grabbing his bag, and stuffing it with the few clothes he had. As he stepped out of the house, his father stood there silently.
"If you leave tonight," his father said quietly, "don't blame anyone if your life gets even darker."
Ben paused for a moment in the doorway.
But he didn't turn around.
The door slammed shut.
He walked away from the house that had once been his only home. Behind him, suppressed tears broke out in the silence of the night.
And for the first time, Ben truly chose to leave his family—not because of circumstances, but because of his own decision.
Two weeks passed since that night. Ben never returned home. No news. No message. It was as if the house was no longer his home.
At home, his father and mother lived in anxiety. Every sound of a car passing by made his father turn around. His mother woke several times in the middle of the night, hoping to hear the door open softly like before. But all there was was silence.
Finally, with heavy hearts, they decided to go to the auto repair shop where he worked to find Ben.
That afternoon, the shop was bustling with activity. The sound of an air compressor hissed loudly. The clanking of metal and bolts clashed. The smell of oil, gasoline, and exhaust fumes mingled in the air. An old sedan was being lifted with a hydraulic jack, while Ben stood underneath, unscrewing the engine oil pan with his black, stained hands.
The repair shop owner watched Two parents stood hesitantly in front of the door.
"Who are you looking for, sir?" he asked.
"We're… looking for Ben. He works here," his father replied quietly.
A few seconds later, Ben climbed out from under the car, his body dirty, his shirt covered in black stains. When he saw his parents standing there, his face immediately hardened.
"Dad? Mom? What are you doing here?"
Several other mechanics glanced at each other. The atmosphere in the workshop was starting to feel awkward.
His father stepped closer slowly. "Son… go home."
Ben wiped his hands with a rag, his movements rough. "I'm working."
"We won't be long," his mother replied, her voice trembling. "We just want to talk."
His father took a deep breath. "If you want to go back to school, we'll move. Wherever you want. Any city. The best school I can find. I'll try. As long as you stop living like this."
Ben let out a short, sarcastic laugh. "Like this? What do you mean?"
"You rarely come home. You skip school. You've changed," his father answered honestly. "I'm afraid you've fallen into the wrong crowd."
"Bad company?" Ben's voice began to rise. "It's work, Dad. Work! I make money from it!"
His father looked at Ben's hands, black with oil. "Work isn't the problem. It's your life now… you've drifted away from your family. From school. From your dreams."
"Dreams?" Ben approached, his voice beginning to be heard by everyone in the workshop. "Dreams don't fill your stomach! Money does!"
His mother fought back tears. "We just want you to be safe, son…"
"I don't need saving!" Ben snapped loudly.
The sound of the compressor turning off. All eyes were now on them.
His father remained calm. "Ben… I never forbade you from working. But education is important. Don't throw away your future."
"My future is my business!" Ben shouted. "I don't need school! I can earn my own money! Stop interfering in my life!"
The atmosphere in the workshop froze.
His father stared at him for a long moment. His face wasn't angry—just broken.
"Money can run out, son," he said quietly. "But if you lose your way... you'll lose everything."
Ben kicked a nearby empty oil can, causing it to roll and hit a car tire. The sound echoed loudly off the cement floor.
"I know what I'm doing!"
His mother finally burst into tears. "We just want you to come home... to eat together like we used to. That's all."
Ben looked away, his jaw clenched.
"I'm busy."
Those two words felt sharper than the previous shout.
Father Ben took a deep breath, then nodded slowly. "Okay. I won't force you. But remember... the house is still your house. We never lock the door for you."
Ben didn't answer.
He simply turned, grabbed the lug wrench, and returned to the car he was repairing. As if his parents were just customers interrupting his work hours.
His father and mother walked out of the workshop slowly. No one dared to make a sound. Even the engine's sound was quieter than usual.
Ben pretended to focus on tightening the bolts. But his hands were shaking slightly.
But once again, he suppressed the feeling deeply.
He chose to remain standing on the path that was taking him further and further away from home.
His father fell silent again, this time not because he didn't have an answer—but because he was afraid. Ben's cold, defiant gaze made his chest tighten. It was like seeing a stranger standing before him, not the child he had held as a child.
"I'm just afraid you'll make a mistake..." he said softly one last time.
Ben didn't answer. He simply stared at him with a clenched jaw.
His father lowered his head. His hands were trembling slightly. He was at a loss for words. Heartbroken, he could only nod slowly, then turned to leave the workshop. His steps were heavy, his once-strong shoulders now slumped. His mother followed behind, occasionally glancing at Ben with puffy eyes.
Everyone in the workshop watched in silence.
One of the senior mechanics whispered softly, "Are those his parents?"
Ben snorted. "None of your business."
The workshop owner finally approached. "Ben… you shouldn't have yelled at parents like that. They're just worried."
Ben glared at him. "If you don't like it, I can leave."
"Don't misunderstand—"
"I said I can leave."
The atmosphere heated up. Ben kicked a plastic chair, knocking it over. The loud bang bounced off the workshop walls. Several workers tried to calm him down, but Ben was already seething with anger.
"Enough! If you want to quit, just quit!" the workshop owner finally said, exasperated.
Without thinking, Ben took off his work gloves and threw them to the floor. "Just pretend I never worked here."
He walked out without looking back. The smell of oil and the sound of engines that had once been a part of his life had now been left behind.
________________________________________
That night he returned to the internet cafe. Eddi sat in the corner as usual, surrounded by two other men who looked older and rougher in appearance.
"You look disheveled," Eddi said, handing him a cigarette.
"I left the repair shop," Ben replied dryly.
Eddi smiled faintly. "Finally. The world is too small for you."
From then on, Ben was completely immersed.
At first, it was just small things.
At the night market, Eddi taught him how to read the situation.
"See that wallet in your back pocket?" Eddi whispered. "People like that won't notice."
Ben hesitated for a moment. "What if they get caught?"
"Don't get caught."
The first night, Ben's hands trembled as he touched a stranger's wallet. His heart pounded, his palms damp with sweat. But when the wallet successfully changed hands without its owner noticing, he felt a strange sensation—a mixture of fear and pride.
"You're a fast learner," Eddi said with a soft laugh.
The pickpocketed money was spent that night—on online gambling, games, and cigarettes.
A few weeks later, their activities escalated.
They began stealing helmets in parking lots, taking car mirrors, and even dismantling the batteries of vehicles parked in quiet alleys. Ben was no longer trembling. In fact, he began to enjoy the tension.
One night, Eddi said seriously, "We need more money. This little method is taking too long."
"What do you mean?" Ben asked.
Eddi stared at him intently. "An empty house at the end of the village. The owner works out of town. I've noticed."
Ben remained silent. There was a fine line he was about to cross.
"Scared?" one of the gang members taunted.
Ben shook his head slowly. "No."
That night, they climbed over the back fence. The wooden window was pried open with a screwdriver. The sound of cracking wood rang out softly in the stillness of the night.
Inside the house, Ben stood in the dark living room, breathing heavily. He opened a drawer, took out his savings and a few small valuables. His hands now moved without hesitation.
Suddenly, a loud barking dog was heard from outside.
"Hurry!" Eddi whispered sharply.
They ran outside, jumping over the fence, disappearing into the darkness. In the distance, the lights of the neighbors' houses began to come on.
As they stopped in a narrow alley, they laughed breathlessly.
"Crazy… that was close," Ben said, his breath still ragged.
Eddi patted him on the shoulder. "You're one of us now."
And it was true.
Night after night, Ben led an increasingly dark life. He slept in different places—sometimes in internet cafes, sometimes in abandoned houses, sometimes on shop fronts with his gang. Every day was the same cycle: stealing, getting money, playing games, gambling online, then spending it all.
Once, when their gambling winnings ran out and they needed money fast, one of the gang members beat a teenager who g refused to hand over his phone. Ben stood there. He didn't stop him. He didn't help. He just watched silently.
His silence was enough of an agreement.
He felt free. No rules. No advice. No responsibilities. Just the night, quick money, and the thrill of adrenaline.
But that freedom was empty.
The Ben who had once had high aspirations, who had worked hard and studied late, was gone. No more young man standing proud at graduation. No more promises at his grandmother's grave.
All that remained was a young man growing accustomed to the darkness.
And every step he took took him further from the light—sinking deeper into the abyss that now felt like home.