Suffering of the Starved
Once, all he desired was to be acknowledged by his village—
To hear his name spoken with pride, not pity.
To be praised by his family for more than being quiet and obedient.
To be distinguished amongst his siblings, to stand apart in a way that mattered.
To be seen by his parents, truly seen—not as an obligation, but as a son worthy of love.
Karon was a boy of small ambitions and deep wounds. He did not dream of thrones or glory, only of warmth. Of laughter at a dinner table. Of a father’s nod. Of a mother’s arms. Of belonging.
But none of it came.
They called his older brother a warrior, his younger sister a prodigy. Karon, they did not call at all.
Now, the village is ash.
His siblings lie scattered across the broken world, devoured by beasts or conscripted into distant wars.
His parents, faces once so distant and unreachable, are now nothing but bones beneath a fallen roof.
And Karon—Karon is alone.
Not just in body, but in purpose.
There is no one left to see him. No dream left to chase. No story left to shape.
Once he hungered for recognition. Now, he hungers only for survival.
In this world of rotting kingdoms and endless war, where monsters wear both fur and armor, Karon’s name has no meaning. No place. He scavenges ruins, sleeps in hollow trees, and counts the days by the sound of distant screams.
His fingers are cracked from clawing through graves for food. His shadow grows long and sharp. His eyes reflect less of the boy he was, and more of the thing he’s becoming.
He does not know where he is going.
He only knows that something inside him still lives—
A hunger deeper than starvation.
A hollow that no meat can fill.
Not anymore.
Perhaps one day, they will speak of Karon again.
Not as a son. Not as a brother.
But as a creature that walks through the ruins, feeding on what remains of hope.
