Ten years ago...
A boy was walking in the dirty streets of his refuge. He was wearing nothing but ragers of what was before his clothes. He was barefoot as well, and both feet were hurt.
He was wandering on those streets like he was a ghost. His eyes didn't have any brightness within, just an obscure and opaque brown color, without life, without will.
People passed by him and didn't dare to look at his face. When someone was going through hardships on that refuge, it was common sense to just ignore it and keep going. After all, that teen could be someone else's slave, so anyone who messed with him would have a hard time dealing with his master.
Sometimes, instead of being kind, it was better to take care of your own life, so you wouldn't get involved in trouble.
That was the motto of that folk.
