WARNING: CHAPTER MAY CONTAIN GRAPHIC CONTENT THAT A READER MAY FIND DISTURBING. READ IN YOUR OWN DISCRETION. (If you're not comfortable, you can always skip this chapter.)
Patriargë is long fallen.
Yael, at the rough age of five, was left into a makeshift dwelling—a simple house made of worn-out tent and wood as its foundation—abandoned by its inhabitants. In Yael's dwelling, there wasn't anything but a dirty mat for a bed, a basket filled with nothing—not even a single morsel, and tattered clothes.
Yael's life was tough; being a child alone in a worn-out tent. But the slums were jam-packed with people living with bivouacs stitched up together. He was able to survive at the pity of the people around him; he was given scraps of food, some money, and hand-me-downs. That pity lasted for only eleven years.
At 17, Yael's life was complete hell.
