The cold wind howled across the barren fields of Shadowflame Village. Beneath a withered tree sat a boy, arms wrapped tightly around his knees. His eyes were as dull as a moonless sky, his tangled hair matted with blood and dirt, clothes torn and smeared with filth.
His name was Carlos.
But no one in the village spoke it with kindness. Some called him "a curse." Others called him "the orphan." The children had a simpler word—"trash."
"Hey, loser! Still not dead?" A harsh laugh followed the rock hurled at his head.
Carlos didn't cry. Didn't scream. He just sat still as blood trickled down his forehead.
This was his life— A boy no one wanted. A ghost clinging to the edge of existence.
But there was one person who always came to him…
Footsteps. Then silence.
"Again, Carlos? Those idiots never learn."
A girl with pale silver hair and icy blue eyes stood before him, her worn cloak flapping in the wind. She held out a handkerchief—silent, knowing he wouldn't speak.
Her name was Elyra.
No one understood why she helped the boy everyone hated. No one knew why her eyes burned with fury every time he bled.
But Carlos knew.
Her hand… was the only thing that kept him wanting to wake up tomorrow.
"I'll always be here, Carlos."
She said it on the darkest day. And he never forgot… Even when the sky finally struck.
Great! Here's a smooth English translation and continuation suggestion for your scene, keeping the emotional tone and character nuance:
Elira walked down the narrow, overgrown path. Fallen leaves crunched under her feet. In her hands were a piece of dry bread and a few berries. As she reached the spot, she saw him sitting where he always did—beneath the lifeless tree. He looked worse than usual.
Carlos didn't turn to look. He hugged his knees, head bowed as always.
Elira quietly sat beside him, placing the bread down without a word.
"Not hurting too much today, right?" she asked softly.
"...Not as much as yesterday," Carlos replied, his voice hoarse. He turned slightly toward her.
"You could at least say 'thank you for helping,' you know," she teased, a faint smile touching her lips.
Carlos looked at her for a long moment. Then finally said,
"…Thanks."
Elira blinked, surprised he actually said it.
She sighed, then held out the bread. "Eat it before the crows get to it."
He took it silently. His hands trembled slightly—not from the cold, but from unfamiliarity… with kindness.
After a long pause, Elira spoke again without looking at him.
"They don't see it. But I know you're strong."
"I'm not strong," Carlos said flatly.
"Not yet," she said. "But I see it in your eyes… There's something there."
"What?"
"A spark… just waiting to be lit."
Carlos turned to her fully—for the first time that day. And in that moment, he saw something he hadn't in a long time: eyes that didn't judge, didn't pity… but believed.
"It's not your time yet," Elira said as she stood and brushed off her skirt. "But one day, you'll stand on your own."
She smiled again before walking away, leaving Carlos watching her silhouette fade.
…He didn't know why, but his chest felt a little warmer.
And that night… he didn't have the nightmare.