Soma was ten.

  Ten years old, with a baby brother in her arms and the weight of the world on her back. Her parents? Gone—murdered not long after her brother was born. The world didn’t pause. It didn’t care. It just threw two orphans into its cruelest corners without an ounce of mercy.

  No home. No warmth. No one to help.

  Soma had to figure it all out herself—how to survive, how to protect the only family she had left. And in that savage world, there was only one way: stealing. Pickpocketing, sneaking food, hoping to stay invisible long enough to feed them both.

  But thievery wasn’t exactly a stable income. Most days ended with her getting caught. Beaten. Bruised. Bleeding.    That night was one of those nights.

  Soma lay on the cold ground, her body aching, skin stinging with fresh wounds. Above her stretched a black sky, ink-dark and sprinkled with stars that looked almost too pretty for a world this cruel.

  She stared at it, her mind wandering, heart aching.

  > “Dad… Mom… where are you now?  I miss you. So much.      I wish you were here, watching the stars with me…

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  I wish you were home, waiting for me. Worried because I’m late. I wish I even had a home, with warm food waiting… made by Mom’s hands.”

  Her lips twisted into a bitter smile. A hollow laugh slipped out.

  > “Heh... honestly? I’ve stopped hoping. Life isn’t kind. And I’m tired of pretending it ever will be.”

  “Maybe… death would be easier. No more pain. No more hunger. Just peace. Just… Mom and Dad.”

  A tear rolled down her cheek.

  She looked back up at the sky, and whispered with a shaky voice:

  > “God… help me. I hate that I’m even thinking like this.”

  She slapped both cheeks lightly—snap out of it.

  Then forced a faint smile and murmured to herself:

  > “I have a little brother. He needs me. I don’t get to give up.”

  With trembling legs, she stood up. There was something in her eyes—faint, but there. A flicker of light. Of will.

  She wasn’t done. Not yet.

  But the second she took a step—her head spun.

  Her knees buckled.

  She collapsed.

  It was the hunger.

  She’d spent days making sure her brother ate without realizing her own body—still small, still growing—was starving.

  Fighting to stay awake, she dragged herself toward an old, worn-down animal shed. She knew it was there. She’d been staying near it for days.

  Inside, there was a goat. A milk goat. It had been the only way she could feed her baby brother.

  She didn’t have a home. So she chose to live in abandoned animal shelters—just until she figured something out. Just until nobody could find her.

  She crawled forward, inch by inch, desperate to reach her brother. But her body finally gave up.

  She blacked out.

  Her body hit the floor hard, making enough noise to shake the silence.

  The baby woke up instantly—crying, screaming.

  And the owner of the barn?

  He heard it.

  And he was coming.