Cole sat on the curb of a rusted street in the strange city, his little legs tucked underneath him as he stared at the cracked ground. Eva had left him there—just like that. No hug, no goodbye, just a cold hand off his shoulder and the sound of her heels walking away.
He blinked, still waiting for her to turn around and come back. But she didn't.
"I shouldn't have trusted her," he muttered.
The air felt too thick, like the sky above was pressing down on him. Buildings leaned at weird angles, as if they were watching. Strange glowing signs buzzed overhead with words he couldn't read. One of them flickered in red:
> UNREGISTERED CHILD DETECTED.
Cole hugged his teddy tighter.
The city didn't look like any place he knew. It felt wrong. The colors were off—everything tinted gray-blue, as if someone forgot how to paint with warmth. Even the people walking by didn't look right. Some had glowing eyes. Some floated. None looked twice at the little boy sitting alone.
Cole wanted to scream, but his voice was stuck in his throat.
He got up.
Every step felt heavy as he wandered deeper into the city. People stared through him like he wasn't real. One man had no mouth. A girl had spider legs instead of arms. The deeper he went, the weirder it got.
He found a rusty bench near a broken water fountain and sat. His teddy's button eye was barely hanging on now.
His stomach growled.
"Why did she leave me?" he whispered. "She said she was nice…"
The memory of her voice echoed:
"You poor thing. You're not from here, are you?"
He shook his head. The last thing he remembered was the red light swallowing him and Mark, then falling, falling, falling. Then waking up here. Alone.
"Mark…?"
He stood again and called louder, "Mark?!"
No answer.
He looked up. The gate they had fallen through was high above—a swirling red crack in the sky now sealed shut. Like it never existed.
He was stuck.
Cole wandered for what felt like hours. No food. No water. Just strange people and stranger sounds. Mechanical creatures rolled past. Lights blinked and whispered in languages he didn't understand. At one point, he saw a giant eye blink from inside a building window.
He didn't know if it was real or his imagination. At that point, he didn't care.
Eventually, he collapsed beside a trash bin, curled up, and hugged his bear.
"I wanna go home…"
No one stopped. No one helped. No one even looked.
And still, Eva never came back.
7 Years Later…
Mark was seventeen now. Five years had passed since he first stepped through the iron gates of Virelith Academy, a place rumored to shape the strongest and the most cunning. But for Mark, those years felt like chains more than wings—every day a fight, every lesson a reminder of what he was missing. His brother, his only family left, was out there somewhere, and the distance between them gnawed at Mark like a relentless hunger.
He wasn't one for friends—never had been. The academy was full of loud voices and fake smiles, and Mark had learned early on that trust was a luxury he couldn't afford. So, he kept to the shadows, walking the halls like a ghost, blending into the background, the silence his only ally.
But then there was Lucas.
Lucas was the kind of guy who didn't take no for an answer. If Mark had a talent, it was disappearing, but Lucas was like a shadow that refused to fade. No matter how many times Mark turned down his offers, no matter how many times he ignored him, Lucas was always there, cracking jokes in the hallway or sitting next to him during lunch, a smirk permanently plastered on his face.
"You know, Mark," Lucas said one afternoon, leaning against the stone wall outside the training grounds, "I'm starting to think you don't hate me as much as you say."
Mark gave him a dry look, arms crossed. "That's because you don't understand what I'm dealing with."
Lucas shrugged like he didn't care. "Try me. I'm a good listener."
Mark wanted to say it was pointless. That no one could understand the weight on his shoulders. But there was something about Lucas's easy confidence, the way he laughed even when things got tough, that chipped away at Mark's walls.
"I'm fighting to see my brother again," Mark finally admitted, voice low. "He's not here. Not at the academy. Not anywhere I can reach."
Lucas's expression softened. "That's rough, man."
"Yeah." Mark kicked at a loose stone. "It's like... no matter how hard I train, no matter how many years I spend here, it's never enough."
Lucas nudged him with an elbow. "Maybe you're just going about it the wrong way. Maybe you don't have to do it alone."
Mark glanced at him, surprised. "Why do you care?"
Lucas shrugged again, but this time there was a flicker in his eyes—a genuine concern. "Because I've got your back. Whether you like it or not."
Mark wanted to brush it off. Wanted to say that no one had his back but himself. But Lucas had already pulled up a seat beside him, the two of them sitting in comfortable silence, the kind that only comes with unspoken understanding.
Over the weeks, Lucas kept at it. Not in a way that felt suffocating, but like a steady pulse—reminding Mark that he wasn't as alone as he thought. Sometimes, it was a quick joke in the hallway, other times it was sharing a meal when the academy's food was especially awful.
One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple, Mark found himself training late in the courtyard. His fists pounded against the heavy bag, sweat stinging his eyes.
"You're working too hard."
Mark paused, breathing heavily, and looked up to see Lucas leaning on the fence, arms crossed.
"Hard work's all I've got."
Lucas shook his head, stepping inside the training area. "You're not a machine, Mark. You've got to live a little. Besides, even machines break down."
Mark wiped his forehead. "You think you know me."
Lucas smiled, a little softer now. "I'm trying to."
It was the first time Mark realized maybe, just maybe, having someone beside him wouldn't be the worst thing.
Days passed, and their unlikely friendship grew. Lucas wasn't just a friendly face—he became Mark's anchor. The guy who reminded him to eat when he forgot, who dragged him outside when the academy walls felt like they were closing in.
One night, as they sat on the rooftop under a blanket of stars, Mark finally opened up more.
"I'm scared, Lucas," he confessed, voice barely above a whisper. "What if I never see him again? What if all this... all this fighting is for nothing?"
Lucas reached over and punched his shoulder lightly. "Then I'll punch the world for you."
Mark laughed, the sound raw and a little surprised. "You really don't quit, huh?"
"Not when it matters."
For the first time in a long time, Mark felt something flicker inside him—hope.
It wasn't just about fighting anymore. It was about finding the strength to keep going, to push through the shadows, knowing someone had his back.
Lucas and Amara stood near the edge of the courtyard, watching Mark like they always did when he pushed himself too far.
Again.
It was past sundown, the academy quieting down, but Mark was still out there—throwing punches at the training dummy like it had personally ruined his life. His shirt clung to him with sweat, fists red, almost torn. His body looked tired, but his eyes were locked in. Focused. Dangerous.
Lucas sighed. "Bro's gonna collapse one of these days."
Amara crossed her arms, her long dark braid swinging as she tilted her head. "One of these days? That day is gonna be today if you don't say something."
Lucas nodded and stepped forward, his boots crunching softly against the gravel. "Yo," he called out. "Mark. Take a day off, man."
Mark didn't turn around. Didn't even blink. Just kept punching.
Lucas got closer. "Come on, bro. You've been going nonstop for what, four days now? That bag's not gonna fight back. Just… breathe. Chill."
Amara joined them, standing beside Lucas. "Yeah," she added, flicking her hair over her shoulder. "Seriously, Mark. You're not helping anyone by killing yourself out here."
Mark's voice was low, but sharp enough to cut through the air. "I don't have time to rest."
Lucas frowned. "What are you even trying to prove?"
Mark finally stopped. His shoulders rose and fell with heavy breaths. He stared at the ground for a second, then turned toward them, his voice hoarse.
"If I ever find Cole... I need to be strong enough. He's probably thirteen now. Or twelve. I don't even know." He clenched his fists. "He's out there somewhere. Probably scared. Probably wondering why I never came back for him. Or worse... maybe he doesn't even remember me anymore."
Silence fell.
Lucas stepped closer, softer this time. "We're gonna find him, Mark. I swear we will. But you can't destroy yourself in the process. You won't be any good to him if you're in a damn hospital bed. Or dead."
He reached out, gently placing a hand on Mark's arm. "Come sleep, bro. Just for tonight. I'll even stand guard if that's what it takes."
But Mark jerked his arm away, fast and violent, like it burned him.
"DON'T TOUCH ME!" he screamed.
Lucas froze.
"I said don't—" Mark's voice cracked. "You don't get it."
"I'm trying to, man," Lucas said softly, his usual playful tone gone now.
"No, you're not!" Mark shouted. "You think this is just another sad little story you can help fix like some goddamn hero, but you don't know anything about it!"
Lucas's face shifted. "Mark…"
"No. No, shut up!" Mark's voice broke with rage and something deeper—grief. "Your dad's a billionaire, Lucas. You're rich. You've got everything. You live in a castle-sized dorm, eat fresh food, wear clean boots every day, and you have both your goddamn parents still alive!"
Lucas looked like he wanted to say something, but Mark cut him off.
"I have one fucking brother. Just one. And I don't know where the hell he is. I don't know if he's safe. I don't know if he eats, or if he's scared, or if someone's hurting him, or if he even remembers my face. My parents? I haven't seen them since I was nine. Maybe they're dead. Maybe they left. I don't know. Nobody tells me shit!"
Mark's breathing was wild now, his voice trembling. "So don't stand there acting like you understand. Don't touch me like you're trying to comfort me. And don't ever—ever—tell me to rest, like this is something I can just sleep off."
Lucas's hands dropped to his sides. His smile, his light—all gone. He looked like someone had smacked the wind out of his chest. His mouth opened slightly.
"I—"
"GO," Mark said, voice cold now. "Just go."
Lucas didn't move.
Amara stepped forward. "Mark, he's just—"
"BOTH OF YOU." Mark's eyes burned with a kind of pain that came from way too many nights alone. "Leave me the fuck alone."
They stood there for a second too long.
Then Lucas turned and walked away, quiet. Amara hesitated, gave Mark one last look—hurt, confused—then followed.
When they were gone, Mark let the silence crash down.
He stared at the punching bag in front of him. He raised his fists again. Then let them fall.
Tears stung his eyes, and he didn't stop them this time.
He whispered, "Cole… I swear I'm trying. I swear."
But even in that moment, with the stars overhead and the wind soft around him, the courtyard felt colder than ever.
And Mark had never felt so alone.