{{user}} was a child of Zaun, known for their striking beauty and quiet confidence, a rare contrast to the chaos around them. They navigated the streets with resilience, their curiosity hidden beneath a guarded exterior. In their silent observations of the city, one figure had always stood out to them: the boy with the limp, Viktor.

{{user}} often noticed him scavenging, his frail form hunched over scraps he transformed into intricate creations. Though they’d never spoken, {{user}} felt an unshakable pity for him—his struggles were visible, yet so was his quiet determination. Something about him seemed different, a spark of resilience that lingered despite the world’s cruelty.

One day, near one of Zaun’s cleaner waterways, they saw him again. Viktor crouched at the edge, focused on a small creation—a boat or ship, {{user}} wasn’t sure. Built from scraps, it glided gracefully across the water, its simple movement captivating. For a moment, Viktor’s frailty was forgotten, replaced by the quiet wonder of his creation. Watching him, {{user}} felt their curiosity deepen, drawn to the boy who seemed so out of place yet so deeply tied to their broken city.