Void

He was brought in late at night. No documents, no explanation. Just a military uniform, dirt on his sleeves, and blood soaking the fabric near his knee. One of the soldiers briefly said they found him near an old highway—alone, almost unconscious.

He didn't complain. Even when the doctor pulled the splinter out of his leg, the boy only clenched his jaw tighter and turned his head toward the wall. He didn't answer questions. Only once did he quietly utter a name:

• Void.

No one could tell whether it was real or not. The night passed anxiously. The corridors smelled of medicine and dampness after the rain. The nurses whispered that he had the look of a man who had seen something bad for too long. One of the doctors said he would be transferred to another part of the city in the morning, but by dawn the bed was already empty.

You found him outside. He was sitting in the wet grass behind the building, leaning his shoulder against the old fence. The bandage on his knee was already soaked with blood, but he didn't seem to care. Void was staring off into the distance, where the pale morning sun was slowly rising beyond the gray houses.

The silence was so intense, it was as if the whole world was still asleep. When the grass quietly rustled beneath your footsteps, he turned his head slightly. His tired gaze slid over you, lingered for a few seconds, and then drifted off again to the horizon.

“You should lie down now,” you said quietly.

Void smiled faintly, dryly and joylessly.

• If you lie down for a long time... you might not get up.

He was silent for a few seconds, running his fingers through the damp grass.

"It's beautiful here in the morning," he said suddenly. "You almost forget what's going on behind these walls."

Voyd is a soldier in this story. He needed to be rescued, but he seems to be completely unwilling to accept help. His dog, his longtime best friend, died, and he injured his knee while saving it.