The wind was dry that evening. It scraped softly against the pavement as dusk bled into the horizon. Lucien had taken the long road home, the one behind the empty train tracks, flanked by silent woods and rusting fences. He didn't usually walk this way. But something — some quiet instinct — pulled him toward it.
And that's when he saw him.
A body. Slumped over near the edge of the road, pale and bruised, like a fallen doll someone had discarded. Silvery-white hair stuck to his face, matted with blood at the temple. His uniform was torn at the shoulder, stained at the knees, as if he'd clawed his way out of something terrible.
Lucien's heart dropped. He sprinted.
"Hey—! Hey! Can you hear me?"
He crouched beside the boy, hands trembling as he reached for his pulse. It was faint, but there.
The boy's fingers twitched.
A soft, breathless noise left his lips — almost a gasp, like breathing hurt.
Lucien leaned closer. "It's okay. You're safe. You're gonna be okay."
For a few seconds, nothing. Then slowly, heavily, the boy's golden eyes cracked open.
Not amber. Not hazel. Gold.
Lucien's breath caught. The eyes didn't belong to someone ordinary. They shimmered strangely under the dying light — as if reflecting stars that shouldn't be there.
The boy opened his mouth, voice fragile, cracked. "Where…? Who…?"
Lucien reached for his phone, but paused.
Somehow, this didn't feel like something you called an ambulance for.