Behind the ruins of the old building, the silence was almost deafening. Only the sound of the wind brushing past and Alaric's own heartbeat seemed to fill the space. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his thoughts after the narrow escape that had nearly gotten him caught.

The night felt old and heavy. The dim streetlights dangling above glowed like artificial stars, their reflections dancing in the puddles left on the asphalt. Alaric walked without direction, his steps aimless. He should've been far from here by now, tucked away in safety, hiding the item that had almost led to his capture. But somehow, his body refused to go home. There was something in his chest that felt heavy. Unfinished. As if something still needed to be resolved.

He stopped beneath a shop sign that was just about to be turned off, rubbing his face that felt stiff from the cold. "I could just go home now," he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else. "But why does it feel... like something's wrong? What am I missing?"

He sighed and took a few more steps down the street. At the far end, a small food stall still had its lights on. Alaric decided to check it out. The smell of broth and freshly baked bread drifted toward him where he stood. Only then did his stomach start to protest, growling loudly like it had just remembered to complain.

"Alright… food first," he said quietly, patting his stomach with a dry smile.

The stall had faded menu posters plastered all over the walls. The clatter of pots and spatulas gave the place a sense of quiet life. Peaceful and ordinary, in sharp contrast to the chaos he had just escaped hours ago. Alaric ordered a bowl of hot noodles and a glass of tea, then took a seat on a long wooden bench outside. From there, he could watch people passing by.

When the bowl arrived in the hands of the stall owner, steam rose to greet his face. He blew on it briefly before sipping the broth. Its warmth washed away some of the exhaustion clinging to him. The first few spoonfuls were comforting.

But something about the world around him felt… off. A young couple sat nearby, laughing and sharing a drink. An old man pushed a cart down the street. A group of tired-looking workers trudged home, their faces weary. Life outside seemed to go on as normal, completely oblivious to the huge secret Alaric had uncovered that very night.

He kept eating, faster now, avoiding eye contact with anyone. It was as if he was trying to swallow the weight in his mind. Trying to force his brain to stop thinking. No systems, no secrets, no chase. Just hot noodles, a wooden table, and a night that was slowly beginning to soothe.

But his heart wouldn't settle. A small voice in his mind kept whispering, "You can't stop here, Alaric. You need to find out what they're really hiding."

He stared blankly at the road, watching the occasional flicker of car lights reflected in puddles. Each beam seemed to carry new questions, none of which had answers. He exhaled deeply, ran a hand through his hair, and muttered under his breath, "How am I even supposed to begin?"

His hand pressed against his stomach again. The hunger was gone, but the unrest remained. He even let out a small, bitter laugh, mocking his own lack of foresight. "Brilliant, Alaric," he said quietly. "You managed to escape, but you have no idea what to do next."

He leaned back against the cold wall behind him, eyes fixed on the last drops of rainwater falling into his bowl. He didn't move, just stared, sipping the remainder of his now lukewarm tea.

Just as he was about to close his eyes, a bench beside him scraped against the pavement. A boy sat down. No older than ten or eleven, wrapped in a thick jacket, a small bag clutched in his hands. He didn't say a word, just sat there silently, his wide, clear eyes locked onto Alaric.

The stare made Alaric slightly uneasy. He tried to continue eating, but the boy's gaze didn't waver. There was something in those eyes. Something far too knowing for a child that age.

Alaric paused mid-bite, glancing sideways. "What is it?" he asked, his voice low but calm. The boy didn't answer, just kept watching him with that same unblinking gaze like he was reading something behind Alaric's face.

It was strange and oddly unsettling. Alaric raised an eyebrow, waiting for a response, but the boy remained silent. The air between them felt heavy, frozen in place. Only the distant hum of traffic gave the moment any movement.

Eventually, Alaric turned his head slowly and looked directly at the boy, his expression cautious but filled with unspoken questions. In his mind, a thought surfaced: "Who is this kid… and why does it feel like he knows something?"

The boy shifted, then stood up and walked a few steps away, sitting on a large rock nearby. They both stayed silent for a while, as if deciding whether to speak or let the silence say enough. But then, unexpectedly, the boy spoke. In a flat, almost adult tone, like someone delivering a reminder.

"Why do you keep hiding and waiting… when you know you're capable of ending this?"

Alaric turned to him slowly, holding his gaze, trying to grasp the meaning behind those words. The tone wasn't one of curiosity. There was no fear in the boy's eyes. If anything, they were shar... cutting through Alaric like they were measuring his resolve.

"What do you mean?" Alaric finally asked, voice steady. He wasn't angry, just curious.

The boy looked down, grabbed a handful of dirt, and let it fall between his fingers. The faint sound of the dust landing on the pavement filled the space between them. After a few moments, he sighed, then stood up again... this time more suddenly.

"You should've fought back," he said, this time louder.

Alaric straightened up, surprised by the sudden shift in tone. "Fought back against what?" he asked, brow furrowed.

"Against what they did to you!" the boy shouted, fists clenched, his voice burning with quiet fury. "Or at the very least... stand up for the ones who can't fight. Stop wasting time."

The words came fast, but each syllable landed like a punch. Alaric didn't speak. He just stared at the boy, unsure what to make of it. In his mind, more questions spiraled. "Who is this kid? How does he know about them?"

"This kid... is strange," Alaric muttered under his breath. He glanced around. The world seemed to pause. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath, listening in on their exchange.

Suddenly, the boy turned to face him with purpose. From his pocket, he pulled something out. A pendant shaped like a shark, made of aged metal that caught the soft evening light. He held it out toward Alaric.

"Take this. For you... to fight back."

Alaric eyed the object, his thoughts a swirl of confusion and suspicion. Slowly, he reached out and took the pendant, his fingers brushing the boy's cold, stone-like hand. As soon as the object changed hands, something strange rippled through his palm. An unfamiliar energy.

"You think this thing can help me?" Alaric asked, turning the pendant in his hand. "How?"

But the boy simply turned away, his gaze fixed on the trees across the street. "Figure it out yourself," he said flatly. "Stop asking so many questions."

Then he walked away. Not running. Not rushing. But somehow, his steps faded faster than they should have. When Alaric glanced again, the boy was already gone.

Alaric scratched the back of his neck. "Weird kid," he muttered. But his eyes were still locked on the shark pendant in his hand. The world, it seemed, was ready to play games with him once more.