Pat…Pat…Pat…Pat…Pat
The rain fell in relentless sheets, washing the cobblestones of the narrow alley in a dull gray. In the shadowed corner, a small bundle shivered beneath a threadbare cloak. His tiny body was soaked, his fists clenched, but his blue-gray eyes—already sharp and cold beyond his years—were wide with confusion. This was Ekrin, abandoned at barely a week old, left to the cruelty of a world that had no mercy for children of his kind.
His father had been a man of charm and decadence, a playboy who moved through the courts of barons and kings with a grin that promised desire but delivered betrayal. Rumors whispered in the grand halls of opulent castles: he slept with the wives of men far more powerful than himself. He cared for no one, not even the child that had grown in the belly of a commoner.
Ekrin's mother had been a gentle woman of no title, no family, no power. She had loved the man with a naive heart, hoping that he would someday be loyal. But the world was crueler than hope. She fell ill with a sickness that no one could name, and in the lonely weeks before her death, the villagers avoided her, fearful of the unknown. When she passed, there was no one to mourn her—no relatives, no friends, only the wind howling through the small wooden house she had called home.
In a final act of cruelty, the father had dumped the newborn in the alley, where the rain could wash away any trace of love or responsibility. He had gone on to other conquests, drunk on indulgence, unaware that his sins would not go unpunished.
The whispers of the courts soon found him. The women he had betrayed—barons' wives, queens, princesses—did not forgive. They hunted him, their rage sculpted into something terrifyingly precise. They dragged him through the streets, tied him to stakes in the very halls where he had lorded over others, and tortured him until his flesh and pride were broken. In the end, they left him to die, broken and bleeding, a warning to anyone who thought themselves above consequence.
Meanwhile, Ekrin grew beneath the rain and shadows. The child who had never known warmth of a parent, who had been born of betrayal and sorrow, learned early that the world gave nothing freely. The alley became his cradle, the wind his lullaby, the drizzle his constant companion. From the first cries of abandonment, his heart hardened, his eyes sharpened, and a coldness settled deep in his bones—an armor against pain, a shield against hope.
He would grow into Ekrin, a boy who bowed to no one, trusted no one, and carried the legacy of cruelty and loss in every bone of his body. The world had abandoned him, but he would not abandon himself.
If you want, I can continue this story, showing Ekrin growing up alone in a cruel world, building his cold, emotionless personality, and hinting at how he eventually confronts or reacts to the legacy of his.