The expansive city of Duledon spread out from the ancient wasteland. The waste stretched farther than the eye could see no matter which way you looked out at it from the southern end of the city. Its name was old and haggard; rarely used and seldom thought of. Much like the single road that traversed its sodden land, winding down towards the city.

There in the shadows of early morning, Ataren kicked up the sludge that bordered the road. He did not have the heart to curse nor wear his frustrations on his face. Instead, he mutely continued on his way, idly staring up at the buildings ahead.

Taral del was the name of the road. Ataren was not entirely sure why he had decided to remember it now - he had come this way often enough without working up the bother to do so. He dismissed the thought. Arguing with himself was also beyond his will, it seemed.

In his hands he held the flowers his grandmother had sent him to retrieve. Why they only grew out in the waste was something he longed to know the answer to. Why they only grew half a mile from the edge of the city rather than at the border itself, was another one of the thousand questions that taunted him. They beckoned to him with every step as he made his way back to civilisation, and he only begrudgingly kept them at bay. The questions made up the better part of his frustrations. Laziness upheld the rest.

Closing in on the nearest buildings, the sun quickly disappeared from his view. Somehow, he did not seem to notice the change in light nor scenery, despite suddenly being embroidered in the clutches of the darkened streets. Maybe it was because all around him, everything appeared much the same as what lay behind. The grey buildings that housed hundreds and stretched well above the tallest farmhouses he had seen, were all cracked and smudged with dirt. Dirt was dirt, no matter upon which it lay. And the aging city only reflected the maturity that stemmed from the waste. Perhaps he would have noticed the difference - even with the limited light - if he made a habit of seeing rather than looking.

As he walked, Ataren's eyes were drawn to pale lantern light inside of what appeared to be a shop. He stopped then, shook his head and rubbed his eyes. He hadn't recalled leaving the grey buildings behind. The tarp above the shop flapped tirelessly against the wind, mirroring that of a hundred other shopfronts and their signs that hung loosely from the walls. The road had also transitioned into cobble, and it split left and right into many different alleyways every few blocks. When he peered behind him, he could only dimly see the rooftops of the closest of the tall, grey buildings all the way down the bottom of a hill. He brushed his hair against the wind, cursing and moved on.

There were a few other shops showing signs of life, but many still remained dark as it was too early for the market to open. Many of the signs above them were sloppy and half-hearted at best. Ataren had grown up used to it and by now could recognise what a store sold merely by the way it was organised. Apart from that he didn't pay much heed to his surroundings. That he had was only so that he didn't wander off in another stupor. He was eager to be home, especially before the first people made their way out into the streets. Those were usually the most dedicated or the most crooked. Sometimes both, but either way he knew he would be waylaid by one or the other. It was a hard life for most, and the former almost always turned into the latter. You couldn't trust anyone. He wasn't sure if those were his own words or his mothers.

Reminded of what he was about and urged by the increasing frequency of lights, he quickened his pace. Several turns later - and careful not to enter any alleyways - and he was finally in the housing district. Or one of them at least.

That was when he heard it. Footsteps. He wouldn't have, if the road hadn't transitioned into gravel.

At first, he shrugged it off, assuming his mind was playing tricks on him in its tired state. Then another set echoed the first, one to his left and the other to his right. Both sets were coming from behind.

He realised he was being followed and his assailants were slowly closing in.

Ataren turned at the nearest corner and broke into a manic sprint. He urged his legs to move at the greatest capacity of speed he could muster, cursing all the while. The crunching of his steps on gravel muted those that had been following him. His breathing quickly became heavy, and as he ran, each breath began to weigh down on him. Before long, his legs were aching from the surface to the bones.

The road and the buildings were all a blur so that he could not focus on where he was, nor where he was going. It didn't matter. Every time he rounded a corner, he attempted to get a look at his followers. His efforts proved futile and when he almost tripped in the process, he decided against it.

He imagined hands grabbing him from behind or a man emerging from one of the alleys ahead, blocking his way. Neither of which occurred but rather edged him onwards, scaring him out of stopping.

He wasn't sure if it was tears or sweat that began to drip down his face, but eventually he could not run any further. He collapsed onto the ground, legs giving way and his will spent. He cried then. Fear and pain overwhelmed him and he was reduced to silent moans of despair.

Behind him came a loud skidding sound. He could hear the two men breathing hard but when he tried to look, his tears made it so that he could only vaguely make out the two figures, both leaning on the walls of a house.

"This better be worth it," one of them said between breaths. They still made no move towards him.

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Half of him wanted to get up and run again but the greater part was resigned to his fate. The truth of the matter was that he was just too tired to even think of a means of escape.

"Check him and find out," the other said, irritably.

"You check him!" the first said, anger rising in his voice.

Ataren gulped in a deep breath and slowly pushed himself onto shaky legs.

"Hey!" The man closest stepped out from where he was leaning. Ataren wiped the tears from his eyes and the man towering over him shifted into clarity. He was ragged and covered in dirt, with sweat sheening off of his face. They both were. Even in the shadows he could see the hostility in their eyes. They were not happy with him. "What have you got there?" The man nodded to Atarens right hand, balanced out in front of him in case he fell. Inside it was the flowers, looking almost as dishevelled as the three of them were. His hand gripped them tightly and he couldn't bring himself to loosen his hold.

"You can’t have them!" Ataren reflexively pulled them to his chest. He wasn't sure if he could keep them from taking it but he would give them up if it meant saving himself from harm. He could always get more.

"We can take whatever we want," the second man said, joining the other.

"Why can’t you get some of your own," Ataren pleaded.

"Ha!" The first man scoffed and the other laughed. "I wouldn't go out into that waste if my own mother was dying."

Hope filled Ataren. "Mine is. That's what these are for," he said, his eyes falling to the flowers and desperation filling his voice.

The two men regarded him seriously. They looked at each other and then the second spoke softly. "You know, not many people are willing to go out into the waste." He turned to Ataren and stepped forward. "We could make a grand living out of you." He reached out his hand but just before he was able to grab Ataren, the door of the house the two men had been leaning on opened. All three heads snapped towards the door. An older man with a quizzical expression appeared on the doorstep, clearly in a bad mood.

The man looked between Ataren and the two ragged looking men standing before him, the three of them still panting. It would have been clear to anyone what was happening, especially with the sun still hidden behind the houses across the street. The man scowled and then slammed his door shut.

Hoplessness settled in the pit of Ataren's stomach.

The men turned to Ataren, hostility now gone. Greed filled their eyes instead. This time they both stepped closer and reached out to him. Suddenly, a burst of white light broke out from behind the nearest buildings, causing the men to pause. It was blindingly bright and it filled Ataren's vision before smashing into him. He fell flat onto his back and could not cry out in pain, with the wind knocked out of him.

Darkness replaced the white and he realised he had shut his eyes. His lungs ached once again, and so he took his first breath in what could conceivably be years. Long moments passed in silence.

Ataren opened his eyes...but it was the world that widened. Everything suddenly seemed brighter, though he knew in his heart that nothing had changed. The walls of the houses and the colour of the streets still remained drab, but somehow a sense of hope bled through their anonymity, bringing them to life.

His eyes gravitated towards his assailants, both of which were also on the ground looking dazed. As he studied them, he began to feel sad. He pitied them. They were just as ragged as he was. They were also quite young. They were what he might have become one day. He had always known that their path could easily have become his own; that if the worst came to be, there were other ways of surviving. But not now. Somehow, he knew otherwise.

What is happening to me?

One of the men looked up at him, confusion parading his face. Ataren realised how he must look right now, staring down at his attackers with a sad expression on his face. The man understood that the expression was for him. He opened his mouth but closed it when the sun finally showed itself in the sky. Its light was not so bright as the one they had seen before, yet it was still blinding. What had that been?

"Come on," the man said to his partner as they got to their feet, hands barricading against the onslaught of light from the sun. "Somethings seriously wrong here."

They hesitated, glancing at Ataren one last time before stumbling off in the opposite direction, clutching their chests.

With the sun finally showing itself, they would not be the only one's on the street for long.

Ataren stood there dumbly for a few minutes trying to process everything.

When he came to, he was no longer alone. The first cart was rolling down the street and a small crowd was gathering as people began to empty out of their homes. The day was just beginning.

The men and women who passed him as he stood in the middle of the road shook their heads. An old woman struggling to walk, even took the time to spit at his feet. Ataren only gave an amused expression in return. Seeing this, others began to whisper curses at him as they walked by.

Despite their disapproval, Ataren smiled. Funnily enough, that caused more people to frown at him.

He started in the direction of the crowd then, flowing with them as they moved and picking his way slowly towards home. As the minutes passed him by, worry began to creep into him. Something wasn't right. He did not know what it was but for some reason, all he could do was see the bright side to every shadow that cast its hand over Duladon. He had never paid much heed to the problems of others for they were just that: other people’s problems. And everybody had something to cause them distress at any rate. Why was today any different? Why should he care that a smile was a rare thing to see these days, and that his own was already aching with unfamiliarity? What did he care for the hundreds of beggars that he had seen every day of his life for as long he could remember?

And yet, he did care. But it wasn't pity that he felt at the sight of them either. Rather it was hope.

That was it. That was what was so different. He felt a sense of enlightenment washing over him.

* * *

They say the road to enlightenment begins with a single step. Ataren thought otherwise. By his reckoning, enlightenment was not something one sought, but found. It was always within one’s reach, waiting to be taken. One need only open their eyes in order to be captured in its magnificence. And the world before Ataren was burgeoning with endless possibility. It was overflowing in opportunity, bordering upon perfection. It was a glass filled with hope on an otherwise empty table. It was startlingly beautiful.

Just then, a feminine voice entered his mind and the edges of his vision blurred yellow.

You have no idea how long I have been waiting for this. The voice breathed a deep sigh as if it had woken from a long dream. I didn't know it before, but now I know! The voice seemed adamant. The confidence of it reached him, and he shivered. You and I... we are one.