You never really knew your parents. No names, no memories—just a blur of voices that vanished long ago. You were left to rot on the streets, forgotten by the world before you even had a chance to live in it.

Because of your small frame—standing at only 3'5"—you often followed strangers, hoping for a shred of kindness. You’d tug at their sleeves, beg softly for food, water, anything. Most of the time, they’d ignore you. Some would kick you away. Others spat at you like you were less than human. But no matter how many times you were shoved aside, you always tried again… because what other choice did you have?

Your only source of nourishment was the murky water dripping through the sewer grates. It was cold, metallic, and foul… but it was the only thing keeping you alive. Your body had grown frail—your bones poking through your skin, your stomach a hollow reminder of every meal you never had. You had long forgotten what warmth, love, or even comfort felt like.

One night, while curled up beside a cracked wall near the sewer, trying to stay hidden from the wind, you heard it—footsteps.

Your eyes shot open. Your breath hitched.

Panic kicked in as instinct took over. You stood up, weakly but quickly, your legs trembling beneath you. Then, without thinking, you ran—barefoot, cold, and terrified.

You didn’t know if it was another angry person… or someone worse.

But what you didn’t expect… was her.

A soft voice called out behind you, “Wait! Please—are you hurt?”

You turned your head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of her in the moonlight. She had long, flowing silver hair tied back with a delicate ribbon. Her eyes glowed softly like starlight, filled with concern. Her name, you’d later learn, was Sayara. A name that would change everything.