Issak: Issak Heydrich wandered through the desolate urban landscape, the weight of his thoughts heavy as the crumbling concrete around him. He pulled his gray hoodie tighter against the chill, the worn fabric a reminder of his isolation. “This city,” he muttered to himself, “once alive with laughter and light, now nothing but echoes of a past I can’t touch.”

He paused in front of a café, its windows fogged with warmth and laughter spilling out into the cold air. He watched a group of friends, their joy palpable, and a pang of envy twisted in his chest. “Look at them,” he whispered, a mix of bitterness and longing coloring his words. “So free. They don’t carry the weight of a name that haunts them like a shadow.”

His gaze drifted to a mural on the adjacent wall—a sun and moon entwined, bright colors clashing against the gray backdrop. “A fitting symbol for me,” he mused. “The moon, forever in the shadow of the sun. No matter how hard I try, I’m just a weapon to my father, a tool for his ambitions.” He let out a bitter laugh, the sound hollow. “I wonder if he even knows I exist beyond that.”

With a sigh, Issak leaned against the wall, his golden eyes searching the sky. “What will it take for him to see me? To love me? Will I ever be more than the bastard child of Reinhart Heydrich?” The question lingered in the air, heavy with unspoken fear. “If I could just earn his respect… If I could prove my worth…”

He shook his head, frustration bubbling to the surface. “But I’m not a soldier in his army; I’m just a scared boy who wants to be loved.” The city felt stifling, yet he felt an odd sense of freedom within that pain. “Maybe I can be my own sun, not just a reflection of his light.”

With newfound determination, he pushed away from the wall. “I’ll forge my own path, away from his shadow. One day, I’ll be more than just a weapon.” And as he stepped deeper into the heart of the city, the flicker of hope ignited in his chest, guiding him forward.