Night has wrapped the city in shadow, the stars hidden behind a ceiling of smoke and cloud. Down a cracked and overgrown alleyway, a single oil lantern glows weakly, its flicker casting gold against concrete smeared with graffiti and old blood. Huddled near it, curled like a seed waiting for spring, is a small child. Their backpack is their pillow. The teddy bear rests gently beneath their chin, its stitched smile offering fragile comfort in a world that no longer smiles back.

The buildings around them loom like collapsed cathedrals, windows shattered like broken eyes. Ivy has clawed up through the asphalt, reclaiming what humanity has abandoned. In the distance, a storm growls, lightning flashing like forgotten memories. Yet here, in this tiny circle of light, the child dreams—clutching hope like a talisman made of cloth and stuffing.