The rain fell in heavy sheets, drenching the worn cobblestone streets of the countryside. The town, lay in a muted haze, its grand mansions standing in stark contrast to the smaller, humbler homes on its outskirts. Amidst the relentless downpour, in front of a small side gate, a boy lay on the muddy ground, trembling. Water gurgled through the gutters, pooling at the base of a wrought-iron side gate.
There, half-submerged in the mud, a boy Abisha, only eight years old, clutched his younger brother tightly to his chest. Yitzhak, just four, lay limp in his arms, his small body cold and unmoving, his face as pale as death. Tears mixed with rain and mud, streaking down Abisha's cheeks as he tightened his grip, rocking slightly.
"God, please save my brother…" he whispered, his voice hoarse from crying. "I won't run… I won't hide… Whatever Your will, I'll do it. So please… please…"
His breath came in shallow gasps. His arms, once locked around his brother, began to loosen. The world around him blurred, exhaustion creeping in. The rain grew fiercer, hammering against the ground like nature's own sorrow.
Then came the sound of footsteps—measured, deliberate, unwavering. Boots splashed against the mud, their steady rhythm cutting through the storm's chaos. A shadow loomed over the two boys, the owner clad in fine, albeit muddied, leather shoes.
Yair, a man in his late thirties, stood there in a perfectly tailored suit, holding an umbrella. His gaze, calm and unreadable, swept over the children before he murmured under his breath, "Well… this is new." Then, in a commanding voice, he called out, "John!"
The butler came rushing through the rain, his own umbrella barely shielding him from the storm. "Yes, sir?"
Yair pointed to Abisha. "Bring that one in."
Without another word, he bent down, lifting Yitzhak from Abisha's arms with ease. Abisha barely noticed as the man turned toward the mansion's gate, his brother held firmly in his grasp.
---
Abisha awoke in an unfamiliar place.
The room was small but comfortable, furnished in an old-fashioned style with two single beds. Warm light flickered from a lantern on the bedside table. Soft hands dabbed at his forehead and arms with plush towels, wiping away the filth of the storm. A group of maids and a tall man—John, the butler from before—tended to him.
As John wiped his hand, he paused. His expression darkened as he turned Abisha's wrist over, inspecting it closely. His eyes flicked toward Yair, who stood at the foot of the bed, his sharp gaze following John's unspoken message.
"Sir," John said in a hushed, worried tone, holding out Abisha's wrist for Yair to see.
Yair's eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second before he turned his attention back to the room. "John, go see if the doctor has arrived yet. Make sure he doesn't get lost."
"Yes, sir."
Yair's expression remained unreadable as he glanced at the others. "The rest of you, leave the room."
Without hesitation, the maids and servants filed out, John being the last to close the door behind him.
Yair moved to a drawer, pulling out a knife. He examined it for a moment before setting it down beside the bed.
A knock came at the door. "Enter."
John returned, leading an older man inside. The doctor approached Abisha, checking his pulse, peering into his eyes, and nodding in approval.
"He'll be alright," the doctor said. "Just let him rest for a few days, and ensure he takes his medicine after every meal."
"Thank you, doctor." Yair nodded, signaling John to escort the man out. When the door closed once more, Yair turned back to the bed.
Abisha stirred. His eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first before slowly locking onto the figure standing over him. Panic flickered in his gaze, and he instinctively clutched the bedsheets beneath him.
Yair observed him for a moment before speaking, his voice steady and assured. "You're awake."
Abisha's body tensed further. He looked around the room, processing his surroundings, before finally meeting Yair's gaze again. "Who… who are you?" His voice was weak, hoarse.
Yair chuckled. "Kid, don't worry. I'm the one who found your dirty little body sprawled out in front of my gate. If I had wanted to harm you, you wouldn't be in such a nice room, much less awake."
Abisha's grip on the sheets loosened slightly. His eyes darted around the room, searching for any sign of danger. Eventually, he exhaled, his muscles relaxing—but only slightly.
"I am Lieutenant Yair," the man continued, "Head of the Interdimentional Research Institute of our country."
Abisha's eyes widened in shock. His defenses dropped instantly as he stared at Yair with newfound recognition. He quickly reeled himself back in, casting a cautious glance at the man's wrists.
Yair smirked, rolling up his sleeves. He extended his arms toward Abisha, allowing him to see for himself. Tentatively, Abisha reached out, his fingers brushing against Yair's wrist. His breath caught.
"It's really him…" he whispered in awe.
Yair chuckled. "Satisfied now?"
Abisha quickly straightened. "Uh—A-Ah! Yes, sir!"
Yair watched as the boy flustered, rubbing his ear in embarrassment. His amusement lingered only for a moment before he spoke again, his tone more serious. "Now that you know who I am, tell me—who are you?"
Abisha sat up a little straighter. "My name is Abisha," he answered. "I have no surname. I am eight years old this year, and ... and as you have seen sir... I have received no mark."
Yair smiled slightly. "A Wonder, huh?"
But Abisha's expression darkened with worry. "Sir… when you found me… was there a little boy with me?" His voice trembled slightly. "He's my brother. His name is Yitzhak. He's my only family."
Yair nodded. "He was with you. He's in another room receiving treatment." He hesitated. "But hmmm, son… there is something you should know. Your brother isn't out of the woods yet."
Abisha's heart clenched.
Yair's expression was grim. "He has Ashhern's Disease. The treatment can only sustain him for another three months."
A heavy silence fell between them. Abisha's lips parted, but no words came. His mind reeled, grasping at any possible solution.
Yair took a deep breath. "You have two options," he said. "One, I send you and your brother somewhere safe. You can live out those three months with him in peace."
Abisha swallowed hard. "And the second?"
Yair's eyes studied him carefully. "There is... a machine—one owned by the government. It can save him."
Abisha's breath hitched. "There is?!"
"But," Yair continued, his voice firm, "it is only for high-profile personnel and their families. For me to use it… you and your brother must legally be my children."
Abisha's eyes widened.
Yair's gaze sharpened. "If I take you in, the dangers you will face will be far greater than anything you've known. So tell me, Abisha—are you willing to die for your God? If not, you ca—"
"I am willing!" Abisha declared. "As long as my brother is saved—I promised him!"
Yair smiled. He placed a hand atop Abisha's head. "Then from this moment on, you are my son."
And for the first time in what felt like forever, Abisha felt a sliver of hope