City of Parry
A city of long history—popular among the awakened, the blessed, and even dubbed as the sanctuary of the weak in some way.
It is a major territory in constant tension with cities near its station.
Ever since the coming of the apocalypse—The Great Fall, the chaos it inflicted to the society shifted the very views of the people. Approximately a millennium ago when it happened, then, only human thrive in the planet. But as the world shattered and remade, it expanded, taking in even various races that were thought to be fantastical.
The bright rays of the sun spilled down the tall buildings, scattering across the city. The City's population easily surpasses a million. The dense population can be attributed to the fact that the city doesn't have quite as strict a rule for those who live on the streets.
Endless voices hurdled the shops, struggling and surviving, blending with the chaotic chants of people of every kind: Human, Elf, even a few monsters.
The Great Fall, the great catastrophe, shattered the civilization, erased progress, and claimed nearly half of the world's population. However it had been good in the long run.
On the street lay the motionless bodies of those discarded, the weaker species, as they dubbed, the unchosen, the unblessed.
The Great Fall was believed to be a blessing, shelled as a curse. It's catastrophic devastation on Earth, now Leaxuire, in exchange for wiping out thousands of years of progress, humans were granted the power to thrive—Resonance.
Resonance is a complex power, typically awakening between the ages of ten and fifteen, though rare prodigies may awaken earlier.
For this reason, it is known to be the norm: the weak unblessed will be discarded, the blessed will thrive.
"How does it feel to hold such prowess…"
With such a thought, Kreig's body slumped on the ground, eagerly waiting as his hand stretched out a rusty-dusty can. Wearing ragged clothes, he covered the cold pavement with a battered can beside his belly that barely contained a few coins.
"Should I receive a dime, it'd be just enough to get me through the day. But even that is a struggle... for someone like me deemed unblessed."
Being abandoned from a young age, with only a few acquaintances, no memories of his parents, nor his youth, he grew up in the dark alley, where he made his living by begging on the streets.
He, along with many unblessed, deemed this dark, stenching alley their sanctuary.
"Someone's coming," he thought.
Thud. Thud.
"For some to set foot into this specific alley is a rare sight… I recall that many are scared to walk in here because of them."
He muttered a whisper.
Clang.
The can beside Kreig trembled.
He was shocked.
"For someone to give their money, they probably earn more than enough to spare," he muttered, voice hoarse as if a weak, starved infant.
A mercy he hadn't even realized he'd been yearning for.
Kreig grew up on this alley. A dark pathway that puts boundaries between the bright city and the shadows, often referred to as the sanctuary of the weak.
The chaos that happens every night, the gut-wrenching stench from canals, and rarely, blood on the paths didn't bother him anymore.
Although Kreig didn't bother, it didn't mean he was not observing things that were happening.
He did not have the slightest memories of his parents, nor was he taken to an orphanage when he was a child. The memories that he could remember still up to this day were when he was dragged and thrown into dumpsters, a memory that stings him even up to now.
That was when he awakened.
Not his powers, but his consciousness.
In this world that values power and luxury more than anything, there's no room for exception, especially for a boy like him who grew up on the street.
There are two distinctions in powers that people possess.
The Blessed and The Awakened.
"If only I possessed the powers that they do, I wouldn't be begging on this street for change…"
His hand clutched the can, but his expectations failed him.
Even the little he had was stolen.
As Kreig's anger threatened to rise, his gaze shifted. A folded paper lay beside him. A newspaper, tattered, but delivered with utmost precision, at the same time as the can trembled.
His hands clenched tightly at the sight of the all-familiar paper.
"I never noticed when, nor did I bother to find out how anymore. Perhaps I've gotten used to it. Nonetheless, I've never had the thought to rise… even once." His eyes turned grim, face warping in defeat as he muttered.
"Perhaps it's self-inflicted—no, I'm certain it is."
Awareness without awknowledgement. His gaze longed the sky—serene yet dark.
"I've never had the energy—or maybe the courage—to challenge that reality." He muutere, his voice barely reaching a whisper.
Maybe...
Just maybe…
Today would be different.