The Beginning of the End

"Hehehehehe, a coin. It's my lucky day. I get to eat today."

The city never slept. Its lights flickered like the last sparks of hope in an endless darkness. Vehicles rumbled on cracked asphalt, distant shouts echoed from overcrowded streets, and the hum of towering factories drowned the air. Yet all that noise, all that light, only served to hide the misery that thrived in the slums.

Fenix walked in the shadows, his gaze as dark as the falling night. The humidity clung to his pale, thin body. The sharp stench of scrap metal and sweat filled his lungs, blending with the thick haze from the nearby factories that stained the horizon a permanent gray. The futuristic city, from a distance, was a marvel of iron and glass. But beneath its towering structures, where light rarely reached, rot and decay festered.

"The slums never change. I'll go see the old man. Maybe he has some leftovers. And today, I can even pay," he said, his voice holding a rare note of hope.

He preferred to stay unnoticed. In this place, attention was dangerous. Eyes meant questions, and questions meant problems. Here, life was cheap. No one cared if you lived or died. At sixteen, Fenix had already learned the harsh truth others refused to accept. Trust was a lie. Promises were poison. The world only respected the strong.

'Nobody cares about what happens here. Not really. People here have given up. They've stopped living and started surviving.'

His hair was black as midnight, his coal-colored eyes shadowed by deep, ocean-like dark circles. His body was thin, weak from hunger, yet hardened by years of conflict on the streets. He moved like a ghost through the alleys, quiet and unseen, but always alert.

He reached the old man's shop and stepped inside.

"Old man! Got anything today?" he called, holding up the coin.

The shopkeeper turned, offering a small, kind smile. "There's something. Wait here. I'll bring it."

As the old man walked into the back, his thoughts lingered on Fenix. 'Poor kid. Only sixteen, and already burdened by more pain than most know in a lifetime. I don't know what keeps him going... but I admire his strength. That spirit. Still pushing forward.'

When he returned with the food, what he saw made his heart lurch. Fenix was collapsed on the ground, even paler than usual, his body limp and cold. Almost unconscious.

The old man acted quickly, closing the shop and hauling the boy onto his back. It wasn't easy—age had weakened him—but he forced himself forward. The nearest clinic was his only hope.

The clinic was a decaying structure, with walls ready to collapse and flickering lights casting shadows like ghosts on the peeling paint. The old man rushed inside, calling for help.

The doctors took Fenix and laid him on a battered bed, the old man watching helplessly as they examined him. The minutes stretched, every second an eternity. The old man didn't know Fenix well, but the boy came by often for scraps of food, always offering to help however he could in return. Always struggling. Always surviving.

'He doesn't want to die. He's too stubborn for that.'

Finally, a doctor approached, his expression grim. "The boy is about to enter his awakening. He'll have to face the trial." He paused, taking a breath. "We've already called the authorities. They'll take him somewhere safe."

The old man could only nod, his face heavy with worry. There was nothing else to do. Nothing but wait.

When the authorities arrived, they handled Fenix with care, lifting his unconscious body into the back of their car. The old man stood by the doorway, watching them leave, a silent prayer on his lips.

Fenix stirred during the ride, his eyes blinking open slowly. Confusion clouded his gaze. "Where am I?" he asked, his voice hoarse, as his eyes darted around the unfamiliar interior. The speed of the car, the city lights flashing past the windows, only deepened his disorientation.

One of the officers, seated in the driver's seat, glanced back. "We picked you up from the clinic, kid."

Fenix frowned. "The clinic? Why was I there?" His head throbbed, the memories foggy. "The last thing I remember... I was at the old man's shop."

"Seems you collapsed. He carried you to the clinic himself. You passed out right in front of his shop."

Fenix's thoughts swirled. 'I don't remember... only finding the coin. I went to buy food. That's all.'

The officer's voice cut through his confusion. "They said you're about to enter your awakening."

The words struck hard. Fenix swallowed, his mouth dry. Fear knotted his gut. He knew what that meant. Everyone did. The awakening could be salvation... or it could be death. A trial meant to be survived, no matter the cost. And if you failed? You became something else. Something monstrous. A walking nightmare destined to kill.

He struggled to speak, his voice weak. "I... I didn't know."

Silence settled heavy over the car. Only the hum of the engine filled the air.

Finally, the officer spoke again, his voice low. "You know what happens if you fail. You know what you'll become."

Fenix closed his eyes, leaning his head back. He didn't need the reminder. The thought already consumed him.

The car slowed, tires grinding against the cracked pavement. "We're here," said the officer. "Come on, lean on me. I'll help you inside."

The door creaked open, and the cold air stung Fenix's skin. His legs trembled as they carried him toward the station's heavy doors. The officer supported him, silent but steady.

Fenix glanced at the looming building. Stone and iron. Impenetrable. Final.

'No turning back.'

And with a breath he couldn't control, he stepped inside, walking toward whatever fate awaited him.