The first time I saw him, he was being kicked and beaten by a man beside the fence of the residential area. He was small, I didn't think he was any older than eight. I couldn't see his face, just his curled-up body; dirty clothes, dirty black hair. The man was barking viciously, 'why haven't you awakened yet' or something like that.
When the man stopped and walked away with curses, he didn't get up for a while. I had thought he died or something. It wasn't uncommon here—people drop dead every day, only to be replaced by other exiles and runaways. Espers died in dungeons like flies, and guides dropped dead, exhausted after being used. But at least people cared when they did. Civilians and children were no more than fodders, no one gave a shit when they died.
I got curious after a while and wanted to check, but the boy twitched when I just managed to come out of my hiding place. He got up slowly, and when his face lifted, our eyes met.
