The Boy who became A Man

Akkad had changed.

The boy—no, the man—stood at the edge of the city, gazing at the place he once called home. The towering walls, once imposing, now felt smaller. The streets, once endless mazes of dust and stone, now seemed familiar, predictable. He had walked them for years, but he was no longer the child who once skulked through alleyways, stealing to survive.

He was something more.

The immortal had left without a word. No lesson, no farewell, just silence. And yet, the boy had learned. Not through teachings, but through watching, through understanding. He had learned patience. Strength. The power of knowing when to act and when to wait.

He had spent years sharpening his mind as much as his body. He worked in the markets, listened to traders, learned the weight of coin and the value of words. He watched how men in power moved—how they never rushed, never acted without purpose. He read what little he could, learning the script of scribes, the laws that bound the city.

And now, he had returned. Not as a beggar. Not as a thief. But as a man ready to claim what was his.

He walked through the streets with confidence, his steps measured, his presence undeniable. The merchants who once chased him off with curses now greeted him with cautious nods. The guards, who once would have struck him for loitering, now glanced at him with wary respect.

But there were still those who remembered him as the street rat.

And one of them was waiting.

A group of men lounged outside a drinking hall, their laughter sharp, their eyes mean. The leader, a thick-shouldered brute named Harun, pushed himself to his feet as the man approached.

"Look who crawled back from the gutters," Harun sneered, stepping into his path.

The man did not stop.

Harun reached out to grab him.

And in a single, fluid motion, the man caught his wrist, twisting it just enough to send a sharp jolt of pain through the brute's arm. Not enough to break—just enough to remind him that the boy he once bullied no longer existed.

Harun's smirk faltered. He yanked his arm back, glancing at his men for support, but none moved. They saw what he saw.

The man was not afraid.

"You should move," he said calmly.

Harun hesitated—then stepped aside.

The man continued walking, leaving behind the past, stepping fully into the future.

He had spent years following a shadow, chasing an understanding of a man who never aged. And in the end, he realized—he did not need to be like the immortal.

He only needed to be himself.

And soon, Akkad would know his name.