The gates of the Kingdom loomed over the horizon, casting long shadows as the sun dipped low in the sky. Orion, a 7-year-old boy with dark brown skin and white dreadlocked hair, stood frozen in the distance. His eyes, a striking gold, reflected a mixture of fear and wonder as he gazed at the towering walls and the crowds milling about the entrance. He had been living like a wild animal for months, surviving on his instincts alone in the forest. His small frame was lean from hunger, his clothes torn and dirtied from the rough wilderness.

  He had never been to a place like this before. The walls of the city seemed impossibly high, and the throngs of people moving in and out of the gates stirred something unfamiliar inside him—a mixture of awe and dread. He had no idea what to expect inside, but he had no choice. He needed food, shelter, and a chance to escape the nightmare of his past.

  Orion took a deep breath, his stomach growling with hunger. He had no way of entering the city openly; the guards at the gate would surely question a ragged, dirty child like him. Instead, he crouched low, watching as a merchant’s carriage rolled past. It was piled high with crates of fruit and goods, the perfect cover. Without hesitation, Orion darted toward the cart, slipping beneath it just as it passed through the gates.

  The ride into the city was rough, the wooden planks of the cart pressing into his back as it bumped over the uneven road. Orion held his breath, trying to stay as quiet as possible, his heart pounding in his chest. The city unfolded around him as they passed through narrow streets, teeming with life. The noise was overwhelming—shouts from merchants, the clatter of hooves on cobblestone, the murmur of a thousand voices blending together. It was a far cry from the silence of the forest.

  The cart came to a stop in a bustling marketplace. Orion peeked out from his hiding place and, seeing no one paying attention, slipped out and ducked into the shadows of a nearby alley. His gold eyes darted around, scanning the crowded square. The market was alive with activity—stalls filled with fresh bread, fruits, and meats. The scent of food made his stomach twist painfully with hunger. He hadn’t eaten in days.

  He crept along the edge of the market, staying out of sight as best he could. He spotted a fruit vendor distracted by a group of customers and seized the moment. Quick as a flash, he snatched two apples from the stand and slipped back into the alley before anyone noticed.

  Panting from the effort, Orion sank to the ground, his back pressed against the cool stone wall. He bit into the first apple ravenously, the sweet juice running down his chin as he devoured it in seconds. The second apple he held onto, savoring its weight in his hand as he tried to calm his racing heart.

  But as the hunger began to fade, exhaustion set in. The weeks of living in the wild, fending for himself, had taken their toll. His body was weak, and the weight of his memories pressed heavily on his small shoulders. He had tried so hard not to think about it—the day everything changed, the day he lost her.

  As sleep overtook him, the nightmare began to unfold once again.

  In his dream, Orion was home. The small cottage he had shared with his mother was warm and inviting, the fire in the hearth casting a gentle glow across the room. His mother, a beautiful woman with dark brown skin and white dreadlocks like his own, was humming softly as she worked by the window. Her golden eyes sparkled as she glanced over at him, a smile tugging at her lips.

  But the warmth of the scene shattered with the sound of splintering wood. The front door burst open, and armed men stormed into the room. Orion’s mother screamed, her hands flying to protect him as the men dragged her away. Orion stood frozen, his heart hammering in his chest as he watched, helpless. He wanted to move, to fight, but his body wouldn’t obey. He could only watch as they tore her from him.

  “Run, Orion!” she screamed, her voice filled with desperation.

  But he couldn’t run. He couldn’t move. He watched in horror as the blade came down, his mother’s final scream echoing in his ears.

  Orion woke with a start, gasping for breath. The cold stone of the alley pressed against his back, and for a moment, he was disoriented, the nightmare still clinging to him. His mother’s face lingered in his mind, her voice echoing in his ears. His heart ached with a deep, hollow pain, one that no amount of food or sleep could ease.

  He rubbed his eyes, pushing back the tears that threatened to fall. Crying wouldn’t bring her back. It wouldn’t change what had happened. He had to be strong. His mother had always told him that—he had to survive.

  He sat up, grabbing the second apple he had stolen. He bit into it slowly, the sweetness doing little to lift his spirits. The city was vast and unfamiliar, and he felt more alone than ever. He had no one. No family. No home. But he would survive. He had to.

  As the sun began to set, casting long shadows over the marketplace, Orion stood up and wandered through the streets. He didn’t know where he was going, but he needed to find somewhere safe to rest. The city was dangerous—he could feel it in the way people looked at him, the way they avoided his gaze, the suspicion in their eyes. He was an outsider here, a boy with no name, no place, no future.

  As he walked, lost in thought, a sudden noise caught his attention. The sound of scuffling, followed by grunts and the occasional thud of fists hitting flesh, echoed from a nearby alley. Curiosity piqued, Orion moved cautiously toward the sound, peering around the corner.

  What he saw made him freeze.

  In the dim light of the alley, a group of older boys—each much bigger than Orion—were surrounding a lone figure. But something was off. The lone boy in the center wasn’t cowering or running. He was fighting back. Hard.

  Orion’s eyes widened as he watched the scene unfold. The boy in the middle, who couldn’t have been more than a year or two older than Orion himself, was holding his own against the larger group. His movements were quick and fluid, each strike sending one of his attackers stumbling backward with a grunt of pain.

  The boy’s black hair was wild and tousled, his face set in a grim mask of determination.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  The boy’s eyes were unlike anything Orion had ever seen. They weren’t just green—they were alive, shifting and flickering with a depth that felt unnatural, almost sentient. The irises were a deep, radiant emerald, but within them swirled intricate veins of gold and molten amber, as if tiny rivers of fire pulsed beneath the surface.

  At the center, his pupils were slits, razor-thin and predatory. Unlike human pupils, which adjusted gradually to light, his reacted instantaneously, snapping between widths with an eerie precision. They weren’t just seeing—they were calculating, scanning, devouring every detail. But more than that, they did something no human eyes should do: they caught the dim light, fractured it, and released it back in a pulsing, breathing glow.

  The first attacker, a burly boy with a sneer etched across his face, lunged forward with a wild swing. The dragon-eyed boy ducked, his body twisting with inhuman precision. He didn’t just evade the blow—he made it look effortless. In one fluid motion, he drove his elbow into the older boy’s ribs, the impact sounding like a muffled crack. The attacker stumbled back, gasping, his face contorted in shock and pain.

  But the dragon-eyed boy didn’t pause.

  A second attacker came from the left, faster than the first, his fist aiming straight for the boy’s temple. The boy twisted his body just in time, grabbing the older boy’s wrist mid-swing. His grip was like iron. With a sharp, brutal twist, he yanked the attacker forward, slamming his knee into the boy’s stomach with enough force to lift him off his feet. The attacker crumpled, retching, collapsing to the ground as if his strings had been cut.

  The remaining three attackers hesitated now, wariness creeping into their expressions. But fear wouldn’t save them.

  The third attacker rushed forward, feinting left before swinging a rusted pipe toward the boy’s ribs. Orion’s breath caught in his throat—this wasn’t a simple street fight anymore. That pipe could break bones.

  But the dragon-eyed boy was faster.

  He spun sideways, the pipe whistling past him as he shifted his weight in an instant. Before the attacker could react, the boy grabbed his wrist, forcing the pipe from his grasp with a sickening pop. The attacker barely had time to cry out before the boy twisted him around and slammed him face-first into the brick wall. He slid down to the ground, motionless.

  The fourth attacker hesitated, his confidence shattered. His eyes darted between his fallen comrades and the lone figure standing amidst them—unscathed, barely breathing hard, his dragon eyes flickering like smoldering embers.

  Orion saw the fear in the last attacker’s face.

  The boy saw it too.

  Before the attacker could flee, the dragon-eyed boy closed the distance between them in a blur of movement. His fist drove into the older boy’s stomach with a force that made Orion wince. The older boy doubled over with a strangled gasp, his knees hitting the ground. But the dragon-eyed boy wasn’t finished. His hand shot forward, grabbing the older boy by the collar, dragging him up so they were face-to-face.

  For a moment, no one moved. The alley was silent except for the labored breathing of the defeated.

  Then, the dragon-eyed boy leaned in, his voice low and cold. “Run.”

  The attacker didn’t need to be told twice. Scrambling to his feet, he bolted, his steps uneven as he disappeared into the night. The others followed, dragging themselves away as fast as their battered bodies would allow.

  And just like that, the fight was over.

  Orion could only stare, his heart hammering in his chest. He had seen fights before. He had even fought a few himself. But this… this was something else. There was a savagery to the dragon-eyed boy’s movements, something raw and honed, like a blade that had been sharpened too many times. He didn’t just fight—he dominated.

  The boy exhaled slowly, his posture relaxing just a fraction. His dragon eyes flickered once more before dimming, though the power in them never truly faded. His chest rose and fell steadily, his expression unreadable as he wiped the sweat from his brow.

  Then, as if sensing Orion’s gaze, he turned.

  Their eyes met.

  Orion felt something tighten in his chest. The moment stretched, heavy and charged, as if the very air between them had shifted. There was no fear in the boy’s gaze, no curiosity—just a quiet acknowledgment, as if he had expected Orion to be there all along.

  Orion opened his mouth, but no words came.

  The boy studied him for another moment before turning without a word, disappearing into the darkness of the alley.

  The battered boys limped away, their faces bruised, their pride shattered. They walked in silence, heads low, pain evident in every step. The destination was clear—the drug den.

  The battered boys limped into the drug den, their faces bruised, their pride shattered. They walked in silence, heads low, pain evident in every step. The thick stench of rot and burnt substances filled their lungs as they approached the drug dealer, who sat in his usual spot, his yellowed grin widening as he saw their condition.

  “You failed,” he said, voice dripping with amusement. His fingers tapped lazily against the wooden table, a small vial rolling between them. “You were supposed to break him.”

  The leader of the beaten group swallowed hard but said nothing. His eyes flickered toward his comrades, their shame and fear palpable. Finally, he spoke, his voice hoarse.

  “He’s… he’s not normal. We tried. We hit him with everything. But he—he moved too fast. Like he knew what we were going to do before we did it.”

  Paul’s grin didn’t falter. If anything, it widened. He leaned forward, elbows resting on the table as his fingers continued their lazy drumming. “Of course, he’s not normal,” he mused. “That’s why I want him.”

  The boys glanced at each other in confusion, but the dealer continued, his tone turning almost thoughtful. “That kind of strength, that kind of resilience… it’s wasted on a kid like him. But under my influence? That boy would be unstoppable.”

  He picked up the vial, turning it between his fingers, the dim light reflecting off the liquid inside. “You see, muscle like that isn’t easy to come by. He’s young, strong, and, most importantly, still moldable. He doesn’t even know what he could become yet.”

  His eyes darkened, the sinister amusement in them giving way to something colder. “But if I can’t beat him into submission, then I’ll make him come to me.”

  One of the boys shifted uneasily. “How?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

  The dealer chuckled, shaking his head as if the answer were obvious. “Everyone has a weakness,” he murmured. “And his? His mother.”

  The room fell silent. The other boys stiffened, some exchanging nervous glances, but the dealer continued as if he hadn’t noticed.

  “She’s already hooked," he said casually. "Just another junkie, desperate for her next fix. All I have to do is tip her over the edge. One overdose. One push too far. And when that happens, he’ll have no one left to rely on."”

  He leaned back, his grin sharp as a knife. "He’ll break. He’ll come running to me, thinking I’m the only one who can help him. He already believes I look out for him, that I’ve always had his best interests in mind. And when he’s at his lowest, when he has no choice, he’ll turn to me."”

  His fingers stopped drumming, and he placed the vial down on the table with finality. “And once he’s under my control, he’ll do whatever I want.”

  The boys stood frozen, their bruised bodies tense. The weight of the dealer’s words hung heavy in the air, suffocating and inescapable.

  “You see,” the dealer continued, “Ra already comes to me when he’s desperate enough. When he has coin or valuables, he avoids me, only showing up when his mother is in real need. He’s still too caring, too attached to her. That’s his weakness.”

  He picked up the vial again, rolling it between his fingers. “I want total control over him. I don’t want him to come when it suits him—I want him to depend on me. To need me. If I can’t have his loyalty, I’ll take his desperation.”

  His voice dipped into something even darker, more calculated. “If he won’t submit, then I’ll make sure his mother suffers until he has no choice but to bow.”

  A slow, predatory smile crept across his lips. “Let’s see how long he lasts.”