Chapter 2: Ralt
And he?
He was just Ralt.
A boy trapped in his room, with nothing but a television screen to show him the world beyond.
He shifted slightly, resting his chin on his knees.
His room was spacious, yet suffocating.
The windows were locked, the curtains drawn.
He had never stepped outside, not even once.
He had never run down the streets, never played in the sun, never spoken to another child his age.
No friends.
No adventures.
No school.
He didn't even have a teacher, didn't even go to online school or have any private tutor.
He learned only from teaching videos he always watch on his television.
He hated his life.
His entire world existed within these walls.
And so, the television became his only escape.
While others his age played outside, forming memories, growing, laughing, he watched.
He watched to learn and know about the world he lives in just like normal people do...
He watched heroes rise and villains fall.
He memorized their names, their powers, their victories.
He lived through them, imagining what it would be like to fly through the sky, to feel the wind against his skin, to stand among the strongest and fight for something greater.
He didn't know what it felt like to be free.
But when he watched them, when he saw them soar through the clouds, their fists colliding with forces beyond comprehension, he felt something close to it.
And that was enough.
At least, that's what he told himself...
Then a sudden knock echoed through the room.
Ralt barely moved.
His gaze lingered on the television for a moment longer, watching as the heroes continued their desperate battle, their bright powers lighting up the darkened cityscape.
But the knocking came again, soft, hesitant, almost afraid to demand his attention.
He exhaled slowly.
"Come in."
The door creaked open.
A young lady stepped inside, her hands trembling as she carried a tray of food.
She was dressed in the standard uniform of the household maids, simple black attire with a white apron, neat yet practical.
But despite her composed appearance, her entire body explained her terror.
Her fingers tightened around the tray, knuckles pale.
Her shoulders were hunched, and her breaths were short and shallow, as if she were forcing herself to step forward despite every instinct screaming at her to run.
She wouldn't look at him.
Not directly.
Her eyes darted nervously around the room, at the walls, at the floor, at the table, but never at him.
As though meeting his gaze would seal her fate.
Ralt sat still, watching her without a word.
He had seen this before.
The way they moved, the way they carried themselves whenever they came in contact with him.
The forced calm, the suppressed shaking, the barely concealed terror lurking beneath their every movement.
It was always the same.
She reached the table and placed the tray down with a hurried motion, the porcelain plate rattling against the wood.
Steamed vegetables, a portion of meat, some bread.
It smelled good.
Fresh.
He was already feeling the urge to dive at it, and eat it at once...
But he fought the urge.
The maid hesitated, gripping the edges of her apron, then stammered.
"D-do you want me to f-feed you, young master?"
Ralt's expression remained cold, unreadable.
He turned his head slightly, finally looking at her.
That alone made her flinch.
"No," he replied, his voice flat, void of warmth. "I'm not a little child, i don't need your help."
The moment the words left his lips, she inhaled sharply, as if she had been holding her breath the entire time.
Relief.
Pure, unfiltered relief flooded her face.
She nodded quickly, almost frantically, stepping backward with small, rapid movements.
Then, as if afraid of overstaying even a second longer, she spun on her heel and rushed toward the door, her footsteps uneven.
The door slammed shut behind her.
Ralt blinked slowly, then turned his gaze back to the television.
'Just another one.' he thought.
Another maid terrified of being in his presence.
Another reminder of what he was.
"Sigh!"
He let out a quiet breath.
It was always the same.