Thirteen-year-old Atlas trudged alone along the long, dusty road leading to the city of Fein. Each step stirred memories and regrets, his mind swirling with thoughts of what he had lost and what he still hoped to find.
A good life, a house, money, and freedom, simple dreams that felt so distant after five years of slavery and endless battles. Hunger gnawed at his stomach, and the longing for normal food and a semblance of life tugged at his heart.
As he walked, the distant rumble of hooves grew louder. A carriage drawn by two enormous horses approached from behind. Sitting atop it was an old man, his long white beard flowing over a well-worn shirt, his eyes kind beneath the brim of his hat.
"Hey, kid!" the old man called out, halting the carriage beside Atlas. "Are you heading to the city of Fein? I can help you get there faster."
