Kaelash grumbled to himself, a harsh, low sound that barely rose above the steady whisper of rain around him. His boots dragged slightly across the wet pavement, soles worn thin from countless nights like this. The dull ache in his shoulders reminded him of another shift ahead—a tedious march of lifting boxes, scanning items, pretending to care. His fingers twitched slightly in his pockets, as if seeking escape from the routine.
"Damn game," he muttered under his breath, voice thick with disdain and fatigue. He glanced down, pulling his phone from the inside of his coat with a practiced flick. The cracked screen flickered to life, displaying the time in glaring, judgmental digits.
12:08 AM.
He clicked his tongue in irritation, jaw tightening. "Late again," he murmured. "Figures."
His thoughts turned to the cold fluorescent lights of the warehouse, to the buzz of machinery, to the dead-eyed glances of coworkers going through the motions. The world didn't ask how you felt. It didn't care if you were tired, or broken, or lost. You showed up, you worked, and you left a little hollower than before.
Kaelash's breath misted before him as he exhaled, the sharp scent of oil and wet concrete filling his lungs. He hated this city. Hated the endless cycle. The neon lights above offered no comfort—just empty promises packaged in sickly hues. Advertisements whispered of joy in products, of salvation in sales. Lies. All of it.
He passed the dim glow of a corner store, its shelves barely stocked, the clerk inside asleep behind thick glass. No one cared anymore. Not about service. Not about pride. Not about people.
His eyes drifted across the street, almost lazily—until something moved.
A small shape darted into the road, delicate and desperate. A kitten. Barely bigger than his hand, its soaked fur clung to its bones as it stumbled onto the slick asphalt. Kaelash stopped in his tracks, frowning.
Just a kitten. A stray. A shadow.
He could already see what would happen. The creature would be crushed under tires in minutes, its small body broken, unnoticed. People would walk past the stains tomorrow and never blink. They were too busy, too caught up in their own struggles, too wrapped in their fragile little bubbles.
No one would stop. No one would care.
The thought twisted in Kaelash's chest like rusted wire. There was something deeply wrong in the world. A rottenness that had crept in so slowly, so silently, that most didn't even notice anymore.
That kitten would die, and no one would mourn it. No headlines. No ceremony. No moment of silence. Just another fragile life swallowed by indifference.
He sighed, the weight of it all pressing harder against his ribs—until a blur caught the edge of his vision.
A child.
A little girl, no older than eight or nine, dashed into the road, her small legs splashing through puddles with reckless speed. She chased the kitten without hesitation, her arms stretched out in frantic desperation. Her coat flapped behind her like wings, soaked and fluttering, her shoes slipping on the rain-slicked surface.
Kaelash's breath caught.
"No—!"
His eyes widened as he turned fully, and his heart dropped like a stone.
From the far end of the road, a car roared closer—fast, too fast for this part of town. Headlights slashed through the rain, bearing down on the girl and the kitten like a predator. The driver didn't slow. Didn't swerve.
Didn't care.
Kaelash moved.
He dropped his bag without thought, the straps snapping against the pavement. His feet pounded the ground as he broke into a full sprint, lungs burning, legs straining, vision narrowing to that one impossible goal.
"MOVE!" he shouted, but the girl was focused only on the kitten.
He ran faster.
His breath came in ragged gasps, the world blurring past. Puddles splashed beneath him. Horns screamed in the distance. Tires screeched. But Kaelash didn't stop. Couldn't stop. His entire being focused on getting to her. On getting to that tiny, fragile spark of humanity that had leapt into danger for something no one else would have noticed.
He reached the road's center. The car's lights blinded him.
Kaelash dove.
He launched forward, arms outstretched, every muscle screaming in protest. He caught the child and the kitten together, pulling them into a tight embrace against his chest. He rolled, using his weight and momentum to twist away from the oncoming vehicle. The road tore into his coat, into his skin, grit and pain blooming across his body.
They tumbled across the pavement like thrown dolls.
And then—stillness.
The car sped past them, not slowing, not looking back. It vanished into the storm as if it had never existed.
Kaelash lay there, blinking against the rain, chest heaving. His ears rang. His head spun. Pain flared in his knees, his back, his arms—every part of him scraped and battered.
"I'm... alive?" he whispered.
He moved slowly, wincing, checking the small bundle cradled in his arms. The kitten let out a faint, wet meow, trembling but unharmed. The little girl blinked up at him, eyes wide as stars.
"Are you okay?" he asked, voice hoarse.
She didn't speak right away. Just stared. Like he was something unreal. Something out of a storybook.
Then, at last, she nodded.
"Y-yeah..."
She gently took the kitten from his arms, holding it close like a priceless treasure. Then, without another word, she stood up—mud streaking her legs, her hands shaking—and ran.
Ran into the night, down a street still wet with danger and disinterest.
Kaelash remained where he was, sitting on the side of the road with torn sleeves, bloodied knees, and a heart pounding against his ribs like a war drum.
"…Did she just run away?" he muttered in disbelief. "Was it my face? Do I look that terrifying?"
He chuckled once—a dry, breathless sound—and leaned back against the curb, letting the cold soak into him.
He had been ready to die.
He had embraced it. Felt the edges of his story curl into a quiet ending. And yet... he lived. Not because someone saved him. Not because fate smiled. But because he moved.
Because he couldn't stand watching something precious die for nothing.
He stood slowly, limbs protesting. His coat hung in tatters. One pant leg was shredded. Blood oozed from his knees, mingling with the rain. Every step ached, but he walked. He had somewhere to be, after all.
Warehouse floors didn't clean themselves.
But as he reached the sidewalk again, a strange sensation crawled up his spine.
His heart stuttered.
And then—stopped.
He froze.
The city blurred around him. The streetlight buzz faded. Sound vanished.
He couldn't breathe.
"Wh... what...?"
His arms hung limply at his sides. His vision darkened at the edges. Panic clawed at his ribs, but his limbs refused to move. Like something had cut the strings inside him.
A boy—young, no older than the girl he'd just saved—appeared before him. His face was blank. Pale. Almost too perfect.
"Are you alright, mister?" the boy asked, voice distant, echoing strangely.
Kaelash tried to speak. Tried to respond. Nothing came.
People gathered.
A circle formed around him.
Murmurs. Questions. Curious faces.
But Kaelash didn't see them.
He saw stars bursting behind his eyes.
He felt the world tilting.
And then—
Darkness.
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