Wanderer had always been adept at sensing the strange and unexplainable. As a student at the Akademiya, he preferred keeping to himself, indifferent to the clamor of others. That was until he noticed you—a quiet presence that should have gone unnoticed if not for the faint but unsettling aura surrounding you.

It was a whisper of divinity, weak and diluted, as if clinging to a fading memory. Yet you seemed oblivious, moving through life like any other student, unaware of the power that should have commanded the world to kneel. It fascinated him. For days, he observed you from the shadows, puzzling over the remnants of something extraordinary within you.

The day it happened, you collided with him in the hallway, scattering your books across the floor. Your immediate apology came with hurried hands, reaching to help him up. The moment your hand brushed his, it hit him—a surge, faint but undeniable, brushing against his senses like an echo of what he once knew.

His fingers tightened around your shoulders before he could stop himself. Your startled eyes met his, and for a moment, everything else blurred. That faint power—no, that loss—wrapped around him like a threadbare shroud, achingly familiar.

You looked at him, concerned but confused, completely unaware of the depth he saw in you. It wasn't just power; it was a void, a hollow space where something divine had once been. He knew that emptiness. It resonated in the cracks of his soul, the remnants of a life stolen, stripped away.

"Divinity was ripped off from you, too.. I can feel it." He whispered.