In the city of Aurel, the streets buzzed with activity, though everything seemed to move slowly under the faint glow of gas lamps. Horse-drawn carriages crept along cobblestone roads, merchants called out their wares, and people moved about in simple yet elegant attire, surrounded by the mingling scents of coal and fresh bread.

Amid this scene, Julian, a seventeen-year-old boy, walked alone with steady steps, clutching an old book in his hands. His blue eyes were fixed on the worn pages as if trying to decipher a hidden code. His short black hair swayed in the cool night breeze, while the flickering light of the lamps cast a pale glow on his pale face.

Julian disliked crowds, but he had no choice but to navigate the city as if he were a thread in its complex fabric. With every step, he felt the weight of the gazes of those who passed by, but he ignored them and pressed on.

When Julian turned into a narrow alley to escape the bustle, his breath caught at the stench of rot emanating from scattered trash bins. Here, where the light of the lamps didn't reach, darkness concealed a parallel world: barefoot children playing with the bones of a rotting chicken, and hunched women carrying empty jars to the public well.

Suddenly, a scream erupted from the distance: "It's mine! Leave me alone!"

The sound pulled Julian closer, and he approached cautiously, careful not to make a sound. As he turned behind a pile of crumbling barrels, he froze at the sight before him.

Three men, their faces rough and cruel, surrounded a small boy no older than twelve. The boy sat on the ground, trembling, clutching a dry piece of bread in both hands. It seemed to be the only thing he owned in this world.

"Give us the bread, you street rat!" one of the men barked, waving a small knife.

The boy, pale-faced and tearful, shrank back, trying to shield his bread. "It's mine! I didn't take anything from you! Please, leave me alone!"

The three men laughed mockingly, and one of them stepped closer, his voice low and menacing. "Kids like you don't deserve anything. Now hand it over before we make you regret being born!"

Julian watched from a distance, his heart pounding. He didn't know these men, but he knew their type well—those who preyed on the weak to get what they wanted. He hesitated for a moment, wondering if intervening was wise. But he couldn't stand by and do nothing.

He picked up a small stone from the ground, weighed it in his hand, and then hurled it with force at the man holding the knife. The stone struck his shoulder, causing him to cry out in pain and drop the blade. The three men turned sharply toward Julian, their eyes blazing with anger.

"Who's this?!" one of them shouted, as another took heavy steps toward Julian.

Julian spoke firmly, despite the tremor in his voice. "Leave him alone. He's just a child."

The man with a long scar running from his forehead to his chin sneered. "Oh, look who decided to play hero today. Well, hero, let's teach you a lesson about minding your own business."

They began to close in, but suddenly, the sound of rapid footsteps echoed from the end of the alley. The faint light of torches appeared in the distance, accompanied by the voices of guards.

"The guards! Let's get out of here!" one of the men shouted, and they scattered into the darkness.

Once the men were gone, Julian turned to the boy, who was still sitting on the ground, breathing heavily, his eyes wide with fear and shock.

Julian approached slowly, trying not to appear threatening. He knelt in front of the boy and said softly, "Are you okay? They're gone now. They won't hurt you anymore."

The boy didn't respond, but he looked at Julian as if unsure whether to trust him. Julian noticed the bread still clutched tightly in the boy's hands as if his life depended on it.

"It's okay. You can keep it. No one will take it from you," Julian said with a faint smile.

The boy nodded shyly, then whispered, "Thank you, sir."

Julian sat down beside him on the ground and asked, "What's your name?"

"Eilan…" the boy replied hesitantly.

"Eilan, do you have anyone? Parents? Relatives?"

The boy shook his head, his eyes brimming with tears. "No… my parents died of illness. Since then, I've been alone."

Julian felt a lump in his throat. He knew the feeling of loneliness all too well, but he couldn't imagine how a child so young could face the world alone.

The boy stared at Julian cautiously, then whispered, "Why did you help me?"

Julian paused, looking at the boy's dirty, pale face. There was something in his eyes that reminded Julian of himself when he was younger—a sense of helplessness and a desperate desire to survive.

"Because I hate things like this," Julian said quietly, then stood and extended his hand to the boy. "Come on, let me take you somewhere safe."

The boy looked at Julian's outstretched hand, hesitated for a moment, then stood without taking it. "Thank you, sir… but I'll find my way."

Julian felt a pang of disappointment, but he didn't push the boy. He understood that some people needed to take their steps, even if it meant facing more hardships.

He watched as the boy disappeared into the darkness, then exhaled slowly, realizing that this encounter would stay with him for a long time.

Julian continued walking, weaving through the crowded streets and alleys. People spoke in hushed tones, the creak of carriage wheels filled the air, mingling with the sound of horses' hooves striking the ground.

The flickering gas lamps cast an eerie glow over the city, while the old brick houses seemed to silently watch everyone who passed by.

Julian passed by a small stall where a vendor was selling fresh bread and pastries. He stopped for a moment, bought a small loaf, and then sat on a curb to eat slowly, keeping a wary eye on the passersby.

Why do I feel so uneasy? he wondered, glancing up at the cloudy sky. The air felt heavy as if the city was hiding something dark in its corners.

After a while, Julian headed toward his usual destination: a small library tucked away among the old buildings. The library looked as if it belonged to another time; its weathered wooden doors and faded signs gave it an air of mystery.

When he entered, the sound of small bells above the door greeted him, accompanied by the scent of aged paper and decaying wood. Behind the counter stood Adir, a man in his twenties with dark hair and sharp, intelligent eyes. Adir was engrossed in reading a large book but looked up when Julian walked in.

Julian smiled as he placed the book on the counter. "Adir, here I am. I've returned the book. It was fascinating, full of intriguing ideas."

Adir closed the book calmly and smiled. "Of course. This book is a treasure for anyone interested in the art of war."

Julian replied with a hint of sarcasm, "A treasure for war leaders, sure. But for people like us? Just a bunch of amateurs."

Adir chuckled. "Who knows? Maybe one day you'll become one of those war legends."

Julian shook his head. "That's not my dream. You know that better than anyone."

Adir studied him for a moment, then smiled softly. "True. But no one knows what fate has in store."

Julian didn't respond immediately but gave a faint smile. "Well, I'll let you get back to your war books. See you later."

When Julian returned home, the sky was dark, and the city hummed with its usual noise. He lit the single lamp in the living room, took off his shoes, and collapsed onto the couch. His eyes fixed on the ceiling as the ticking of an old clock filled the silence.

But as he passed by the window of his study, something caught his eye.

On the wooden table by the window lay an old, yellowed piece of paper that hadn't been there before. Julian froze, his heart racing. He approached the table slowly as if the paper were a magnet pulling him in.

The message was written in an elegant but ancient-looking script. The words were short but sharp:

"The world is changing."

 "And you are the beginning"

Beside the words was a strange symbol—a circle with intricate, interwoven lines, like a spider's web. The symbol looked familiar, but Julian couldn't remember where he'd seen it before.

His heart raced. There was something eerie about this message, something that compelled him to act. But before he could think further, he felt something shift in the air around him—something invisible yet powerful. He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, the paper was gone.

It had vanished completely.