.
The streets of District Seven were alive with a kind of chaos that was as constant as the air itself. Shouts rang out in the distance, punctuated by the occasional crash of something heavy falling. The air carried a mix of smells—stale garbage, rusting metal, and the faint but ever-present stench of rot.
A young man with red hair moved through the streets, his head low, his steps slow. His eyes, dull and lifeless, stared straight ahead, though he seemed to see nothing at all. His shoulders were hunched, his frame thin and wiry, as if life itself had stripped him of anything extra. His crimson hair was matted and uneven, strands falling over his face, but he didn't bother to brush them aside.
This was Kade.
The cobblestones beneath his boots were cracked and uneven, like everything else in District Seven. He walked with no urgency, no purpose, his path winding through alleys that twisted and turned like veins through a decaying body. Around him, shadows shifted—people hiding in corners, bartering in whispers, or simply watching with wary eyes.
District Seven wasn't a place for the hopeful. It was where the forgotten lived, where dreams came to die.
The sun hung low in the sky, its orange light casting long, jagged shadows across the streets. Kade turned a corner, then another, his movements mechanical. His destination wasn't far, but he wasn't in any hurry to get there.
Eventually, he arrived at the park.
If it could still be called that.
The grass was long dead, replaced by patches of dirt and stubborn weeds. Trash was scattered everywhere—empty bottles, crumpled papers, and shards of glass that glinted in the fading sunlight. A rusted swing set stood in the corner, its chains creaking in the wind, the seat barely holding on. At the center of the park was a fountain, its stone base cracked and dry. Once, water might have flowed freely from its spout, but now it was nothing more than a hollow relic of better days.
Kade made his way to a bench near a crooked lamp post. The lamp flickered weakly, its light struggling against the encroaching darkness. He sat down heavily, the wood groaning beneath his weight.
For a moment, he closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. The quiet was a fragile kind of solace, like the calm before a storm.
His fingers traced the edge of the bench as his mind wandered.
He didn't remember his parents—if they had ever cared for him, he had no memory of it. The orphanages of District Seven had been his only home, but even calling them that felt like a stretch. They were overcrowded, underfunded, and filled with children who had learned too young that the world didn't care about them.
By the time Kade was old enough to fend for himself, he had already learned the rules of survival. Trust no one. Show no weakness. And above all, stay out of the way of the powerful.
Power ruled everything.
The world was divided into eight districts, each one a reflection of its people. District One was a paradise, a shining beacon of prosperity where the "blessed" lived in luxury. Those born with extraordinary talents—the ones chosen by fate—were revered, their abilities unlocking doors to wealth and influence.
District Eight, on the other hand, was a wasteland of chaos and despair. Survival was the only rule there, and even that was a gamble.
District Seven wasn't much better. It was a place where the strong preyed on the weak, where gangs roamed freely, and where corruption was as common as the air itself. For people like Kade, life was a constant struggle just to stay alive.
"One day," he muttered under his breath, "I'll leave this place. I'll make something of myself."
But the words felt hollow, even to him.
As he sat there, lost in thought, voices reached his ears. He glanced to the side and saw a group of men standing by the edge of the park. Their tones were hushed, but the desperation in their words carried through the still air.
"Did you hear about the guy in District Four? They say he's one of the blessed. Took out an entire gang by himself."
"Yeah, well, he's lucky. People like us don't get that kind of chance."
"Imagine having that power, though. You'd never have to live like this again."
Kade's chest tightened.
The "blessed." It was all anyone ever talked about. Those who were chosen by fate, their talents unlocked, their potential limitless. But for the rest, it was just a dream—a cruel reminder of what they could never have.
The men's voices faded as they walked away, leaving Kade alone once more. He stared at the flickering lamp, his fists clenching so tightly his knuckles turned white.
"Why wasn't I born blessed?" he whispered.
The sun had disappeared now, the park bathed in the dim glow of the struggling lamp. Kade stood up, his legs stiff, and began the slow walk back to the abandoned building he called home.
The streets were quieter now, the air colder. He pushed open the door to his shelter and stepped inside. The room was small and bare, with only a thin mattress on the floor and a few tattered blankets.
He knelt down beside the mattress, his head bowed, his hands gripping the edge tightly.
"Am I this worthless?" he whispered, his voice cracking. "When will I ever matter?"
The silence was deafening.
And then, it broke.
A soft hum filled the room, faint at first, but growing louder. Kade's eyes snapped open as a glowing screen appeared before him, its light cutting through the darkness.
**[SYSTEM ACTIVATED]**
The words floated before him, clear and undeniable.
Kade's breath hitched. His trembling hand reached out, his fingers brushing against the light.
**[MEMORY UNLOCKED: Forgotten Warrior - Level 1]**
**[Skill Unlocked: Basic Swordsmanship]**
A surge of energy coursed through his body, making him gasp. Images flooded his mind—memories of battles, a warrior wielding a blade with precision and grace. The movements felt natural, as though they were his own.
He stumbled back, his heart racing.
"What… what is this?" he muttered, staring at the screen.
The hum faded, replaced by a voice—soft, steady, and almost melodic.
**"You are not forgotten. You have been chosen."**
Kade fell to his knees, his chest heaving.
For the first time in his life, he wasn't just a shadow.
For the first time, he had a chance.
---