The rain hadn't stopped for hours. It poured like the sky itself was mourning, each drop falling heavy against the cracked rooftops of Greyhill's poorest district. In the corner of a rusted alley, barely shielded by broken boards and soaked blankets, sat a boy who had forgotten what warmth felt like.
His name was Aiden.
Seventeen winters old, and yet his eyes held the silence of a soul much older—like a candle that had flickered too long in the wind. His clothes, torn and clinging to his skin, carried the scent of smoke, blood, and rain. His fingers trembled, not from the cold, but from the weight of another day survived.
He had no family.
No home.
No one waiting for him.
Only a sky that didn't care, and a world that had long since turned its back.
Aiden's gaze lifted toward the heavens, his vision blurred by tears he didn't remember shedding. Above, clouds twisted like wounded beasts. Thunder growled, low and distant. And then—
A light.
A single, blinding streak of silver tearing through the black sky.
A falling star.
For a moment, time stood still. The noise faded. The rain slowed. And in that fragile silence, Aiden whispered—not a prayer, not a wish, but something between hope and surrender.
> "If someone's out there... take me away from here."
The star came closer. Too close. Its light grew, swallowing the clouds, turning night into day. Aiden stood, frozen, eyes wide. There was no fear. Only awe… and a strange, sudden peace.
Then came the impact.
Not a sound—just light.
Blinding, burning, endless light.
And when it faded...
Aiden was gone.
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