Chapter 1 : The One With No Name

In a dark alley of the megacity of Bernack, a boy stood there, dressed only in rags he had found in one of the many trash bins scattered around the place. These filthy clothes were all he had. Unable to get new ones, he had learned to make do with what the street offered him.

His eyes lacked life, like a corpse. The will to live had left him long ago, ever since his parents had abandoned him without even giving him a name.

“Shit... there’s nothing to eat anymore,” he grumbled as he opened one of the bins where he usually searched for food.

He sighed, frustrated. “What am I supposed to do now? Am I just waiting to die?” he murmured. His long hair hid half of his face, and his frail body bore the marks of malnutrition. Death seemed close, almost inevitable.

He lowered his eyes to his shoes, recalling an article from a newspaper he had found among the trash: one could eat the soles of their shoes in times of despair. Without hesitation, he removed his shoes and placed them in front of him.

“So... how do you eat this?” he wondered aloud. He had never received an education, and at 16, he was hardly more than a child abandoned in this alley, having been there since he was a baby. Other homeless people had reached out to him, but they too had been killed by the nobles.

He pulled out an old knife hidden beneath his clothes and began to slowly cut the soles off his shoes. With great difficulty, he took his first bite, chewing painfully and swallowing.

“It’s disgusting...” he murmured, before falling to his knees, feeling nauseous, on the verge of vomiting.

“There’s nothing else to eat...” he muttered as he looked around. He searched for a few minutes before finding a piece of bread under one of the bins. He stretched out his arm to retrieve it.

“Finally...” A wide smile stretched across his lips. He was truly happy; for him, eating real food, even dirty, was more than rare, so he might as well enjoy it.

Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

Suddenly, voices echoed behind him.

“Another one of those peasants... They’ll never learn,” a cold voice murmured behind him.

The boy turned around, still feeling sick, trying to force a smile, hoping they would leave him alone.

“Yeah, I’m just a peasant... so, no need to waste your time on me, you can keep going—” he began, before a stone struck his face, knocking him to the ground. He collapsed face-first, his nose bleeding.

“Why are you doing this, you filthy sicko?!” he yelled, trying to defend himself against this unreasonable act.

“Guys, come look, there’s a lower class who dared to speak to me!” the man shouted disdainfully. At those words, two other men approached, all adults, all looking at him with palpable hatred.

“Ronald, beat him up!” one of them yelled, filled with contempt.

The poor boy tried to get up, but his weak body no longer obeyed him. He glanced at the walls of this alley where he had spent his entire life, and deep inside him, a profound hatred began to awaken.

“Why... why me...?” he murmured, but before he could think any further, a kick crushed his stomach.

“Break him, Ronald!” one of the men screamed while the other continued to hit him, harder and harder. The boy tried to protect himself, but his frail body could do nothing against their violence.

After a few minutes of blows, the attackers finally stopped, probably tired of his lack of resistance.

“Let’s go, we’re leaving,” said one of them, turning to walk away. But barely had they taken a few steps when the boy, despite his bloodied body, got back up.

“It hurts, it hurts, it hurts...” he murmured, tears slowly streaming down his face. He was truly suffering. In reality, he had always suffered; he had never known the warmth that parents could offer, he had never known comfort. Yet, it was the only thing he had ever desired.

His rationality was slowly slipping away, draining like the blood flowing from his nose.

“Don’t make me laugh...” he murmured, pulling out the knife he had hidden beneath his clothes. Before the men could react, he rushed at one of them. He knew that whether he succeeded or not, he was going to die. But he tried anyway.

He reached the back of one of them and plunged the knife deep into him. The man trembled before screaming in pain.

“Guh...!” The two other men turned around, stunned to see their friend agonizing, killed by a mere “peasant.”

“Son of a—!” one of them yelled, lunging at the boy. But at that precise moment:

[‘Nameless’, you have been admitted as an Envoy for our special program!]

[Energy core installation in progress… Completed!]

[Sending to Tyralis… Completed!]

Suddenly, the "peasant" from the alley vanished, teleported by thousands of shimmering particles. The man he had stabbed collapsed, dead, while the other two looked around, trying to understand what had just happened.