The sky over Kathmandu was dull, a heavy gray that blended with the dust and smoke hanging in the air. In the narrow streets lined with makeshift homes, five-year-old Sora sat against a crumbling wall, his small fingers wrapped tightly around a rusted coin he'd found in the gutter that morning. It wasn't much, but it was all he had—a reminder of the hunger that constantly gnawed at his insides.

A boy stood nearby, a year older, and far bolder. Niko, with his wiry build and crooked grin, exuded a confidence that Sora couldn't help but admire. "It's easy," Niko whispered, scanning the market stalls filled with bread, fruit, and other goods they could only dream of tasting. "You just grab it and run. No one catches me."

Sora hesitated. His stomach growled, but stealing felt wrong. Even in a world that seemed to punish the good, something about it didn't sit right with him. "What if we get caught?" he asked softly.

"We won't," Niko shrugged. "Just follow me. Watch and learn."

Before Sora could protest, Niko darted into the crowd, moving swiftly through the maze of people with practiced ease. Sora's heart pounded in his chest as he took a reluctant step forward. The scent of freshly baked bread pulled him closer to a stall where a stout man yelled at potential customers. His hands trembled as he reached out for a loaf, its golden crust tempting him.

Then, the scream.

The cry cut through the market's chaos, freezing Sora in his tracks. Heads turned, voices rose, and the crowd parted like water, revealing a small, lifeless body sprawled on the cobblestones.

A boy—no older than six—lay in a pool of blood, his pale face streaked with dirt and eyes wide open in eerie stillness. The scene sent a chill down Sora's spine, his breath catching as he locked eyes with the boy's unblinking gaze. It felt as though the boy's eyes were staring into him, through him.

"He fell," someone whispered, their voice trembling.

"From the ridge above," another person added, shaking their head.

Sora's stomach twisted, but he couldn't look away. The boy's vacant expression seemed unnatural, as if death itself had left its mark on him.

"Let's go!" Niko's urgent voice broke through the tension. He grabbed Sora's arm, pulling him away. "We can't get involved!"

But Sora didn't move. His legs carried him forward, past the gathering crowd, until he knelt beside the boy.

Sora pressed his hands to the boy's chest, feeling the warmth of blood against his skin. "He's still breathing!" he cried out, his voice shaky.

"You can't save him," a low voice said from behind him.

Sora looked up to see a man standing outside the circle of onlookers, tall and hooded, his presence unnervingly calm. His voice sent a chill down Sora's spine. "Some lives aren't meant to be saved."

Ignoring the man, Sora pressed harder, determined. "He's just a boy," he muttered, his focus on the shallow rise and fall of the boy's chest.

The hooded man tilted his head, a faint smile forming beneath his hood. "And so are you."

Time seemed to stretch as Sora continued to press his hands down, his own fingers trembling with fear. Then, the boy stirred. His eyes fluttered open and locked with Sora's in a gaze that made his chest tighten. "What's your name?" Sora asked quietly.

"Johan," the boy answered, his voice unnaturally calm. A small, hollow smile flickered across his lips, but his eyes remained distant, empty.

Before Sora could speak again, Johan stood and walked away, disappearing into the crowd without a word of thanks.

Later that evening, as the sky darkened and stars began to appear, Sora sat outside the shack where he lived. Niko joined him, his expression grim. "You shouldn't have done that," Niko muttered after a long silence.

"Done what?"

"Helped him," Niko replied, his voice low. "Didn't you see his eyes? That kid is not normal."

Sora didn't answer. He didn't need to. The memory of Johan's eyes haunted him, the question they held lingering in his mind. Deep down, he knew something was wrong, but it was too late now. The choice had been made.

From the shadows, the hooded man observed them. A faint smile curved his lips as he stepped back into the darkness. "It begins," he whispered, his voice barely audible.