The looming presence of importance hung to the air as if a miasma; deathly quiet that spoke all too loud. The sun, in all its oppression, cast down the stench of summer upon the busy earth. Not so much as a bird's chirp could be heard upon the still waking world. Nara's tired eyes awoke to the incandescent rays of morning, as she lazily watched every wandering effigy of dust. In those groggy minutes of awakening, she could only sigh. Her thoughts, though still slow, were focused on the coming day. Her muscles cried out as she moved to stretch, and her hair - greasy from days of going without so much as a bath - lay messily around her head. She could feel the sharp pain of hunger within her gut, and the dry cracking of dehydration upon her lips. This was her reality. Utterly, hopelessly, miserable.

A groan escaped her emaciated frame as she got up from her makeshift bed upon the floor, mimicked only by the groaning of the poorly kept hardwood floor. She'd make breakfast, if only there were any food. Four months ago she'd lost her shitty part-time job at the local grocery store, and ever since it'd been hell to try and find one. Not even her little savings she did have were left, and the eviction notice on the table was proof. Today was the last day she had before she became homeless, a prospect that had terrified her since she had become independent. Nara couldn't help but let out a small chuckle at her depressing situation. Nineteen. No job. No friends. No family. And now, no home. What else could you call it but pathetic?

As she walked down the hall she could hear her neighbours having an argument through the paper thin walls. Huh, money. This time it was about money. Usually it's about whatever new fling the husband is having. The cracked vertical mirror in the hallway made her stop in her tracks. She looked like shit. Any weight she had was lost going without food so often. Her long, unkempt brown hair lay halfway down her back. She couldn't even remember the last time it was cut. And then there was the one thing she despised the most; the dull glow of her purple eyes. The one thing that marked her as different. An Argamon.

She didn't know much about the nature of her "condition", except that they were often feared as "sorcerers" or "heretics". 'Bullshit.' was the only word that came to mind. 'If I'm some kind of magician, I sure as hell haven't shown it.' Sadly, she'd likely never know anything more about it. She'd never met anyone else with purple eyes. Let alone someone with magical powers. Her attitude was, and always had been, indifferent to the fact that she was indeed special. People avoided her, but it wasn't like they were cruel. She was simply trouble to them; a problem that was out of sight, out of mind. After a brief pause, she thought it best not to think at all. No good could come from dwelling on such things. She eventually reached the small apartment kitchen, and upon instinctual habit, checked the fridge. Still nothing. "Fuck."

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The lonely city streets of New Franklin were of little comfort to Nara. After an entire day spent begging, searching and scavenging, she had found no respite in her new struggle for shelter and food. She'd grown up in an orphanage, never knowing her parents. It's not like struggle was new to her. Yet the one light in that place, Sister Anise, had always told her to be thankful. To never ask for more than you're given. The mere thought of her name brought back a bottomless feeling of emptiness. She decided it best to forget about her past and the problem at hand for now. Not like her current method was yielding any results anyway. It was just as she thought, no one was going to help a struggling Argamon. The bastards. She was just as human as the rest of them. In stark contrast to the swelling heat of day, the city held an undeniable chill in the dead of night. She almost wished she would have brought a blanket with her. After some deliberation, she figured she might as well not even go back home. There was nothing left there for her. The furniture? Sold to pay bills. Food? Couldn't afford it. As she trudged down the sidewalk, the uncertainty seemed to fade in the comfort of the nighttime air. The night was her favourite time. The one time in the day she could feel peace.

Nara could overhear some children playing out in the safety of the dancing streetlights as she cut through an alley. How funny it was, that just out of sight from such easy glee, there was a mountain of suffering, and not just her own. The thought was a cold one, but not without humour. Soon she arrived at her favourite hang out spot, an abandoned parking garage set to be demolished in the coming year. That's just how it was in New Franklin. While the streets ran rampant with drugs, poverty and pain, the wealthy took more and more. There was hardly anywhere sacred or quiet here anymore. The places people like her enjoyed would be torn down for some new attraction they would never be able to afford. Then, when that had served its purpose, something else. It never ended. There always needed to be something new. She found herself on the roof after a short and silent ascent, gazing out upon the city she'd grown up. In the poorest ward of the city, where she unfortunately called home, this parking garage had been one of the taller buildings. As such, it offered a good view of the city. An endless sea of lights in her own concrete jungle corner of the world. The sight never failed to inspire awe and profound serenity in her heart. Her one hideaway from the struggles of daily life. In a place where she could gaze upon the world as she knew it, as though the queen of these quiet city streets, if but for a moment. And in that moment, it felt like everything would be okay.

So she sat for a good while, deep into the night, legs dangling out over the lifeless road below, wishing that she had reason enough to fall. With a long sigh, Nara reluctantly began her descent through the parking garage, passing row upon row of empty spaces, their numbers fading after years of abandonment. What it must have been like when this place was full, when the average person could afford a car to begin with. So she continued down, deep in thought at something that once was, almost missing that people were approaching. 'Why are there people here? Isn't the place abandoned?' she couldn't help but think. The irony of her statement caused an unenthused rolling of her eyes at her own conscience. Maybe they were just here for city-gazing like she was? Doubtful. Surprisingly optimistic, but doubtful. She watched as they stepped onto the same level as her, a worrying ten meters away. Seeing as how there was nowhere to hide, she decided the best course of action was to put her head down and keep walking. They stopped talking. The only sound audible was the two parties' footsteps echoing through the empty structure. Then, only Nara's.

She kept her eyes on the ground, head lowered, until she realised it was only her footsteps she heard. A deafening silence gripped the air, as she herself stood still. She could feel them, like predators in the night, surrounding her with not only their bodies, but with an intense feeling of malice. "Fuck." was the only word she could oh-so-elegantly manage to think to say. Nara raised her eyes, and met the gaze of a man directly in front of her. There was no hint of amusement. Only the half lidded gaze and familiar stench of cheap liquor. This couldn't be good. With an awkwardly long pause, she could see him processing the information in front of him, before saying, "What the hell's a witch like you doin' around here?" Great, just the kind of situation she liked to be in. Alone, and surrounded by people who hated her just because of her eyes. She almost wished she was a witch, maybe then she could get out of this. Desperately holding in the fear forming in her gut, she responded, "Sorry, no witch around here. Just trying to get home." She tried to continue walking and slink by the man in a futile attempt at avoiding this entirely. Yet to her horror, the man grabbed the back of her hoodie, and said, "You ain't going anywhere."

Nara had no time to react as the man shoved her to the ground, where she hit her head on the concrete. Hard. Her vision blurry from tears, and her head fuzzy from the impact, two of the other men stood her back up. The one who threw her down getting in her face, just mere inches away, his rancid alcoholism pungent. "Witch. Give us whatever you got, then get the fuck out of here. I don't like seeing your kind around here. Those eyes give me the creeps." He leaned in closer. "You got some money for us, and maybe we won't beat the shit out of you." He smiled an evil, repugnant smile. He was the kind of man who got off on being in power. And she couldn't stand it. She felt powerless. Utterly helpless. Why couldn't life be kind, just this once? Would she forever stand without hope against the cruelty of this world? The hatred in her, buried somewhere, flared to life.

Like little sparks dancing around the dry leaves of a campfire, she could begin to feel that hatred ignited. She could almost swear she heard it whispering to her, "Pain. Rage. Hate. Grief." not unlike a gentle wind, that came and went into the night. She couldn't stand it anymore. She didn't want to sit and cower in fear of what may be. She wanted to fight. She wanted to cast off this oppressive fate. She wanted to live. And in her anger at the injustice of all her life had been, she reared her head back, while looking deep into the drunkard's eyes. There was a visible confusion seeing the rage in her visage, but it didn't last long as she brought her head crashing directly into his nose. A meaty crunch could be heard, as he cried out in pain and fell to the ground. It felt good. To hit back. To stand tall. She couldn't help as a smile crept to her lips. She could get used to thi-.

Her vision swam as something hit her in the face, rattling every sense in her body. What the hell? Then again. And again. And again, until she could hardly think. There was a short pause, then she could feel her weight hit the ground again. The last thing she could hear anyone say was the asshole who's nose she broke screaming at the top of his lungs, "I don't care anymore! Fuck the cops, you think they care about some witch!? Beat her 'til she's dead! Then take all her shit!" She couldn't help but think it was funny they still thought she had anything to give. Her thoughts became clouded, drenched in pain as blow after blow landed upon her body. A kick to the ribs. The flat of a boot on her head. The only thought was pain; The thought that every inch of her hurt, and there was no way to get out of it. She blacked out multiple times, yet each time she regained consciousness, she could still feel them hitting her. The world as she knew it was replaced by the feeling of blood on her face. By the feeling of worn leather bashing her bruised and broken body. She would die here. She knew that now. Her sad, miserable little life would end in this empty building. She'd never even screamed. No one would know she'd died until they came to demolish the place. Even then, she doubted they would care. No one cared anymore. And neither did she. Maybe when all went black, she could finally feel at peace. She didn't even hear as the drunk man ordered his lackeys, "Take anything she has of value, I don't care. If she doesn't have money, take her clothes. Maybe we'll get a few bucks out of it." She didn't even feel as they stripped her of her belongings. She laid there, half naked, battered and broken, and she didn't even care. She didn't care, because the light had already faded from her eyes.

Or did it? In that empty void, where she had no thoughts, the first thing Nara felt was a burning heat. An insufferable flame. Like her entire body was on fire. She could feel it in every crevice of her being, devouring everything she could feel. There was no "Nara" right now. Only an all-consuming inferno. The hatred, the sadness; every ounce of pain disappeared, and she could only marvel in the beauty of her own fire. Her eyes opened, but she wasn't the one who did it. She watched, like a prisoner within, as she stood again, and looked toward her assailants. The heat grew unbearable. She could feel her conscience begin to waver. She felt like cinders compared to the blaze within. The men were yelling, but she couldn't hear. She walked, but she could not feel. Darkness once again claimed her, but it no longer felt empty. Somewhere in her heart she could feel it, if but only for a moment, that fate would not claim her. Then there was nothing.

Then, the absence of nothing. She could feel the simultaneous aching of her entire body yet again. After some effort, she opened her eyes. Well, eye. It seemed like one of them was swollen shut. Her vision was hazy, and everything hurt, but she could see that she was in fact alive. But how? What was that feeling from before? Or those visions of herself? Perhaps she'd been dreaming. From what she could tell, it was still night. Likely, it hadn't been long since she'd passed out. It was eerily quiet. She tried to move her neck, but the pain made her cry out. It was then she heard a calm voice, one she couldn't remember hearing before, "Don't move yet, kid. They got you good." Thankfully, the man moved into her field of vision. It bothered her that she couldn't move to see him herself. His face betrayed someone middle-aged, but his build betrayed that of someone in their twenties. It was a kind face, where stubble was beginning to show, and his mid-length black hair was lightly salt and peppered. However, the most surprising thing was his eyes. They glowed in a soft lilac hue. He was an Argamon. "Wh-," she coughed, pain resounding throughout her chest before she continued, "Who are you?"

A gentle grin crept across his face, as he replied, "Don't worry about all that yet. Just know I'm a friend." After a moment of consideration, she managed to give a short nod. Even that hurt. Shit. She felt horrible. Her mind, let alone her body, was exhausted. She felt like she could sleep for years. She fought through the pain, and managed to slowly look around the area. There was no sign of the people who'd beaten her. Looking down at herself, she could see her clothes were dirty, but were somehow still on. She felt like she could almost remember the assholes taking them. Her hands, however, were caked in dried blood. It was strange. She could see a couple little scratches on them, but they were the part of her that hurt the least. Why was there so much blood? They were practically dyed red. She looked back at the man, who kept looking all around them, as if worried about something. She asked, "What happened to those guys?"

The man looked back at her, his ominous purple eyes dully shining, and replied, "Those guys? They're dead. Up on the fifth floor." The way he said it, ever so casually, delayed the gravity of his words. "Dead? You…killed them?" She could feel the fear creeping back into her body. This guy was crazy after all. But he just sighed, before answering, "No, kid. It wasn't me. You did that." while pointing at her bloodied hands. She was stunned. Her? Kill people? There was no way. She'd been dead, or somewhere close at least, just a moment ago. How could she have done it? "Yo-you're lying." she sheepishly retorted. He stared at her for a long moment. She could see a hint of something akin to sadness in those eyes. In a sombre tone he carried on, "Listen. As much as I would love to explain everything right now, we really don't have time. If you don't want to come with me, that's on you. But you'll die. I'd prefer you don't, seeing as how I went through all that trouble putting your clothes back on for you, but I won't make you." he paused, seemingly embarrassed, then continued, "Sorry if that sounded weird, I had a daughter once and.." he trailed off, putting his head into his palm. With a deep breath he managed to compose himself and finish, "Whatever. The point is, if you wanna live, you gotta decide now. Those eyes of yours are special. Our eyes. You deserve the same chance as the rest of us. I'll tell you all about it. But there's one thing you're gonna have to learn, and it starts with those people you killed," a haunting breeze whipped through the abandoned building, like some ghostly breath, carrying an ominous stench at his next words, "These eyes are dangerous, and they're more than just a fairy tale."