The wind howled through the broken buildings as I moved through the ruins, my boots crunching over the shattered glass and debris. The city used to be alive, a place where people laughed and fought over simple things—family, friends, food. Now, it was just silence. It was the kind of silence that gnawed at your insides, reminding you of what was lost, of what had been taken.
My hands clenched into fists, the leather bracelet—her bracelet—digging into my wrist. I didn't know who I was anymore. There was no past, no future. Just vengeance. The war had taken everything, and I would make sure it paid for every single thing. Every broken body. Every shattered dream. Every mother who had been left alone to wait for a son who never came home.
The soldiers were everywhere. I had learned their habits. How they moved. The way they scanned the horizon, never letting their guard down. I watched them from the shadows, memorizing all their movements like a predator studying its prey. The way they approached their camps, the way they used the buildings for cover, how they stood in clusters, always talking in low tones, their rifles gleaming in the dim light. They thought they were untouchable. They thought they controlled everything. But they didn't know me.
I had nothing left. No friends. No family. No hope. Just this burning fire inside me, an unquenchable thirst for retribution. So, I followed them, learning. I stayed hidden, as silent as a ghost. I watched them laugh and drink, unaware of the boy who was watching them from a cracked window or a distant rooftop.
It had been weeks since I first found myself walking this path, and every day I grew stronger. The familiar weight of my fists, the fire in my chest, it all felt like the only thing I had. But there was something else in me now—something colder. A hunger, and it wasn't for food. It was for destruction.
I moved through the streets like a shadow, blending into the debris, crouching in corners, climbing onto ledges. I could hear the soldiers—three of them—coming in my direction. Their boots thudded on the ground, heavy and steady, like clockwork. I knew they were trained. I knew they could kill me without hesitation if I made a mistake.
So, I didn't make a mistake.
I crouched low, hiding behind a rusted vehicle, my breath shallow and slow. I held my position, watching them move past me, their rifles swinging with each step. I could see the gleam in their eyes, the way their hands never strayed far from their weapons. They were waiting for something, waiting for someone. Maybe they knew I was there. Maybe they didn't.
I waited for the moment they'd move away, and then I slipped through the shadows again, like a whisper in the wind. I never engaged. I never approached them directly. But I learned. I learned everything I needed to know to stay alive. I learned how to use the landscape to my advantage, how to make myself invisible, how to wait for the right moment.
But then I heard it. A voice.
"Help me! Please!"
It echoed through the desolate streets, carried by the wind. My heart skipped a beat. I didn't know who it was, but I knew one thing—it was a cry for help. The kind of desperation that could only come from someone who had nothing left to lose.
I moved toward the sound, my instincts kicking in. I crept forward, keeping to the shadows, until I saw her.
A girl. My age, maybe younger, her face streaked with dirt and tears. She was shackled to a post in the middle of the street, her body trembling. Her eyes were wild, frantic, pleading. She looked up when she saw me, her mouth forming a silent plea.
"Please," she gasped, her voice raw. "Please, help me."
I hesitated. My first instinct was to walk away. To leave her. She was just another victim of this war. Another casualty. But then I saw something in her eyes. Something that reminded me of the old woman. Of the way she had looked at me before the soldiers came for her. I couldn't save her then—I hadn't known anything at that time, and, as if to repay my debt to her, I approached this girl with the same light as her cautiously, my fingers brushing against the cold metal of her chains. Her eyes never left me, and when I knelt down in front of her, she let out a small sob, relief flooding her face.
"Who did this to you?" I asked, my voice low and steady.
"The soldiers... they took me. I don't know why," she whispered, her breath shaking. "Please, just get me out of here."
I didn't ask any more questions. I could hear the faint sound of boots in the distance, the soldiers I had been watching earlier. Time was running out. I reached for the lock on her shackles and worked quickly, my hands shaking slightly as I fumbled with the cold metal. It clicked open. The chains fell away.
She stood, stumbling at first, but then she straightened, her eyes meeting mine. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
I looked at her, trying to process everything. She had a soft face, but her eyes were full of something else. Something hard. Something that looked like survival.
I took her hand and ran with her as I could hear the soldiers dangerously approaching. We arrived in a small abondonned house.
And to finally break the silence , I introduced myself "Elías". I didn't have anything else to say. The name felt like it belonged to me now. It felt like the only thing I had left.
"Elías…" She repeated the name softly, as if tasting it on her tongue. "I'm Sofia," she said, offering me a weak smile. "Thank you for saving me."
I didn't know what to say to that. She was just a girl. A girl who had been locked up, waiting for death or worse. She was fragile, but in a way, she wasn't. She was strong. I could see it in the way she moved, in the way she held herself despite everything she had been through. It was a kind of strength I had never seen before.
We began to walk together, moving through the wreckage of the city. I stayed silent, my eyes scanning the streets, always alert, always watching. She kept talking though, as if she couldn't stop herself. She was babbling about everything—about the war, about the things she had seen, about how she was so tired of being scared but also about her life before it all started. Her voice was like a constant stream, a reminder of the lives that used to exist before the war.
After a while, I stopped her. "Look around you, Sofia," I said, my voice harder than I intended. "This world is dying. People are dying. We're all dying. So stop pretending like everything's okay. Stop pretending like you're still living in the world that was."
She stopped in her tracks, staring at me with wide eyes. I felt my words hit her like a slap, and for a moment, I regretted them. But then she spoke.
"Maybe you're right," she said, her voice calm now, no trace of fear. "Maybe this world is falling apart, but I refuse to give up on it. I've lost everything. My family, my friends, my home. But I'm still here, Elías. I'm still breathing. I live for them. And I will keep living. Because if I don't, then what was it all for? My mother wouldn't want me to mourn her forever. My father wouldn't want me to cry every day for what's gone. They'd want me to fight. To keep going. To find joy, even when everything else is gone."
Her words hit me like a wave. For the first time in weeks, something inside me stirred. I didn't know what it was—maybe it was guilt, maybe it was awe. But I felt something. Something like hope.
"I'm sorry," I said quietly. "I didn't know."
She smiled at me, her eyes softening. "No one ever does."
We kept walking, side by side, as the broken world stretched out around us. And for the first time since I could remember, I didn't feel so alone.
The war was still as terrifying as before but less daunting. I felt hope, something I forgot existed.
And maybe—just maybe—I could still have someone beside me.
"I'll stay with you," she said suddenly, as if reading my thoughts. "I don't know what's out there, but we can figure it out together."
I nodded, a faint, reluctant smile tugging at my lips. "Alright, Sofia," I said, feeling the weight of her words sink in. "Alright."
And for the first time in a long time, I didn't feel like I was walking alone.