Snow drifted endlessly beyond the towering walls of Saint Marie.
The capital of Valtoria was beautiful from afar. Its silver towers touched the skies while countless lights illuminated the upper districts like stars brought down upon earth itself. Massive cathedrals stood proudly at the center of the city while noble carriages traveled through marble roads lined with glowing street lamps. The upper districts were elegant, refined, and untouched by the ugliness hidden beneath the kingdom.
But beauty only existed above.
Below those shining towers—
beneath the golden lights and holy cathedrals—
rotted the slums of Saint Marie.
The lower district smelled of mold, sewage, blood, and hunger. Narrow alleyways twisted endlessly between collapsing buildings while filthy water flowed through cracked roads covered in trash and snow. Beggars huddled together beneath broken rooftops while starving children wandered the streets searching through garbage for scraps of food. The cold during winter was merciless there. Every year countless people simply disappeared after snowfall because they lacked food, medicine, or warmth to survive another night.
And within those slums—
a small boy ran desperately through the streets.
"Noah! Catch that little bastard!"
"Don't let him escape!"
"He stole from the market again!"
Heavy footsteps echoed behind the child while city guards chased him through the narrow alleys. The boy looked no older than eight years old. His black hair was messy and covered in dirt while his oversized coat hung loosely around his thin frame. His breathing sounded ragged as he sprinted through the snow-covered pathways clutching a small worn-out bag tightly against his chest.
Inside the bag—
bread.
Painkillers.
A few medical supplies.
That was all.
Yet those few items were enough for the guards to chase him like a criminal.
Young Noah's lungs burned painfully as cold air tore through his throat, but he refused to slow down. He jumped over broken crates, slid beneath hanging laundry, and squeezed through tight alleyways with the experience of someone who had survived the streets his entire life.
Because he had.
The guards behind him cursed loudly after nearly slipping on ice.
"That damn rat knows these alleys too well!"
"There! Block the other side!"
Noah's eyes widened.
Two more guards suddenly appeared ahead of him.
He immediately turned to escape another way—
but someone grabbed the back of his coat violently.
The world spun.
Then—
he crashed hard against the frozen ground.
The bag nearly slipped from his arms, but Noah held onto it desperately.
A heavy boot slammed against his stomach immediately afterward.
Pain exploded through his body.
"Little shit!"
Another kick struck his ribs.
Then another.
And another.
Noah curled instinctively around the bag while the guards beat him against the snow-covered ground. His small body trembled beneath every strike while blood slowly dripped from the corner of his lips.
Yet—
he made no sound.
No crying.
No screaming.
Not even begging.
It was as though pain had long since become normal for him.
One of the guards grabbed his hair roughly before forcing his face upward.
"You think stealing is funny, brat?"
A slap struck Noah across the face hard enough to split his lip further.
Still—
silence.
The guard frowned slightly at the lack of reaction.
Another guard clicked his tongue before reaching toward the bag in Noah's arms. "Forget it. Just take the damn stuff back."
The moment the guard tried pulling the bag away—
Noah moved instantly.
Even while trembling from pain, he held the bag tightly against his chest with desperate strength.
The guard's expression twisted immediately.
"…You little—"
Another slap crashed across Noah's face.
His head snapped sideways violently while blood stained the snow beneath him.
Yet even then—
he still refused to let go.
The guards looked increasingly irritated now.
"Crazy brat…"
"Why the hell is he protecting some bread this much?"
Just as one of the guards raised his hand again—
a calm voice suddenly interrupted them.
"What exactly are you men doing?"
The guards froze briefly before turning around.
A middle-aged man stood near the entrance of the alley dressed in a dark winter coat while snow settled lightly over his shoulders. He looked refined despite the simple clothing, carrying an atmosphere entirely different from the filth surrounding the slums. Beside him stood a young blonde girl around Noah's age wearing a white scarf and thick coat, her blue eyes watching the scene quietly.
One of the guards straightened immediately.
"Doctor Willes."
The middle-aged man frowned slightly while observing the bleeding child on the ground.
"Why are armed city guards beating a child?"
The guards looked visibly uncomfortable now.
"He's a thief," one of them answered quickly. "That brat regularly steals food and medicine from the market district."
The man's eyes shifted toward Noah afterward.
For the first time—
Noah looked up properly.
The man slowly walked closer before kneeling beside him.
Unlike the guards, his movements were careful.
Gentle.
"What's your name?"
Noah remained silent.
The man didn't seem bothered.
Instead, he carefully helped Noah sit up despite the blood staining his clothes.
"My name is Peter Willes," he introduced calmly. "And this is my daughter, Cecelia."
The blonde girl beside him stared curiously at Noah while clutching her scarf tightly against the cold.
Peter glanced toward the bag Noah protected so desperately.
"Why did you steal those things?"
Silence.
Noah lowered his gaze again without answering.
Peter sighed softly before speaking once more.
"If you don't tell me the truth, I won't be able to help you."
The words caused Noah's fingers to tighten slightly around the bag.
Eventually—
after several moments—
the boy finally spoke.
His voice sounded small.
Weak.
"…My mother is sick."
The guards looked slightly awkward afterward.
Noah continued quietly.
"We haven't eaten for three days."
Snow drifted softly through the alley while his trembling voice continued.
"If I don't bring the medicine… she won't survive."
For the first time—
Peter's expression visibly changed.
The middle-aged man slowly looked around the slums surrounding them before returning his gaze toward Noah again.
Then—
without another word—
he stood up.
Peter reached into his coat before handing money directly toward the guards.
"This should cover everything he stole."
The guards exchanged glances awkwardly before quickly nodding.
"Of course, Doctor Willes."
They left shortly afterward.
The alley became quiet once more.
Noah still looked confused.
Peter crouched down slightly before offering his hand toward him.
"Take me to your mother."
Noah froze.
His tired eyes widened slightly.
"…Why?"
Peter smiled faintly.
"Because if what you said is true, then she needs treatment immediately."
Noah stared at him silently for several moments.
As though struggling to believe the kindness being offered to him.
Eventually—
slowly—
he grabbed Peter's hand.
The warmth of it startled him.
Cecelia quietly followed behind while Noah guided them deeper into the slums. The further they walked, the worse the surroundings became. Buildings looked half-collapsed while freezing winds entered through shattered windows. Thin children sat huddled together beneath dirty blankets while older people stared blankly from dark corners with hollow eyes devoid of hope.
Cecelia remained unusually quiet during the walk.
Her gaze constantly wandered toward Noah.
Specifically toward how thin he looked.
How small he looked.
Eventually they stopped before a tiny broken building hidden near the far end of the slums.
Noah opened the door carefully.
The room inside was pitifully small.
One bed.
One table.
A broken stove barely functioning in the corner.
The cold inside felt almost identical to outside.
And upon the bed—
lay a woman with black hair struggling to breathe.
Her skin looked pale.
Unnaturally pale.
Sweat covered her forehead while weak ragged breaths escaped her lips continuously. Even from the doorway alone it was obvious something was terribly wrong.
Peter's expression sharpened instantly.
He moved toward the bed immediately before checking her pulse and breathing.
The longer he examined her—
the grimmer his expression became.
Noah stood beside the bed desperately clutching the stolen medicine.
"…Mom?"
Peter slowly looked toward him afterward.
"She needs to go to a hospital immediately."
Noah froze.
Peter's voice remained serious now.
"She's suffering from heart failure."
The room suddenly felt deathly silent afterward.
Noah stared blankly at him.
"…Hospital?"
Peter nodded.
"If she doesn't receive proper treatment soon, she won't survive."
Noah's fingers trembled slightly.
Then slowly—
his head lowered.
"…We don't have money."
His voice sounded hollow now.
"I can't bring her there."
The words sounded strangely calm.
Like someone already used to hopelessness.
Then suddenly—
Noah moved beside the bed before grabbing his mother's weak hand desperately.
"Mom…"
His small voice trembled violently now.
"Please hold on…"
Tears finally began falling from his eyes.
"I brought medicine…"
"You just need to wait a little longer…"
Peter quietly watched the scene for several moments.
Then—
he stood up.
"You don't need to worry about the expenses."
Noah froze instantly.
Peter smiled gently afterward.
"I'll take care of it."
For the first time—
hope appeared inside Noah's eyes.
A small fragile thing.
But real.
What followed afterward felt almost unreal to Noah.
Peter contacted several people immediately while transporting Analiese to one of the hospitals near the upper district. Nurses rushed around her while doctors prepared equipment Noah had never even seen before. The hospital itself looked brighter and cleaner than anything Noah had experienced in his entire life.
He remained outside the operating room the entire night.
Cecelia sat beside him quietly while Peter and several other surgeons worked endlessly to save Analiese's life.
Hours passed.
Then more hours.
Eventually—
the doors finally opened.
Peter stepped out slowly.
The moment Noah saw his expression—
he understood immediately.
The world suddenly felt distant.
Muted.
Peter approached him quietly before kneeling slightly.
"We did everything we could."
Noah's body froze completely.
"…No."
His voice sounded weak.
"She was getting better…"
Peter's gaze darkened sadly.
"The damage to her heart was already too severe."
Noah shook his head immediately.
"No…"
"She promised she wouldn't leave me…"
Peter remained silent.
And somehow—
that silence hurt even more.
Eventually a nurse guided Noah toward the hospital room.
The room smelled faintly of medicine and disinfectant.
Analiese lay weakly against the bed while machines beside her emitted quiet sounds continuously. Her breathing looked shallow now.
Yet when Noah entered—
she slowly opened her eyes.
"…Noah."
The boy immediately rushed beside her bed while tears streamed endlessly down his face.
"Mom…"
Analiese smiled weakly despite her condition.
Her trembling hand slowly reached upward before gently touching his cheek.
"You're crying again…"
Noah desperately grabbed her hand tighter.
"Please don't go…"
His voice completely broke now.
"I'll work harder…"
"I won't steal…"
"I'll do anything…"
"Just don't leave me alone…"
Analiese's tired eyes softened painfully after hearing those words.
"Noah…"
Even speaking seemed difficult for her now.
"You have to live."
Tears continued falling endlessly from Noah's eyes.
"I don't want to…"
Without you.
The words never left his mouth.
Analiese slowly wiped away his tears despite her trembling hands.
"You'll live no matter what."
Her voice sounded weak.
Yet strangely firm.
"And I'll always watch over you."
Noah bit his lip hard enough to bleed while trying desperately not to cry louder.
Analiese smiled faintly afterward.
A gentle smile.
The kind only mothers could make.
"Noah…"
Her fingers brushed softly through his dark hair.
"Shine like the stars up in the skies."
Those were her final words.
The next moment—
her hand slowly fell lifelessly onto the bed.
The monitor beside her emitted a long continuous sound.
And Noah's world shattered completely.
…
…
…
Azriah's eyes suddenly snapped open.
Cold air filled his lungs sharply while his body jerked upright beneath the tent.
Darkness surrounded him.
Only faint moonlight entered through the torn fabric overhead while cold winds brushed against the mountains outside.
For several moments—
he simply breathed heavily.
Then slowly—
his hand touched his own face.
Wet.
Tears.
Azriah stared blankly at his trembling fingers afterward.
Silence lingered heavily inside the tent.
Eventually a familiar voice broke through it.
"No need to cry like a princess."
Azriah slowly turned his gaze sideways.
Sham floated nearby while crossing his arms casually.
The spirit's golden eyes observed him quietly.
"You should fulfill your mother's dream instead."
His voice sounded unusually calm now.
"Didn't she tell you to shine like a star?"
Azriah stared at him silently for several moments afterward.
Then his expression slowly turned deadpan.
'How did you see that dream?'
Sham shrugged casually.
"I can see whatever you think or dream about."
Silence filled the tent immediately afterward.
Azriah continued staring at him expressionlessly.
Then—
'Don't do that again.'
Sham blinked briefly before laughing softly.
"What? Embarrassed?"
Azriah ignored the teasing entirely while slowly wiping the remaining tears from his face.
The dream still lingered vividly within his mind.
Saint Marie.
His mother.
Peter.
Cecelia.
Names from a life that already felt impossibly distant.
Yet somehow—
the pain remained exactly the same.
Eventually Azriah exhaled slowly before speaking again.
'How long was I asleep?'
Sham tilted his head slightly.
"Five days."
Silence.
Azriah blinked once.
Then again.
'…What?'
Sham looked amused now.
"You heard me correctly."
Azriah immediately frowned afterward.
'That's impossible.'
His body still felt strangely unstable after the ritual, but there was no way he had remained unconscious for that long.
Unless—
something truly had gone wrong.
Azriah's expression darkened immediately afterward while countless thoughts raced through his mind.
His body.
His circuits.
The awakening.
The partial release of Negation.
Something felt wrong.
Very wrong.