The Nameless Heir

"Look around you."

She didn't raise her voice. Didn't slow down either. Just kept walking. Not once did she glance at him. Her eyes were locked on the chaos that had been created.

"You see that?" she muttered, more to herself than to him. "Used to be a grocery shop. Before the bombs started to rain down. There were people inside."

Her hand dropped. He didn't know what she was talking about.

They passed what might have been a playground once. Now it was just a rusted swing, still moving from the wind. No one touched it.

"There's only one left still helping," she said, voice low. "Not for praise. Not because anyone asked. He just… does. Like it's the only thing keeping him human."

She stopped near a group of kids gathered around a fire made from scrap. None of them looked older than ten. They didn't speak. Just stared at the flames like it was the only thing left that made sense.

Her voice dropped.

"And you're trying to take him away?"

She didn't look at him when she said it.

"You think people need food? Medicine? They do. But that's not what breaks first. It's the part inside you that thinks tomorrow might be different."

Her jaw shifted like she wanted to spit something out but didn't bother.

"He's not a savior," she said. "He's a reason. A reason people still get up, still fight, still breathe."

She finally turned to face him.

"You take him away…"

Her mouth opened. Closed.

"You'll finish what the war started."

A moment passed. Kael remained speechless. He had been blinded by his own reasoning.

And then, quieter:

"We've already buried everything else."

She didn't wait for his answer.

Just walked off into the smoke, shoulders square, her bare foot crunching through the ash like she'd done this every day.

Like she'd already seen the end of it.

The slap landed sharp across his face. Not hard. Not meant to hurt.

But it did.

Her words followed right after, tight, cold, stripped of all softness. She didn't scream, but the words hurt.

Not physically. Emotionally. Like his vision came back. Like he'd been blind before, and now everything was clear.

Her words didn't spark rage in him. Or guilt. Or even shame.

Something else settled in.

A quiet pause behind the ribs. A tightness in the throat that had nothing to do with pain.

Realization.

About himself.

The shape of what he'd become, what he was still becoming, suddenly felt wrong. Off. Like putting on a coat that didn't fit anymore, only now he couldn't remember when it stopped feeling right.

She grabbed his hand again. Tight this time. Not to stop him. To make him see.

"Look at all this destruction," she said, voice low but trembling. "You think we can fight that? Without him?"

Her eyes didn't blink. Didn't soften.

"We've tried. We've thrown everything we have at them. Guns, blades… nothing works. Not on their armor. Not on them."

She shook her head, her grip tightening like she was scared to let go. Not just of him—but of everything.

"He's the only one they fear."

A beat.

"And if you take him away… then what's left?"

He didn't say anything. Just listened. Like the words wouldn't come out.

His gaze followed her finger, and his heart almost stopped.

His breath caught in his throat.

Some had lost limbs. Others moved with fragile, broken bodies. Children sat curled in corners, eyes hollow, ribs showing through their skin like they'd stopped growing halfway.

He hadn't seen it before.

Or maybe he had, and looked away.

He'd kept his eyes locked on the end, certain the path was worth it—until he realized he hadn't once looked down to see what it was costing him.

Forgot what he was doing.

"If you won't help…" she paused.

Then slowly raised her hand, pointing toward the broken path that led out of the city.

"Leave," she said. "Now."

Just finality.

Like she'd already buried too many people to waste words on one more.

He didn't ask questions.

Just walked.

Slowly.

His jaw clenched. The words stuck anyway, thudding behind his eyes like a bruise that wouldn't stop aching.

They threw rocks. Scraps. Anything they could find.

He didn't react.

Didn't lift a hand. Didn't look at them. Just kept walking, eyes drifting from street to street, catching glimpses of broken buildings and broken people.

Just kept walking—because what else was there? Another ruined block. Another face that didn't look up. Walls torn open. Smoke still curling in the distance. Bodies moving like they didn't remember how to stand tall.

He didn't stop.

Not until a little girl stepped in front of him.

Four… maybe five at most.

One of her eyes was missing. The skin around it pale and raw. But she stood there anyway, feet planted in the dirt, and on her back—somehow—was a smile drawn in chalk.

Big. Lopsided. Bright blue.

It didn't make sense. And maybe that's why it hit so hard.

"Don't cry," she said, voice small. "Everything will be okay."

He hadn't even noticed the tears.

But they were there, slipping down his face, quiet, uninvited. His hand trembled. He didn't speak.

Then she reached out and placed something in his palm.

A piece of bread.

He stared at it. Then at her.

She smiled, wide and lopsided. Still missing an eye.

She turned to walk away, only a few steps, but he dropped to one knee behind her—slow, unsure—reaching out with a hand that still shook.

His fingers brushed the side of her face, gently, just over the ruined socket.

And then… light.

A new eye formed. Whole. Alive. Unscarred.

She blinked. Once. Twice. Then her whole body froze.

A second later, she turned and bolted down the street, voice rising with each step.

"Mommy! Mommy, I can see! I can see!"

Her words echoed down the broken road, carried past rubble and ruin like some impossible miracle.

And he stayed there, on one knee.

Still trembling.

Still crying.