The rain had driven most people indoors, but a few stragglers remained—a group of teenagers laughing as they hurried home, an old man shuffling along with a plastic bag clutched in his hand, a couple arguing under the shelter of a storefront awning.


    Rhia observed them all with a detached curiosity, her expression unreadable. She didn’t belong to their world, and they didn’t notice her. To them, she was just another shadow, another face in the crowd.


    Her stomach growled, a sharp reminder of how long it had been since she’d last eaten. She ignored it, focusing instead on the faint hum of energy that seemed to pulse beneath her skin. It was always there, a quiet, restless presence that she didn’t fully understand.


    Sometimes, when she was scared or angry, it would surge to the surface, manifesting as shadows that twisted and coiled around her like living things. She didn’t know where it came from or why she had it, but she had learned to accept it as part of herself, like the scars on her hands or the ache in her chest that never quite went away.


    The commotion near the pavement drew her back from reality. The man across the pavement did not stop with his attempts. The woman tried to pull away, her face pale and frightened, but the man grabbed her arm, his grip tight and unrelenting.


    “Sige na, sumama ka na! Paliligayahin kita..” The man’s grip on the young woman’s arm tightened, his voice rising with aggression.


    He leaned closer, his breath reeking of alcohol, his face twisted into a sneer.


    “Ayoko! Bitawan mo ako!” The woman struggled, her voice trembling but defiant.


    Rhia’s small hands clenched into fists at her sides. She didn’t know the woman, but she knew what it felt like to be powerless, to be trapped. Her chest tightened as she focused, her dark eyes narrowing. The shadows around her seemed to stir, as if responding to her anger.


    She didn’t fully understand her power yet—this strange, dark energy that sometimes surged through her when she was scared or angry. But tonight, it answered her call.


    The flickering streetlight above the man dimmed, the light swallowed by an inky blackness that seemed to spill from Rhia’s small frame. The man froze, his grip loosening as the shadows around him twisted and coiled like living things.


    He looked around, his bravado faltering. “Ano ‘to?"


    “Layuan mo siya.” Rhia stepped forward, her voice low but steady.


    The man turned, his eyes widening as he saw the small girl standing in the alley, her hands glowing faintly with dark energy.


    “Tangin—!” he stammered, stumbling backward. The shadows seemed to press in on him, wrapping around his legs like tendrils. He yelped, tripping over his own feet as he scrambled to get away. “Demonyo!”


    The woman took the chance to pull free, her face pale but relieved. She glanced at Rhia, her eyes wide with gratitude and fear. “Salamat,” she whispered before hurrying down the street, disappearing into the night.


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    Rhia exhaled sharply, the dark energy dissipating as quickly as it had come. Her small body trembled, and she felt a warm trickle under her nose. She wiped it with the back of her hand, her fingers coming away smeared with blood.


    "Your nose is bleeding," a deep, masculine voice murmured from behind her, his tone laced with something between curiosity and concern.


    Rhia spun around, her heart racing. A man stood there, his tall frame silhouetted against the dim light of the alley. He was older, his silver hair tied back in a loose ponytail, and his eyes were a piercing blue that seemed to see right through her. In his hand, he held a white handkerchief, which he offered to her.


    Rhia hesitated, her instincts screaming at her to run. She took a step back, her small frame tense and ready to bolt. But something about the man’s calm demeanor made her pause. He didn’t move closer, didn’t try to grab her. He just stood there, holding out the handkerchief, his expression unreadable but not threatening.


    “Who are you?” she asked, her voice small but firm.


    The man crouched down to her level, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he were trying not to startle her.


    “My name is Alaric Veyra,” he said, his voice calm and measured, a low baritone resonating with authority.


    “And you are?”


    Rhia didn’t answer immediately. She studied him carefully, her dark eyes narrowing as she tried to gauge his intentions.


    He didn’t resemble the others—those who feigned kindness while harboring ulterior motives. There was a quiet strength in his gaze, a steadiness that filled her with unease, but not fear.


    “Rhia,” she whispered at last.


    Alaric nodded, his expression softening. “Rhia,” he repeated, as if savoring her name. “That’s a beautiful name.” He offered the handkerchief again. “Here. For your nose.”


    After a moment’s hesitation, Rhia reached out and accepted it, pressing the soft fabric to her nose. The bleeding had slowed, though her hands still trembled slightly.


    “Thank you,” she murmured, voice muffled by the cloth.


    Alaric regarded her thoughtfully. “You’re quite young to be out here alone,” he said gently. “Where are your parents?”


    Rhia’s jaw tightened, and she turned away. “They’re gone,” she replied quietly.


    A flicker of empathy lit Alaric’s eyes, but his expression remained steady. “I see,” he said simply, refraining from pushing further, and Rhia felt a twinge of gratitude.


    They stood in silence for a moment, the distant hum of the city and the soft patter of rain enveloping them. Rhia stole glances at him, her mind racing. He was different—calmer, quieter, yet something about him made her uneasy, compelling her to keep her guard up.


    “You used your powers back there,” Alaric interjected, breaking the quiet. “Shadow manipulation, if I’m not mistaken. Quite impressive for someone so young.”


    Rhia stiffened, gripping the handkerchief tightly. “How do you know about that?” Her voice was thin with wariness.


    Alaric smiled faintly. “I’ve seen many things—met many people. Powers like yours... they’re rare but not unheard of.” He studied her with intent. “Do you understand what you can do?”


    Rhia shook her head slowly. “Not really. It just... happens sometimes. When I’m scared or angry.”


    Alaric nodded, as if he anticipated her answer. “It’s a gift,” he said. “But it comes with a responsibility. If you don’t learn to control it, it could hurt you—or someone else.”


    Rhia fell silent, his words resonating within her. The blood had stopped, but the metallic taste lingered in her throat, leaving her without a clear response.