On yet another forgettable afternoon, the rain drummed against the metal roof of the orphanage in a steady, monotonous rhythm—like the sky itself was weeping for the wretched souls trapped inside. Above the large entrance that led to the yard, where a few battered and broken-down playground pieces stood in neglect, hung a rusted sign: Orphanage Esperanza.
Ironic, considering what was happening inside this so-called sanctuary for homeless children.
In the dimly lit hallway, a boy of about eleven stood by the window, his silver eyes—set against pitch-black sclera—staring out coldly, almost blankly, as he counted raindrops racing down the glass. His name was Zarek. A Nen.
"Hey, freak!" A voice shattered the silence.
A group of older orphans had circled around him, their faces twisted with amusement and scorn.
"You'd better hand over your dinner tonight. Let's just say my dear friend here really loves mac and cheese, and we can't have some thing like you taking up all the food, now can we?"
Zarek just sighed. He already knew the best thing to do was keep his mouth shut and give in. After all, he was an outcast in their eyes. But...
"Give my food to that fatass over there? Ha! He should be giving me his instead—could do him some good to go on a diet. Then again... even if he stopped eating for a whole year, he'd still be a damn cow—"
Thud!
Before he could finish, a fist slammed into his gut, making him double over as the pathetic excuse for lunch he'd had hours ago threatened to come back up.
Damn this weak body of his. Even when he saw a beating coming from a mile away, the pain still hit like hell.
"Who the hell are you calling a cow, freak?!"
The kid he had insulted—a hefty boy—sent a kick his way, one that could've easily belonged to a pro football player. Miraculously, his nose didn't break... but his mouth? That was another story. He could already taste the metallic tang of blood.
"What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?" Another one sneered, grabbing him by the collar and slamming him against the damp, rotting wall.
But before things could escalate further, a small figure stepped in between them.
Rose.
She was frail-looking, trembling, but the determination in her eyes was anything but weak as she pulled at the group's leader with all the strength her tiny arms could muster.
"Leave him alone!" she shouted, her voice shaky but firm.
The older kids just laughed.
"Oh, so now the little princess is defending the freak?" They mocked, but their fun came to an abrupt end as soon as they noticed one of the caretakers approaching.
With a few last glares thrown Zarek's way, they scattered.
Once the hallway was empty, Rose turned to him, frowning.
"Are you okay?"
Her concern only deepened when she saw him spit out a mouthful of blood.
"I'm... fine, Rose. Just gotta clean my mess off the floor before Sister Rebecca kills me for it..."
"How can you say that? We should go to the infirmary!"
"Ugh... don't worry about it. It's just a busted lip. If we go, that nasty woman's just gonna pour alcohol on it just for the fun of it."
"B-But we should tell Sister Housenberg—"
Zarek took a deep breath, wincing as he forced himself to stand. He gave Rose a few light pats on the head. He wanted to tell her it wasn't worth it, that nothing she did would change how people saw him. But when he saw the worry in her eyes, he simply sighed and nodded.
"Fine... let's go. Oh, and thanks for saving my ass back there. Not bad for a little girl."
"What's that supposed to mean?!"
"Nothing, nothing. But seriously, don't get involved next time. I can take a hit. You can't. And if any of those bastards so much as lay a finger on you, I'll kill them... which means I'd end up in jail... probably. And you don't want that, do you?"
"No! It's just... I wish people respected you more. I hate that you always have to fight alone."
"Oh, come on. You're younger than me—it's my job to look after you. Besides, none of this gets to me. Let them say whatever they want. One day, they'll see..."
To reassure her, Zarek took her hand. That small gesture was enough to calm the trembling girl.
"One day..." he murmured, barely a whisper. "One day, I'll make them respect us."
That night, under the same roof that despised him, something happened that would change his life forever.
As he cleaned up the dining hall, his childish curiosity got the better of him when he heard voices coming from the next room. Peeking in, he saw the orphanage's matriarch, Sister Housenberg, sitting with Sister Rebecca.
But instead of her usual look of disgust, Rebecca smiled at him—warmly, even. A smile so genuine, it almost made him forget about the cold seeping into his bones.
"Zarek, wanna watch some TV before bed?"
"I..."
Hesitant, he glanced at Housenberg. That old hag had never been fond of Nens—Zarek knew that better than anyone. But, surprisingly, she just gave a nod.
Was she feeling guilty for not stopping the abuse he endured? Ha! Yeah, right. She was probably just drunk.
Either way, Zarek wasn't about to waste the chance. Dropping the rag he had been using to wipe down the tables, he hurried over and sat down by Rebecca's side.
The old, dust-covered television flickered to life, showing what looked like a fighting tournament.
There were people dashing around, throwing punches—nothing too exciting—until suddenly...
One of them unleashed a wave of flames straight at a heavily armored opponent.
"What the hell was that?!"
"Shut it, kid," the old woman grumbled.
Rebecca chuckled. "You really don't pay attention in class, do you? Remember? They're Covenants."
"Covenants... right! Nope, don't remember a damn thing!"
"You little—" As punishment, Rebecca pinched his cheek, shaking her head at his shameless admission. "It's a tournament, Eternal. A test to see if they can move up the ranks... not that I expect you to understand. And I'm too tired to explain, so just watch and enjoy. You can ask me whatever you want tomorrow."
Zarek didn't really get what she was saying, but he nodded anyway and focused on the screen.
Flaming warriors, ethereal swords, hurricanes conjured with a mere gesture. The audience roared with every clash, chanting names, praising those with strength and talent. They were gods among men. Untouchable. Respected.
Zarek clenched his fists. Something about that roar—it mesmerized him.
At the end of the match, one man stood victorious, the crowd erupting in deafening cheers. His name echoed through the arena like a sacred hymn.
Zarek wanted that.
He could hear it in his mind—his own name, shouted with admiration, with awe.
He needed that.
If he became someone like that, no one would ever humiliate him again. No one would dare touch him. And he could protect Rose, give her a home where she'd never have to worry about anything ever again.
That night, his resolve was sealed. No matter how long it took, no matter how many beatings he had to endure—he would become a Covenant. Whatever the hell that meant.
And for the first time in his life, a fire ignited in his hollow heart. A will that filled his soul with something he had never truly known before.
Hope.