Kieran walked with his hood drawn low over his face, his golden eyes veiled in shadow. He did not belong here. He had become an echo of something lost, something that no longer fit within a world filled with life. He had no reason to stop. No reason to acknowledge the warmth of this town.

Then, a commotion erupted ahead.

A teenage boy, barely more than skin and bones, darted through the marketplace, clutching a single fruit in his trembling hands. A vendor’s furious shout followed his retreating figure, the older man’s face red with anger.

"Thief! Stop that boy!"

The town reacted almost immediately. People turned, their eyes locking onto the ragged boy as he ran. A few villagers gave chase, shouting threats and demands for him to stop. The boy’s breath came in ragged gasps, his frail body struggling to carry him forward. His desperate eyes flickered across the crowd, searching for an escape.

Then he saw Kieran.

"Move!" the boy shouted, sprinting straight toward him.

But Kieran didn’t move.

The thief rushed past him, his shoulder barely brushing against Kieran’s cloak before disappearing into the alleys beyond. The townspeople chasing him skidded to a halt in front of Kieran, their anger now redirected toward the man who had refused to act.

"Why didn’t you stop him?!" one man yelled, his voice laced with frustration.

"Useless bastard! Are you blind?"

A woman scoffed, shaking her head in disgust. "A grown man who won’t even lift a finger to help? You’re a disgrace!"

Others began to join in, their words filled with venom. Disgusted looks were cast his way, murmurs of his worthlessness spreading like wildfire. Some were content to glare, while others took more direct action—stones, bits of rotten fruit, whatever they could find were hurled at him.

Kieran didn’t flinch. He didn’t raise a hand to defend himself. He simply walked, his gaze fixed forward, his mind lost in thoughts far removed from the meaningless disdain of these people.

He had once cared for the opinions of others. Once long ago. But those days were over.

Now, he was nothing more than a shadow passing through a world that no longer held a place for him.

As Kieran ventured deeper into the town, the glares and whispers followed him. The judgment of the townspeople clung to him like a shadow, but he remained indifferent. He had no reason to acknowledge them. He moved forward, past alleys and dimly lit corners, his presence an unwelcome disturbance to the daily lives of those around him.

Then, his path was blocked.

A group of thugs emerged from the side streets, their grins wide and their eyes hungry with malice. The leader, a burly man with a jagged scar running across his cheek, stepped forward, twirling a dagger between his fingers.

"That’s a nice hood you’ve got there," the thug sneered. "Hand it over, and we might let you walk away."

Kieran ignored him and took a step forward.

The thug scowled, raising a hand to stop him. "Didn’t you hear me? I said—"

Before he could finish, Kieran moved.

In a blur of motion, his fist connected with the thug’s stomach, sending him sprawling backward. The other thugs barely had time to react before Kieran turned his attention to them. One swung a rusty blade toward him, but Kieran sidestepped effortlessly, catching the man's wrist and twisting it until the weapon clattered to the ground. With a swift strike, he sent the attacker crashing into a pile of crates.

The rest hesitated, their confidence faltering. But the leader, gasping for breath, forced himself to his feet. "Get him!"

They rushed at him all at once, their weapons flashing under the dim light of the street lamps. Kieran moved like a shadow, his bare hands striking with lethal precision. A kick to the ribs sent one man flying, another crumpled under a single punch to the jaw. Their numbers meant nothing. Within moments, they lay groaning on the ground, clutching their injuries.

The leader scrambled backward, his eyes wide with terror. "M-Monster…! He’s a monster!"

The remaining thugs didn’t need any more convincing. They turned and fled, their screams of fear echoing through the narrow streets.

The townspeople, having witnessed the fight, stood frozen in shock. No one spoke, no one moved. The judgmental glares had turned to fearful stares.

Kieran simply adjusted his hood and continued walking. He had no interest in their fear, nor did he seek their admiration. His path led him forward, and nothing else mattered.

Soon, he reached an inn. Without hesitation, he stepped inside, seeking nothing more than a moment of silence before the road called him once again.