No Power = No Home (2)

Kyren swore under his breath as he trudged along the dirt road. The tailor had been right. God dammit, he muttered to himself, feeling the weight of his journey on his shoulders. He had stopped at every orphanage, every place that he thought might offer him help or work. Yet, everywhere he went, the answer was the same—go to the outskirts.

No one would hire a powerless person.

The only thing that kept him going was the small acts of kindness from strangers who offered him scraps of food, a bit of water, or a place to sleep for the night. When nightfall came, he found solace in the shadows, curling up wherever he could—under an old wagon, in a hidden alley, or even out in the open. The road, once smooth and welcoming, had slowly turned into a dirt trail. Now, it barely allowed a single carriage to pass. It was rough, wild terrain, worn down by years of use, and Kyren stuck to the edges, hoping for the best as he made his way toward the outskirts.

Over the course of two months, he faced the quiet dangers of the wilderness—small, feral beasts that lurked in the darkness. Kyren had no idea how to properly use the dagger his mother had given him. But it was a tool, and right now, it was the only thing between him and the wild, unforgiving world.

Epsilon, the so-called city he'd once called home, wasn't like a normal city. It was vast, sprawling across what had once been Texas, with borders stretching into Mexico. The world had changed, and so had the weather—everything had.

Kyren barely knew what had happened in the 200 years since powers first emerged. The schools never taught children under 15 about the history of the world or the weather's transformation. They only cared about whether you could develop something that set you apart. Something like power.

When he finally arrived at the outskirts of Epsilon, exhaustion weighed heavy in his bones. He had imagined the outskirts would be a refuge—a place where people would understand his struggle. But as he drew closer, a horrible realization settled in his stomach: this was no refuge.

The buildings were in ruins. Crumbling structures that looked like they hadn't been touched in decades. The walls were patched together with scavenged wood, bricks that had long since lost their luster, and whatever they could scrape together from the prosperous areas far beyond.

Kyren's heart sank. What had he been expecting?

Before he could process any more of the scene before him, he heard footsteps—slow and deliberate—approaching from behind. A voice cut through the air, rough and seasoned.

"Son, that's some might fine clothes you got there."

Kyren tensed. He turned to face the man. He was of average height, perhaps a few inches taller than Kyren's own 5'5", but his appearance was more ragged than Kyren could have imagined. His clothes were barely holding together, frayed at the edges, and dirt-streaked from years of wear.

Kyren, despite his own disheveled state, stood his ground. "This is all I got," he replied flatly, trying to mask his nerves.

The man grinned, showing crooked teeth. "Too bad. Hand it over—clothes, bag, all of it."

Kyren's pulse raced. In that moment, instinct took over. Without thinking, he pulled the dagger from his side, the cold steel gleaming in the dim light. He had no idea how to fight properly—just the basics from the posh school he'd once attended—but that didn't matter now. He had to survive.

He rushed forward, hoping for the element of surprise.

But the man was quicker than he expected. With a fluid motion, the stranger sidestepped, sticking out his leg in a smooth trip. Kyren's foot caught the man's shin, but he didn't stop.

Kyren's blade slashed through the air, cutting the man across the cheek. But the impact of the trip caused his aim to shift, and the knife continued its path down the man's back. Blood splattered across the ground. The man howled in pain, staggering forward, clutching his bleeding face.

"You little brat," he screamed, "I'll—"

But before he could finish, Kyren had already dashed past him, his feet pounding the dirt as he ran. Heart racing, breath ragged, he pushed himself faster, feeling the adrenaline surge through his veins.

The sound of the man's furious scream echoed behind him, but Kyren didn't dare look back. His legs burned, and his side ached, but he didn't stop.

His only chance was to outrun the man and get far enough into the outskirts that no one would bother him. The shadows of the ruined buildings seemed to swallow him whole, and with every step, he felt further from the life he once knew—and closer to the brutal, unforgiving reality of survival.