The rain beat softly against the cracked window, the rhythmic sound a constant companion to Edil Estrada's waking thoughts. He opened his eyes to a world dimly lit by the overcast sky, the faint smell of damp earth filling the room. The weather was always like this in the small, decrepit house where he had spent the last twelve years of his life, though it did little to make him feel at home. The room was small, cold, and bare, except for a worn-out mattress in the corner, a battered wooden table, and the faint stains of time on the walls. Nothing about it was welcoming, but then, nothing in Edil’s life had ever been.

He sat up slowly, careful not to disturb his adoptive brother, Roger Bali, still sprawled across the floor, the remnants of a cheap bottle of liquor next to him. The stench of alcohol and stale air clung to the room like a bad memory. Edil could never forget how the Bali family had taken him in — or rather, how they had turned his life into a daily punishment. They had offered him a new life, but it had always felt like a trap. They adopted him when he was five, but instead of kindness, they gave him cruelty.

Edil’s feet touched the cold wooden floor, sending a chill up his spine. The old boards creaked under his weight, but he paid them no mind. He moved quietly, as always, to avoid waking Roger. He knew better than to provoke him. The older boy, five years his senior, had long since made it his personal mission to make Edil’s existence as miserable as possible. He was master of the house, and Edil, at least in Roger's eyes, was little more than a servant.

The morning light filtered through the cracks in the wall, barely enough to illuminate the dust motes floating in the air. The house felt heavy, as if the very walls were suffocating him. But there was no escape. Not yet.

Edil dressed quickly in the oversized clothes that had been given to him — clothes that didn't fit his growing frame. He knew he had to get the chores done before breakfast, just like every other day. As he moved through the house, performing the same repetitive tasks, his mind wandered, lost in a haze of thoughts and memories that never seemed to go away.

At times, he wondered if life would always be this way. If he would spend the rest of his days living in the shadow of the Bali family, working, enduring, and hoping for something better. But deep down, a part of him always knew it wouldn't last forever. One day, things would change. He would make sure of it.

The floor was swept, the kitchen cleaned, and breakfast was set. The smell of cooking food filled the air, mingling with the faint scent of mildew that lingered in the corners of the room. When he entered the kitchen to start cooking, Roger finally stirred.

"What's taking you so long, Edil?" Roger’s voice was thick with alcohol and malice. “Hurry up with breakfast. Don’t keep me waiting.”

Edil didn’t respond. He simply continued working, his hands moving mechanically, preparing the food for the family. It was a silent routine he had perfected over the years — the act of being invisible, of blending into the background so he wouldn’t attract attention. It was easier that way.

Roger stumbled into the kitchen, his bloodshot eyes glaring at Edil. He was drunk again. Edil could already tell it was going to be one of those mornings.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

“You really think you can act like you belong here, don’t you?” Roger sneered, eyeing Edil as he worked. “You think because you do all the chores, you’re some kind of special guest in this house?”

Edil didn’t look up, didn’t react. He had learned long ago that showing any sign of emotion only fueled Roger’s cruelty. The less he said, the better. He continued cooking as though the words hadn’t been spoken, his face a mask of indifference.

Roger took a few steps forward, his presence looming over Edil. “You think you're better than me, don’t you?” His voice was low, dangerous. “You’re nothing. You’ll never be anything more than a servant.”

A sharp pain lanced through Edil’s chest, but he didn’t flinch. Instead, his hands gripped the edge of the counter tighter. His eyes narrowed, but he kept his voice steady, cold. “I’m not better than you, Roger. But I will be.”

The words lingered in the air, but Roger didn’t seem to care. He was too busy nursing his ego, too drunk to take Edil seriously. Roger shoved past him, knocking the broom off the counter and sending it clattering to the floor. He didn’t look back as he exited the room, leaving Edil to continue his work in silence.

As Edil finished preparing the meal, he wondered, for just a moment, what it would be like to have a family that cared about him. To have parents who wouldn’t use him as a pawn in their own games. But that was a dream he couldn’t afford to entertain. Not here. Not now.

Breakfast was served in silence. Rogelio and Layla Bali, Edil’s adoptive parents, were already seated at the table. Rogelio barely acknowledged Edil’s presence, his eyes glued to the newspaper in front of him. Layla, cold and indifferent as always, didn’t even spare him a glance. They didn’t care about him, not in the way that parents were supposed to.

He ate his meal in silence, barely tasting the food. It wasn’t that he was ungrateful — he simply had no appetite for the lies they fed him. He didn’t belong here. He knew it. They knew it.

When the meal was finished, Edil cleaned the table and prepared to leave for his errands. The city streets were bustling, full of noise and movement. People hurried about their business, their lives, while Edil quietly slipped through the crowd, unnoticed. The tension in the air seemed to grow heavier with each step. Something was different. He couldn’t quite place it, but the world felt off, as if something was about to change.

The rumors had been swirling for weeks now — strange events, bizarre storms, unexplainable occurrences. But Edil had never paid them much attention. They were just stories, just talk. What mattered was surviving. And for now, that was all he needed to focus on.

He passed by the market, eyes darting from stall to stall. His stomach growled, but he didn’t have enough to buy anything other than the bare necessities. He picked up some bread, vegetables, and meat, the familiar weight of the purchases in his hands comforting. As he walked past a narrow alley, a strange light caught his eye. The air grew thick, charged with energy, and before he could think, the ground beneath him began to tremble.

It started slow, a faint quiver, but it quickly grew stronger. The earth seemed to shake with a force Edil had never felt before. People screamed in fear, running toward their homes or into the streets. The world felt alive in a way it never had before, as if it were on the brink of something enormous.

Edil’s heart raced. This wasn’t just an earthquake. Something had changed. And in that moment, Edil knew, without a doubt, that everything he had known — everything he had endured — was about to come to an end.

The tremors grew stronger, the city’s buildings swaying, cracks appearing in the pavement. The people were in chaos, their panic palpable. But Edil stood still, his heart pounding in his chest. Something deep inside him stirred, an unfamiliar warmth spreading through his veins.

It was happening. The change. The beginning of something new.

Edil didn’t know what would come next, but he could feel it — a shift in the air, a turning of the tide. And for the first time in a long time, he felt a spark of hope. The world was changing, and he was ready for it.

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End of Chapter 1