*Run. Don't look back.*
He ran. How long, in which direction — he didn't know. The massive trees blurred past him like dark shadows against a darker sky, and the only thing his mind could hold onto was that single desperate command — *run.*
There was fire in his chest. Not the kind that fades — the kind that sinks deep, like swallowed embers that haven't gone out yet. His small head throbbed with every step. And his bones — they felt like they were coming apart, like something was trying to break out from the inside.
Then his legs gave out. No warning, no stumble — just gone. He hit the freezing mud hard, face first. The impact jarred through him. For a moment he just lay there, cheek against the cold ground, breathing in wet earth and dead leaves.
*Get up.*
He tried. His arms pushed against the mud and stopped. They simply wouldn't listen. Whatever his mind was sending, it wasn't arriving. So he did the only thing left — he dug his fingers into the dirt and crawled. Inch by inch. Through the dark, through the mud, through the cold that had long since stopped feeling like cold and started feeling like nothing.
*It hurts.*
Just that. Simple, almost childlike — *it hurts.* He had cried so much on that stone table. He remembered the ceiling above it — grey, cracked, always the same. He had stared at it enough times that he could see it even with his eyes closed. He didn't want to go back. Not ever.
Then a memory surfaced — blurred at the edges, fraying apart. A warm hand. Larger than his. Steady. And a voice, quiet and close — *"No more pain. I promise."* He didn't remember the face. He wasn't sure he had ever seen it properly. But the hand — he remembered the hand.
That was all he wanted. For the burning in his chest to stop. Just that. Not safety, not rescue, not warmth or food — just *stop. Please.*
Slowly the trees began to blur. The wind that had been tearing at him this whole time grew faint — first to a murmur, then to nothing at all. His fingers, still pressed into the mud, went still. His eyes closed — once, twice — and then the darkness came. Slowly. Quietly. And he was gone.
The night grew darker. The forest was still. Somewhere between the trees, a small shape lay in the mud. Breathing — barely — but breathing.
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**[Prologue — End]**
*Author's Note: Fair warning — this is a slow-paced story. But the mystery behind this boy runs deep, and the answers won't come easy. If you're here for the long game — welcome. Add to library if you're in for the journey.*