Have you ever felt hunger?
And I don't mean the simple kind, the one that makes your stomach growl after skipping a meal.
I mean real hunger.
The kind that folds your body in half, makes your head spin, your hands shake, and your mind blur with pain, desperation, and emptiness.
That kind of hunger has been my oldest companion.
And honestly... it's one of the few things I've ever had.
My name?
I don't have one.
Never did.
Ever since I can remember, I've lived here — in the alleys of Kassel, the capital of the Kingdom of Kamira.
Names… names are for people who matter.
People with families. People with homes.
Not for rats like me, scurrying between shadows and garbage.
The others in the slums started calling me Clint.
No one knows who came up with it.
It just... stuck.
Here, you're not born with a name.
You're born with hunger.
You grow with hunger.
And if you're not careful, not fast enough…
You die with hunger.
If you're not quick... you die.
If you're not smart... you die.
If you're not ruthless enough... yeah, you die too.
And if there's one thing I learned early…
It's that I'm not going to die.
Because there's something I always told myself — every single day.
> "I will survive. No matter what I have to do."
And today... was just another day trying to keep that promise.
---
The smell of fresh bread hit me before I even turned the corner.
The old baker was already setting up his baskets. Further down, a fruit stand was halfway open. Beside it, a butcher preparing cuts of real meat… meat I could only look at but never touch.
I crouched behind a pile of crates, watching every move.
The baker's steps.
The guards chatting nearby.
The merchants unloading supplies.
There.
In the corner of the bread stand, half-hidden — a loaf bigger than the others.
Big enough to last me maybe two days... if I was lucky.
I took a breath, steadying my body.
One step.
Two.
Three.
My hand reached out.
Almost...
— "Hey! Thief!" — a voice exploded.
Damn it.
I bolted.
My feet slipped in the mud, but I managed to regain balance and ran as fast as I could.
Boots thundered behind me.
Shouts. Metal clanging.
— "Catch him! Filthy rat!"
I dashed between stalls, squeezing through gaps only someone small like me could fit. I jumped over boxes, climbed fences, rolled under carts.
But something felt... strange.
My body was lighter.
My breathing — calmer than it should be.
The burning in my chest... was barely there.
Why?
I didn't have time to figure it out.
I just had to run.
I turned sharply into a narrow alley, crossed a muddy courtyard and—
Dead end.
You've got to be kidding me.
I spun around.
The guards were closing in, weapons drawn, expressions twisted with anger and disgust.
I scanned the walls, the crates, the ground.
No escape.
Nothing.
Panic surged in my throat.
But along with it... something else.
A familiar feeling.
One I'd felt before but never understood.
My muscles tensed.
My skin tingled.
My vision sharpened, colors brighter, edges clearer.
I clenched my fists, grinding my teeth.
If I couldn't run... then there was only one thing left.
> "I will survive. No matter what I have to do."
The first guard lunged, yelling like this was going to be easy.
I charged — no technique, no training.
Only instinct.
My fist shot up.
Straight into his jaw.
A sharp, cracking sound.
His body collapsed instantly, hitting the ground like a sack of stones.
I stared for a second, stunned.
...I actually did it?
But then...
My arms felt heavy.
My legs buckled.
The strength that carried me moments ago drained in an instant.
I staggered.
Fell.
Right on top of the unconscious guard.
My vision blurred.
The world darkened at the edges.
But before it all went completely black...
I heard a voice.
Calm.
Composed.
Strangely... intrigued.
— "...Impressive..." — someone murmured, as if studying a rare artifact. — "This boy... who — or what — is he?"
And then...
Everything faded to black.