Twins. One boy and one girl. The loss of their mother was already overwhelming for these newborns, but the sudden absence of their father made it even more devastating.
With Dawn using an alias instead of her real name, and Flage having no known relatives on Earth, the Woods family was left without any next of kin. The tragic events leading to Flage's battle, which caused the Gods to return sooner than expected, meant that no one could take the children in their parents' place. As a result, there was no other choice but to place the twins up for adoption.
Even with both parents gone, their lives were still preserved, and eventually, fate led a wealthy couple to the adoption agency. Mr. and Mrs. Brown, one of New York's most affluent families, entered the scene.
Mr. Brown, a prominent stock investor, and his wife, a successful broker, had amassed their wealth long before their marriage two years prior. Despite their affluence, they had faced the heartache of being unable to conceive a child. After many attempts, Mrs. Brown suggested they adopt, preferably a baby young enough that they could raise and shape as their own. Mr. Brown quickly agreed, and they both felt content with this new path.
After months of navigating the adoption process, they finally reached the point of choosing a child. As they entered the agency, the presence of the Browns immediately caught everyone's attention, their wealth and status impossible to overlook. But Mrs. Brown's eyes were quickly drawn to a baby girl, swaddled in a small carriage. The girl was just a few weeks old, yet she instantly captivated Mrs. Brown with her innocent, radiant smile.
"Oh, Jack," she whispered, eyes fixed on the baby's glowing expression. "It has to be this one. She's the one."
Mr. Brown approached, feeling the same inexplicable connection. Like his wife, he was mesmerized by the child and felt an unshakable pull to protect and provide for her. Without hesitation, they decided to adopt the girl. However, the agency failed to inform them that the little girl was a twin.
The person leading the couple around was so starstruck by their presence that they completely forgot to mention the girl's brother. All they wanted was to cater to the couple's wishes. So when Mr. and Mrs. Brown expressed their desire to adopt only the girl, the facilitator, in their daze, agreed and proceeded with the paperwork, never mentioning the boy.
The girl's life took a turn for the better, growing up in wealth and privilege as part of the Brown family. She was given everything she wanted, learning the fine arts of a refined upbringing; ballet, fencing, and most notably, archery.
Archery became her passion. Holding the bow gave her an unexplainable sense of comfort and peace. And since it made her happy, her adoptive parents were content as well. Her life seemed close to perfect, filled with love, luxury, and opportunity.
But while the girl thrived in her opulent surroundings, her twin brother was not so fortunate. His path could not have been more different.
A man and his wife stepped into the adoption agency, though their reasons for being there couldn't have been more different. The woman, heartbroken after discovering she couldn't conceive, had begged her husband for years to adopt. He, however, was indifferent, never caring for her pleas and always shutting them down. But she persisted. All she wanted was a child to love and care for, even if it wasn't her own by blood.
Then, one day, after showering her husband with affection in the hopes he might soften, she begged him once more. This time, to make her stop pestering him, he reluctantly agreed.
"You'll handle everything," he said dismissively. "And you'll be the one to take care of it."
Overjoyed, the woman wasted no time starting the adoption process. Finally, after months of effort, she had the chance to choose a child. It was the happiest day of her life as she walked into the agency with her husband at her side.
They arrived just a few days after the Browns, the wealthy couple who had already adopted the baby girl. So when the woman spotted the male twin, she felt an instant connection. She requested to adopt him, and to her delight, the agency didn't hesitate.
The agency's staff had realized their mistake with the Browns a few days after the girl had been taken home. They had split up the twins without mentioning it to the Browns, but they couldn't bear to tell the prominent couple, especially after the generous donation they'd made. Now, seeing this new couple, they saw an opportunity. By giving the boy to them, they could cover up their blunder, hoping it would seem as if the twins had been adopted by the same family.
When the woman locked eyes with the boy, she knew instantly; just as Mrs. Brown had felt with the girl; that he was the one. She confirmed her decision without hesitation, and the agency, eager to fix their mistake, hurried through the process. While the woman was bursting with joy, her husband's reaction was far from the same.
"It's free, right?" the man asked after a while, his tone casual and dismissive.
His words and demeanor revealed a clear lack of respect, raising concern among the agency's staff. They worried for the boy's future, but with the woman's genuine joy and their own desperate need to correct their error, they felt they had little choice. There was no guarantee they'd find another adopter before the truth about the twins came out.
And so, after stacks of paperwork and formalities, the boy left with his new adoptive parents. But unlike his sister, who was welcomed into a life of luxury, this marked the beginning of his nightmare.
The couple lived in a semi-abandoned area, isolated from any community, with barely anyone left in the neighborhood. Over the years, the woman worked tirelessly, taking multiple shifts as both a nurse and a waitress to make ends meet for her family and new son. Her husband, meanwhile, remained jobless, unqualified for any work, and growing more bitter with each passing year.
Though his adoptive father was cold and insufferable, the boy found solace in his adoptive mother. She loved him deeply, cared for him with all her heart, and did her best to protect him. She also loved her husband, trying her hardest to make their marriage work, even as he began exploiting her love and devotion.
As the boy grew older, his adoptive mother continued to care for him and teach him what she could. She taught him to read, write, and basic manners, all from the confines of their modest home. Formal education was out of reach due to their financial situation, and the boy's adoptive father refused to spend money on what he deemed a waste. So, it fell to the mother to give him the best education she could, and fortunately, she had experience. Before becoming a full-time worker, she had worked at a preschool, and teaching was second nature to her. The boy, eager and bright, absorbed everything she taught him quickly, much faster than any child she had ever trained.
He flourished under her care, learning many things as he grew, though he remained, at heart, a curious child, curiosity that sometimes got him into trouble. His most serious missteps came when he would touch or play with his adoptive father's belongings. These moments never ended well. The man, easily angered and lacking patience, would beat the boy for such mistakes, showing no leniency despite the boy's tender age.
This cycle continued, each mistake leading to punishment, until the mother, unable to stand it any longer, intervened. She confronted her husband, reminding him that their son was still just a child and didn't deserve such cruelty. But her protest only shifted the abuse. The man, unmoved by her words, began beating her instead, claiming that he needed an outlet for his anger, and if it wasn't the boy, it would be her.
This became the new routine. The mother, out of love and protection for the boy, would step in each time he made a mistake, taking the punishment meant for him. It wasn't ideal, but for her, it was better than seeing the child suffer. And so, whenever the father raised his hand, she would shield her son, bearing the brunt of the man's anger.
As the boy grew older, he began to understand what was happening. He noticed how his mother took the beatings meant for him, and in response, he started to avoid doing anything that could provoke his father. He became more cautious, more obedient, and with each passing year, his English and understanding of the world improved, thanks to his mother's constant lessons.
Despite never leaving the house or having friends to play with, the boy found comfort in his mother's company. She was his only friend, always finding a way to smile at him, even when things were difficult. Her warmth was his only solace in a house full of tension.
But the peace never lasted long. Whenever the man returned from his drinking sessions with his buddies, trouble followed. For months, the boy had been nothing but obedient, and his mother had avoided provoking her husband, yet this only seemed to frustrate the man further. He needed an outlet for his frustrations, for the misery of his own life, and with no real reason to lash out, he began fabricating excuses. Even the smallest, most trivial thing would set him off, especially when he was drunk. And no matter how much his wife swore she hadn't done anything wrong, he would find a reason to raise his hand against her.
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As the boy grew older and more aware, witnessing this abuse devastated him. He knew he couldn't stop it, not when the man constantly reminded him that he was adopted, unwanted, and unloved by him. The abuse became more frequent as time passed, with the man striking his wife once or twice a month after his drunken nights.
One evening, after seeing the pattern repeat again and again, the boy finally decided he couldn't stand by any longer. He stepped between his mother and his father, trying to protect her from the inevitable violence. The man, furious at being defied, turned his rage toward the boy instead, beating him mercilessly.
When it was finally over and the man had stumbled off to bed, the boy, bruised and aching, crawled to his mother's side. His eyes were full of worry, but he smiled through the pain, a genuine warmth in his expression.
"I'm happy I could help," he said, his voice soft but full of sincerity. "Like how mother helped me when I was little."
The woman, taken aback that he remembered her sacrifices for him, felt a rush of emotion. Tears filled her eyes as she pulled him into a tight embrace.
The boy had been the only light in the woman's dark world, the one glimmer of happiness that kept her going. On more than one occasion, she had threatened to leave the man, to run far away and never look back. But every time, her love for her adopted child anchored her to the home. He was the reason she endured, the reason she could face another day. Without him, she wasn't sure she could keep living.
As the boy grew older, however, he became increasingly afraid, not just for himself, but for his mother. He knew the woman loved him more than anything, and he felt the same, but the tension in the household grew more unbearable with each passing day. The man, who once drank for fun with his friends, had now grown bitter and lonely. His friends, tired of his negativity, began to drift away, leaving him to drink in solitude, not for enjoyment but out of pure self-loathing. The weight of his life's failures made him even more irritable and violent.
The beatings became worse. The man, frustrated with his crumbling life, took his anger out on both the boy and the woman with increasing cruelty. The boy saw the danger building and knew they couldn't continue living like this. They had to escape. For both their sakes.
He would bring it up to his mother occasionally, suggesting they leave and never come back, but she always dismissed the idea. She claimed she didn't know how to live outside the home and was terrified of the unknown. The boy understood her fear, but he also saw the peril of staying. He feared for her life more and more with each passing day.
One night, after working several shifts to keep the household afloat, the woman came home late, struggling under the weight of groceries. The man, waiting impatiently for her return, was enraged by the delay. His hunger and anger boiled over, and he attacked her, beating her senselessly.
The boy had been asleep when she returned, but something stirred him awake; a faint grunt, barely audible. He knew his mother never screamed, no matter how hard she was hit, so that small sound sent a jolt of fear through him. It was instinctive. Something was wrong.
He slipped out of bed and down the hallway, only to witness a sight that filled him with horror. The man stood over his mother, hitting her with unrelenting fury. Her body was battered, her skin bruised and swollen. Her eyes were half-closed in pain, her face ghostly pale. She was on the brink of being beaten to death.
For the first time in his life, the boy felt pure, unrestrained anger rise inside him. Without thinking, he rushed forward to stop the man, placing himself between the abuser and the woman he loved.
The man, seething with rage, turned on the boy without hesitation. His fists swung wildly, landing hard blows, but something inside the boy had changed. He moved, dodging the man's punches almost instinctively. Then, before he knew what he was doing, the boy launched his own fist.
With all the fury of his bottled-up emotions, his knuckles crashed into the man's jaw. The impact was swift, and the man collapsed to the floor, knocked out cold. The boy stood there, panting heavily, staring at the unconscious figure of his adoptive father.
His hands trembled as the reality of what he had done set in. Tears welled up in his eyes, and a wave of guilt washed over him. He had knocked out his father. What had he done? Shivering, he whispered apologies to the unconscious man, but deep down, he knew there was no going back.
Pushing aside his fear, the boy hurried to his mother's side. She was still conscious, though barely, her body trembling from the pain. He carefully lifted her, his heart racing, desperate to get her out of there.
"You have to run," the woman rasped, her voice weak and labored from the beating. "If he wakes up, he'll make you pay. I don't know if he'll stop this time."
"Come with me," the boy pleaded, tears streaming down his face as he looked into her weary eyes. "Please, come with me."
The woman smiled faintly as he helped her to her feet, but there was a sadness in her eyes. She shook her head gently, her bruised face softening in the dim light. "If I'm not here," she whispered, "who will take care of him?"
Her words hit the boy like a blow to the chest. Even after everything, even after all the suffering, she still felt bound to the man who had caused them so much pain. She couldn't leave him. Not out of love, but out of a sense of duty.
Tears welled up in the woman's eyes as she gazed at the boy, her smile soft and genuine despite the bruises marring her face. "My life is here," she whispered, resting her hands gently on his small shoulders. "But you... I know you're destined for something greater. That's why I chose you. To give you all the love I possibly could."
The boy's vision blurred as tears streamed down his cheeks. He could feel the weight of her words sinking into his heart, realizing with painful clarity that this was their final conversation. Her smile, so full of love and warmth, made it even harder to accept that he had to leave her behind with the man. The guilt twisted inside him, but he knew it was the only way to keep her safe.
The woman hesitated, her voice catching in her throat before she added, "My only regret is... that I wish you were truly my biological son."
"B-Bio..." The boy stammered, unfamiliar with the word, choking on his tears.
The woman's smile widened as she gently corrected him. "It seems we haven't quite gotten there in your lessons yet," she said, her tone warm and full of affection. She lingered on him for a moment, finding it hard to let go. "But don't worry, you'll learn. You'll grow stronger. And when you do, stay true to yourself. Be just. Achieve the greatness I know you're capable of."
With those final words, she pulled him into a tight embrace, her arms trembling with emotion, before placing a kiss on his forehead. The boy clung to her for a moment longer, feeling the warmth of her love even through the sorrow of the moment. Then, with shaking hands, he grabbed his small, pre-packed bag and ran.
He ran before the man could wake, before anything could stop him.
Tears streamed down his face as he sprinted through the night, his heart pounding with a mix of fear, guilt, and determination. Each step took him farther from the life he had always known, the home where he had been raised, and the woman who had given him love. Doubts gnawed at him; had he made a mistake? But his mother's words echoed in his mind, reassuring him. She believed in his future, believed he was meant for something better.
The boy ran through the night, not stopping until the first rays of dawn began to light the sky. He had never ventured beyond the isolated area where he had grown up, and the sight of the bustling streets, packed with more people and cars than he'd ever imagined, overwhelmed him. He felt lost in the vastness of it all, but he knew he had to keep moving. He couldn't stop now.
All day, he wandered from place to place, searching for anywhere he could rest. But luck was not on his side. The boy didn't even know what he was truly looking for, just that he couldn't go back. As the hours stretched on, his exhaustion deepened, but he refused to give up. The sun began to dip below the horizon, and night fell once again.
Weariness weighed heavily on him. His legs ached from running, and his eyes stung from lack of sleep. But each door he knocked on, each person he approached, turned him away. They saw his age and quickly dismissed him. Some even threatened to call the police. Terrified at the thought of being sent back to his parents, he ran before they could make the call.
The boy knew that if the authorities got involved, they would take him straight back to the house he had fled. And that was the one thing he didn't want to allow. He couldn't betray his mother's trust, or risk putting her, or even his adoptive father, in trouble.
After hours of desperate searching, the boy finally stumbled upon a small shelter nestled beneath a bridge. To his surprise, there was food; half-eaten, but still more than he had seen in a long time. His stomach growled in betrayal, overpowering the hesitation that told him the food likely belonged to someone else. He hadn't seen anyone around for a while, and the pangs of hunger clouded his judgment.
Seeing it as a small blessing, he indulged in the meal. The meager bites brought a fleeting sense of comfort, his body grateful for the brief reprieve from hunger. Exhausted from the long day of running and rejection, the boy curled up in the shelter and drifted into a restless sleep.
But that peace didn't last.
It felt like only moments later when rough hands shook him awake. He shot up, startled and disoriented, only to find three men looming over him. Their clothes were filthy, faded from time and wear, and their faces reflected a life hardened by years on the streets.
"Hey, kid," one of them growled, his voice dripping with frustration. "What are you doing here?"
The second man, eyes darting around frantically, snapped, "And where the heck is my food?" His gaze fell on the now-empty bowl beside the boy, and a dangerous silence settled over the group as they all turned to him, anger brewing in their eyes.
The boy's throat tightened. He opened his mouth to speak, to explain everything; the hunger, the fear, the running away; but the sight of the three men standing over him, their anger palpable, made his words catch in his throat. He couldn't make a sound.
"Are ya deaf?" one of them snapped, growing impatient. "Speak, ya idiot!"
The boy's mind raced, but no words came. His heart pounded in his chest, and fear gripped him too tightly for him to think straight. The silence stretched on, and the men began to feel mocked by his inability to respond.
"Think you're funny?" One of them, taller and rougher-looking, stepped forward and shoved the boy hard to the ground.
The boy hit the cold concrete with a thud, the air knocked from his lungs. He gasped, trying to recover, but before he could, the others descended on him, kicking him furiously.
"Are ya trying to mock us?" one of them spat, his voice filled with rage. "Ya stupid kid!"
Each kick sent waves of pain through the boy's body, but worse than the physical pain was the overwhelming confusion. Why were they doing this? Why couldn't they just listen, just let him explain? His world was spinning, and for a moment, he wondered if his father had been right all along. Was this the way the world truly was; cruel, violent, indifferent to his suffering? Was the rest of the world no better than the home he had fled?
"Why?" he gasped out between blows, his voice barely audible, more a plea than a question. "Why is this happening?"