In the heart of Rosemere, another forgotten city on the edge of the world, where cobblestones whispered ancient tales and secrets rustled in the shadows just out of sight, a young soul walked out into a gray dawn. Hunger clawed at his belly, echoing the emptiness within his heart, yet beneath the weariness in his eyes gleamed a spark of resilience. Barely past boyhood, his face was as pale as a winter moon. His footsteps, though silent against the cold street, resonated with a profound determination, echoing the quiet dreams that refused to be extinguished—dreams of becoming something more than he had been. Life wasn't fair and he knew it well; when you survived long enough, you figured out how to play every angle you could to win hard coin for food each day. He knew exactly who to look for.

Jasper crept through the cold, dark tunnels beneath the city, where outcasts like him huddled together, sharing meager spoils and stories of better days. But tonight, fate had bestowed upon him something extraordinary—an apple so red his throat ached at the sight of it. Perhaps for just one night he could forget how much his stomach hurt or that he wondered whether a tide of rodents would gnaw away at his toes while he slept.

It was a discovery too precious to keep to himself.

Yet as Jasper clutched the apple, a mob of dirty children descended upon him like vultures sensing a dying prey. Their eyes, once innocent, now glimmered with desperation and greed.

"Give us your food!" screamed their leader. "You don't have kids to feed."

Jasper ran, the dreaded mob hot on his heels. He took the tight corners of alleyways and turned onto narrow streets, desperate to escape their relentless pursuit. His feet pounded against the cold stones beneath them as he gasped for air, the wind mixing with fear in his lungs.

Finally, Jasper found himself cornering on an old building, its rough bricks pressing against his back. He was trapped. The boys surrounding him seemed to swell in size, their threats echoing off the walls of the alleyway. Fear eclipsed every thought but one - survival.

Jasper's hands moved in a flurry of motion, weaving a shaky ward from the tattered remnants of his stolen childhood dreams. Desperately hoping it would hold against the combined force of his attackers' spells - Fire! Ice! Sand! – he braced for impact. He watched as it shimmered blue, then cracked like glass, leaving him vulnerable and defenseless in its wake.

Stunned silence blanketed the alleyway until someone shouted “Fire!” A fierce blaze shot across the ground toward him, merging with the frost and abrasive sand that followed close behind. In an instant flames licked at his skin and grains of sand cut into his flesh like tiny knives while chunks of ice collided with his body. He fought back desperately with whatever magic he could muster, but it was no match for their onslaught.

When it finally ended, Jasper lay still upon the cobblestone street, bloody and battered beyond recognition by the elements and pounding fists of his assailants. They snatched what little food he had and fled into the night, leaving him alone in this cruel world.

Beneath the soft, golden glow of the rising sun, Jasper, a street orphan with eyes that held many sorrows, lay beneath the tranquil morning sky. Despite the pain, his spirit flickered with a stubborn flame, refusing to be extinguished by the cruelty of the world.

"Why did I have to be born with this stupid warding core?" he muttered bitterly to the quiet dawn.

In the dim light of the morning mist, a hand, weathered and gnarled, extended towards him, holding a fresh loaf of bread. "Hungry, lad? You seem like you've had a rough time," a voice, rough yet oddly comforting, floated down to him.

Jasper's cautious eyes lifted, meeting the gaze of an old man who leaned on a walking stick, as though it were a natural extension of his body. Despite the wrinkles etched on his face, the stranger's eyes held a wisdom that transcended time. Jasper hesitated, his street-smart instincts tingling with suspicion. He had been deceived by feigned kindness before, a lesson etched into his wary soul.

"I've learned not to trust anything that comes too easily," Jasper replied, his voice laced with caution.

The old man gave a gentle smile, lines on his face weaving tales of a lifetime."Sometimes when you find yourself in need, there's no shame in seeking help from others. Asking for help can be as heroic as giving it." But Jasper remained unconvinced - how could he believe such words when experience had taught him to be wary?

Jasper's brows furrowed, his pride and stubbornness getting the better of him. "I don't need help," he stated firmly, his eyes not meeting the old man's gaze. The tension between them was palpable as the loaf of bread remained suspended between them.

The old man's voice seemed to understand all of Jasper's conflicting emotions. "It may seem like you don't need help," he spoke gently, understanding in his words. "But seeking help isn't a sign of weakness - it is an act of courage, a way to show that you don't have to face the world alone." He paused for a moment before adding, "And sometimes, strength lies in admitting when you can no longer go on alone."

Bitter laughter rumbled from Jasper's chest, echoing across the still morning air. He had his fists balled at his sides, a single tear trailing down his cheek as he spoke. “Alone? I've always been alone." His voice held a blend of defiance and resignation. "I'm just another orphan surviving on the streets. It's every man for themselves, always has been."

The old man stared intently into Jasper's eyes, something kind and understanding emanating from him. "I don't see a man," he said softly. "I see a kid,".

The word ‘kid’ stung Jasper, a jab that cut through him like a blade. He quickly grabbed the loaf of bread out of the old man's hand and sprinted away, his footsteps ringing on the cobblestone street as he disappeared into the foggy morning air, clutching onto the bread with all his might—a minuscule victory in a world which had never quite shown him mercy.

As he darted down alleyways, his breathing was labored and frantic as he continually glanced back to make sure no one was following him. When he finally reached his secluded hideaway, tucked away from any onlookers, he crumpled into a pile amongst a mattress of rags and hay.

He held onto the hard-earned bread tightly as he tore off a chunk, stuffing it ravenously into his mouth and savoring the taste even though it was tinged with bitterness. His mind kept replaying the words of the kind old man, trying to comprehend their hidden meaning.

Jasper's voice was a strange mixture of anger and sadness as he spoke through gritted teeth. "What does he know?" he growled, the words laced with venom. "He speaks of asking for help like it is something to be admired, but he doesn't understand. Nobody understands."

Despite his defiance, the memory of the old man's kind eyes lingered in Jasper's thoughts like a stubborn seed. Deep down he pondered if there might be some truth in the stranger's words—a truth he was too proud and stubborn to acknowledge. The weathered face of the old man reflected across his thoughts as a smiling ghost.

Yet, for the present, amidst the solitude of his hidden refuge, he pushed those contemplations aside, focusing instead on the simple act of tearing into the stolen bread. The crumbs slid through his fingers and fell to the floor of his makeshift shelter. He had been hungry for a long time.

For a moment, Jasper's hunger was sated. Heedless of his pain, he focused on the power that coursed through him—his magic. Jasper found out how to create his first magic incantation because everyone around him discussed it in the streets. Everyone is born with a core.

To activate a spell, the person must bring forth the essence inside the core and direct it towards the gateway the core resides in. This will cause the magical enchantment that is tucked away in the core to be activated

With a silent oath to push himself harder, Jasper unleashed his spell he had been working on—a wild flash of light consumed his hand and dissipated just as quickly. Again and again, he repeated the practice, honing and perfecting every gesture until sweat poured down his face. His energy draining with every passing minute, Jasper pushed himself further than ever before, determined to augment his skillset by any means necessary.

After his essence was depleted, leaving him unable to train further, Jasper crept through the narrow alleyways with a resolve carved into his young face. The faint din of laughter and clinking glasses echoed from the taverns, but Jasper was focused on his task. His desire for food drove him on, each step bringing him closer to his target. Just two more turns down the twisting alleys and he would arrive at his destination.

The butcher's stall was located in the heart of the market square, and it was well-known to many street children. The butcher brought his wares to town every day and sold them to the peasants who ran nearby stalls by day or served in the taverns and inns during the evening hours. Occasionally he gave a few scraps to needy children if they worked hard, so they had become accustomed to requesting such scrumptious morsels before cleaning up after closing time. Jasper approached, his eyes flicking between the hanging meats and the busy butcher.

Jasper approached the first man and cleared his throat. He tried to look at the butcher, but the glare from the sun forced his eyes closed, so he looked down instead. The earth was sticky with blood that had pooled around the limbs and organs strewn about. Jasper's stomach lurched as he breathed in the sweet and heavy smell.

"Any work today?" Jasper inquired, his voice small but hopeful.

The burly butcher turned away from him, shaking his head regretfully. "All slots are filled this morning," he said. "Come back tomorrow; perhaps I'll have something then."

Undeterred , Jasper moved on to the next booth, hoping there might be some fetching tasks. The carpenter glanced up briefly before returning to his task.

His next attempt was at the tanner's area, where the air reeked of chemicals and hide. "Need any help getting rid of waste?" Jasper asked, trying not to wrinkle his nose at the stench.

The tanner eyed him skeptically and then shrugged. "Sorry, not today," he said. "We've got it covered."

Scribal work was out of the question; Jasper couldn't read or write, a luxury reserved for those with coin and status. The baker, too, had ceased hiring orphans due to rampant thefts draining their profits.

Stumbling through the city streets, Jasper searched for a job that would provide him with some food. He passed men working on furniture they would later burn and beyond that, a harbor packed with boats and an old stone bridge that opened to a field full of sheep. His empty stomach let out an agonizingly loud rumble as if it were trying to devour itself; the pangs became so unbearable he thought he might vomit. Though the stables carried risks, like getting kicked by a horse as he'd recently experienced, he was drawn in by their familiar aroma of hay and animals. After a long day's work, Jasper looked at his seven copper coins — enough for one meal, but nothing else. His rumbling stomach pleaded for sustenance, yet he seemed reluctant to spend his meager earnings. Exhausted from labor, Jasper finally walked to the nearest food vendor where he knew he could get a rare full meal.

Jasper stumbled through the crowded market, his seven copper coins tightly held in his sweaty palm. He felt desperate; the weight of his meagre earnings seemed to mock the intense gnawing hunger that burned through him. On one hand, he was desperate for something substantial to eat tonight, but on the other, he dreaded having to spend what little money he had on food. He could only hope luck would be on his side and give him a warm meal.

As Jasper rushed through the bustling market, his eyes darting from stall to stall, he felt a sudden chill as he stumbled into a group of rough-looking boys. He could feel their eyes boring into him like cold steel knives; they were sizing him up for something.

"Well well," one of them cawed, glancing hungrily at the coins in Jasper's hand. "What do we have here? Fresh meat for dinner!"

Jasper's stomach churned. He knew this encounter wouldn't end well. Clutching his coins tightly, he tried to slip past them, but the boys closed in on him, blocking his path.

"What have you got there, eh?" another boy jeered, reaching for Jasper's hand. The coins jingled resoundingly as they exchanged hands.

"Please," Jasper pleaded softly, "I need this for food."

The boys laughed, a cruel sound that filled Jasper with disdain. "Food? We need food too! But you know what we need more? Your coins!"

With fierce motions, one of the boys reached out and snatched the copper coins from Jasper's hand, leaving him empty handed and defeated. They shoved him roughly backward, sending him stumbling.

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Jasper’s heart sank as he watched the ringleader of the group of boys, his smirk taunting Jasper with the words “Finders keepers, little beggar.” Though a part of him wanted to run after them and fight for his coins, he knew that he was no match for the whole gang. His cheeks flushed with anger and embarrassment as he watched helplessly as they sauntered away with his hard-earned money, while he was left empty handed.

Jasper shivered in the evening air, his stomach contracting miserably as he stood on the cobbled street. A sigh escaped his lips as he surveyed the empty street before him, darkness pressing in around him like a heavy blanket. Footsteps sounded against the stone and Jasper glanced up to see an old man, stooped and weathered from time, shuffling towards him with a gnarled walking stick tapping a steady beat on the ground.

Jasper's accusing glare pierced the air. "Were you following me?" he demanded. The old man, his eyes like ancient stars, held a mysterious glint that seemed to suggest he was hiding something.

With a mischievous smile, he replied in a low voice, "Maybe I was. Or maybe it was just fate." Jasper looked unconvinced, not ready to accept this answer.

Jasper's tone was hard. "What do you want from me? Coin? I have none. Are you one of those slavers, preying on people like me?"

The old man's face crinkled into a mass of creases. His breath smelled of mint and baked goods. At first it seemed as if he were sad, but then the lines in his face rearranged themselves into an expression of understanding. "Oh, no, lad. I seek nothing so vile. In fact, I wish to offer you something quite the opposite."

Jasper's scowl faded, replaced by confusion. "And what could that be? I'm just someone who lives on the streets. There's nothing special about me."

The old man raised a weathered hand, and with the soft sound of rustling leaves or smoke curling upward, an iridescent ward flowed through the air like starlight in his palm. Jasper's eyes widened as he recognized it.

The old man's voice had a hint of awe as he asked, "Do you understand how unique it is to have the power of a ward core in the mind gate? It’s almost as if diamonds were scattered in the ocean.

And yet, here you are, young one, with this core, that I myself was privileged to possess."

Jasper felt a spark of excitement, but it was quickly replaced by a bubbling feeling of dread. He knew he shouldn't trust the old man standing in front of him, but the stranger's seemingly genuine smile made it hard to deny his offer.

"What do you want?" Jasper asked warily, not wanting to be tricked again.

"Nothing more than your open mind and eagerness to learn," The old man replied earnestly. "I can help you discover your true potential and guide you towards a destiny that will surpass anything you have ever dreamed of." Even though Jasper still felt uncertain about what lay ahead, he couldn't help but feel intrigued by the possibilities.

Jasper stood, frozen in indecision. His stomach rumbled from hunger, but his soul longed for a way out of the darkness that had taken over his life. He stared into the old man's eyes, looking beyond the wrinkles and searching for any hint of deception or malicious intent. Instead, he saw only a kind sincerity that filled him with courage.

"Alright," Jasper said, his voice firm. "Teach me something, but you have to buy me a meal first." The old man nodded his head in agreement.

The old man let out a dry chuckle, the sound resembling leaves rustling in the autumn wind. "A fair bargain, lad," he said with a twirl of his cloak. He gestured toward a nearby tavern, the warm light spilling out onto the cobblestone street. Jasper felt a strange mix of dread and anticipation as they headed inside; while the scent of freshly baked bread and hearty stews enveloped him, he couldn't shake the feeling that this man was hiding something.

Seated at a corner table, they shared a humble but unsatisfying meal. Jasper's hunger faded beneath the wariness that had been stirred up within him. The old man watched him with an enigmatic smile, as if he knew what questions were stirring underneath his stoic facade. Finally, between bites, Jasper spoke the questions that had been rattling around in his mind.

“What's your name?” Jasper asked, his voice softening slightly out of curiosity but still holding a note of suspicion.

The old man smiled knowingly. “People usually call me The Master, lad. What shall I call you?”

Jasper held firm, his expression unyielding. “I won't be calling anyone master.”

The old man chuckled as he said, "It's my title you see. I've filled all the gates and mastered each spell-it's called reaching the Master. But I'm an old man now; my family is gone from this world, and so has my name. It feels like a part of me is missing so I don't introduce myself with it."

Jasper's eyebrows furrowed as he listened to the old man speak. It sounded too far-fetched to be true - a 'Master' rank and filling up each of his gates? A part of him thought it was all a bunch of nonsense, yet the twinkle in the old man's eye made Jasper question the limits of what he knew. Doubts were pushed aside as curiosity began to stir within him, spurring him to learn more about the depths of this mysterious Master's knowledge.

"Jasper," he replied, the words escaping his lips reluctantly. He had held back his name for too long, a fear of being ridiculed or abused driving him further and further into silence.

"Jasper," The old man repeated the name, rolling it around in his mouth as if tasting something bitter yet familiar. His eyes seemed to pierce right into Jasper's, a look of respect and anticipation that filled Jasper with equal parts dread and excitement. He could sense that the old man saw something in him that even he himself was still unaware of.

The old man says, "Take a look around and tell me what you see." Jasper observed the bustling scene in the inn: people sitting at tables, their mugs of ale steaming; the waitress moving through the crowd with a tray on her hips and another balanced on her head; the chefs furiously preparing meals behind the kitchen window, their knives flashing in the candlelight like fireflies; and customers enjoying their meals. Someone was standing on a chair and mopping the floor. A bard played fiddle music from the second story.

Jasper nodded, his eyes reflecting his sense of wonder. "I see people working." The old man smiled, his eyes twinkling with wisdom.

"It is not likely that any single individual can accomplish something great on their own. However, if everyone contributes with the small things, regardless of their level of skill, amazing outcomes are possible. Just look around you; it does not just take one person to get everything done. No single soul is capable of doing it all alone."

Jasper replied with a trace of doubt in his voice, "Alright, if you say so." He paused before asking, "So, when do I get to start learning?" His tone seemed to show hesitancy, but hope still lingered in the air.

The old man's grin broadened as he said, "Who says you haven't already started learning?"

Jasper's face scrunched up in confusion at the riddle-like answer. He surveyed the busy tavern and pondered when exactly this ancient man planned on beginning his teachings of core spells. Excitement swept through him like a windstorm as he thought about the exclusive knowledge typically only possessed by the wealthy elite and never offered to someone of Jasper's social standing. Magic was an enigma to most common people, something that felt impossible to grab onto with just bare hands, like trying to capture a wisp of smoke.

The thought that he, a destitute street urchin from the depths of poverty, could hope to decipher the secrets of core spells was both exciting and daunting. An opportunity he never dreamed possible was now being presented to him by this mysterious figure with his 'Master' title. It seemed too good to be true — a chance for him to bridge the gap between the affluent and those without means. Yet, what if it cost him more than he anticipated?

The Master's ice-blue eyes glimmered with ancient wisdom as he spoke. "It appears I must pique your interest with a different approach," he said, his thin lips curling into a smile as he tossed a handful of coppers onto the table. "Very well, lad. Come, lets go."

Jasper trailed behind the old man, swallowed up by the cacophony of sights and sounds that made up the city's slums. They ducked through narrow passages, dodging piles of refuse and avoiding the gaze of hostile eyes glaring from doorways. After what seemed like an eternity, they reached a small house on the outskirts of town, its whitewashed walls standing out in stark relief against the surrounding destitution.

"'We've made it home,' the elderly man sighed, his deep voice shaking with age. Jasper's brows knitted in confusion as he asked, 'Is this really where you live? I thought you were some kind of grand master.' The Master turned to him, his eyes shining.

'Let me ask you this, young Jasper,' he spoke, his words ringing with knowledge. 'If you strolled through the market holding a fistful of gold coins, what would happen?' Jasper answered right away and confidently.

'You'd get robbed and beaten without a doubt.' The old man nodded approvingly. 'So why would I make my house out of gold? Such a residence would only bring upon unwanted attention, which is not the life I'm looking for.'

Jasper turned his gaze to the unremarkable house before them, a mixture of curiosity and comprehension dawning in his eyes. "So, you live here to avoid unnecessary attention?"

The Master smiled, a hint of approval in his gaze. "Indeed. This is a lesson you should understand as well, young Jasper. Also sometimes, the most powerful individuals are those who blend in, who understand the value of discretion." He turned and pushed opened the gate with one hand. The hinges creaked in protest. "Come," he said as he walked up the path to the house. "There is much for you to learn, and the first lesson begins."

Jasper felt an unexpected mix of apprehension and eagerness as he followed his mentor inside. He had grown to respect the old man more than ever before, and was now ready to start this journey- a journey that he had never expected he'd have to take. But as much as he wanted to learn, part of him feared what secrets the old man held within.

As they crossed the threshold, Jasper's eyes widened at the sight before him. The simple exterior of the house belied the wonders to be found inside. Maps adorned the walls, but not just any maps--these were hand-drawn and inked with meticulous circles and arrows indicating unspoken journeys, each a story waiting to be told. Open books, their pages filled with ancient wisdom, lay scattered across a sturdy desk as if left in haste by some scholar deep in thought. A warm fire crackled in the fireplace, casting dancing shadows upon the room that seemed to come alive with each flicker. A shelf groaned under the weight of countless tomes, their spines well-worn and bending outward from frequent handling. They stood as an imposing testament to the knowledge contained within these walls, for here was a sanctuary for seekers of truth.

The old man, his eyes gleaming with a mysterious mix of patience and anticipation, marched purposefully to the bookcase. His gaze, that of a refined scholar's look, fleetingly skimmed the titles before he drew out one particular book and handed it to Jasper. "Here you go," he said in a low rumble, an abyss of understanding. Excited fingers eagerly opened the cover, but as Jasper went through the strange symbols, doubt filled his eyes.

"What's wrong? Didn't you want to learn about cores and gates?" The old man's question dangled in the air like an unfulfilled vow.

"I can't read," Jasper confessed in an odd blend of shame and exasperation. His disclosure hung heavy in the room.

"Of course I know that," the old man responded calmly, not a trace of accusation in his tone. There was a short pause, the hush ripe with untold truths. "So why am I even here then?" Jasper inquired, his voice saturated with defiance.

The old man's lips tightened and he slowly raised his rheumatic hand to rub his forehead in a weary gesture. His eyes fell on the large, leather bound book that was clutched so tightly in Jasper's hands. With infinite gentleness, he replaced it with a small yet sturdy volume of simple text and pictures entitled "How to Read and Count: The Basics." Slipping it into the boy’s grasp, he gave him an encouraging smile. “This is where we start, young one,” he said softly.

"A solid foundation is the canvas upon which your life's masterpiece is painted. Choose your dreams as colors, blend them with dedication, and watch as the strokes of your efforts create a picture of lasting success. You need to start at the bottom. Don't worry, Jasper, the fun's coming. But first you must start your journey by learning the basics. All great things begin with a humble beginning – like the flipping of these pages."

In the quiet hours of that evening, Jasper found himself seated at the old man's desk, the weight of the book in his hands a tangible reminder of the knowledge waiting to be unlocked. "Fine," he said, his voice a mixture of determination and resignation.

He grabbed the tattered book, its pages filled with nonsense: straightforward words, letters and numbers. The old man moved his items off his desk in one fluid motion, creating a makeshift workspace for Jasper to concentrate on the book. For what seemed like forever, they explored the contents of the book. Jasper's gaze ran along the lines of text while he pressed his palm against the small dense pile of paper. Patiently and encouragingly, the old man helped him make sense of the world around him and pushed him to keep practicing until he could instantly recognize words that had once been unfamiliar.

When the lessons reached a temporary halt, the old man motioned for Jasper to join him by the hearth. A pot hung from above, filling the air with the aroma of stewed wonders. He dished out two portions, and as he extended a bowl to Jasper, the boy eagerly reached for it only to have it snatched away.

"First, move that book aside," the old man commanded sternly, his eyes no longer twinkling with amusement. "And wash your hands. There's a pot of water by that door."

The boy reluctantly obeyed, dipping his hands into the water and pulling them out, barely achieving cleanliness. The old man shook his head in disapproval, silently chastising the boy for not making more effort. "It'll have to do," he said dismissively, setting aside his disappointment.

“Let's grab something to eat first,” he said.

They had a meal in peaceful stillness, the elderly man occasionally providing little bits of guidance between bites. After they had their fill, they went back to their task. Time flew by until the old man finally declared it was time for bed.

Jasper followed the old man into a room that felt both intimidating and strangely welcoming. There was a bed, nightstand with a flickering candle, and a dresser. Jasper hesitated at the threshold, his gaze shifting from one object to another as if he was looking for something.

He tentatively asked, "Do you have a blanket I can use to sleep on the floor with?"

The old man's response caught him by surprise. "This is your room, lad," he said, his voice soft but firm. "Before you get into bed, there's a bath in the back of the house. Wash up and use soap. There are clothes in the dresser; find something that fits. Then go to bed."

Conflicted emotions ran through Jasper's mind - fear, apprehension and longing all vying for space in his heart.

Jasper's heart raced as the old man left him alone in the room, his figure fading into the darkness like a ghost. Trepidation weighed heavy on his chest as he made his way to the back of the house, where the air was filled with the sweet scent of wood smoke. There, behind a weathered fence, lay the bath—a place of solace amidst his difficult circumstances. He hesitated before slowly kindling a fire beneath it, his hands trembling with uncertainty as he watched the flames dance and spark. Water filled the tub, and he waited, watching as wisps of steam rose up like translucent shadows into the night sky. Lighting a bath was a skill he had learnt, a way to make some money at inns if fortune favored him.

With practiced movements, he undressed. His clothes dropped silently to the floor and gathered around his ankles as if in obeisance. A soft shush of sound through starched cotton whispered around the room like a sigh and faded into dim memory. The warmth of the water beckoned him forward into its embrace, a loving mother cradling her child in her arms. He moved without fear or hesitation, self-consciousness forgotten. When his task was complete, he emerged from the water and wrapped a towel around himself like an infant swaddled in blankets.

Upon his return inside, he found the old man had vanished, leaving behind a house that felt both empty and full—a peculiar echo of the day's teachings. Jasper discovered clothes in the dresser, garments that, for the first time, seemed tailored for his frame. In silence, he changed, his fingers tracing the unfamiliar texture of fabric against his skin. The weight of his newfound circumstances sank in, settling upon his shoulders like an unspoken burden.

As he lay there in the unfamiliar bed, his eyes wide with doubt and fear, he was uncertain of what this place represented. The warmth of the room and the comfort of the mattress were new to him, but they were also reminders of all he had been through—all that he had lost. He felt a swell of emotions rising within him, and as it reached its peak, his tears started to flow. He wanted to bask in the newfound hope that surrounded him, yet the weight of his hardships still lingered—a conflict between the past and present battling within his mind. With a heavy heart, he allowed himself a moment of release, and let the tears cleanse his pain.