Titans.
Beings whose souls carry a special essence known as a Talent.
Some are born Titans, others are artificially made after birth.
Among them was one unfortunate boy — an orphan who wasn't a Titan.
To most, that might not sound tragic. But in a world where even the orphans possessed Talents, his difference stood out like a wound.
His name was Seth. Found at the doorstep of an orphanage as an infant, he grew up with no memory of parents, no clue of where he came from.
Now six years old, Seth remained the only child without a Talent — a boy quietly left behind by the world that celebrated power.
"Hey, kids! It's time to eat," called out a woman with blonde hair.
She looked to be in her twenties, with dark eyes that seemed almost hollow. A long white floral dress hung loosely over her thin frame.
Her name was Sophie.
As the children gathered, she quickly realized a few were missing — and the look in her eyes hardened. She already knew what they were up to.
She set the plates aside and stepped out, her voice soft but firm as she called their names.
Four children were missing — she counted carefully to be sure.
Among the missing was Seth.
The orphanage stood on the edge of a cliff, surrounded by dense forest. It was called Hope — a name that promised light, though inside its walls, that promise was hollow. Beneath its surface lay quiet discrimination and unspoken divides.
As Sophie made her way down the rocky path below the cliff, the sound of laughter reached her ears. It came from near the river, mingled with the gentle rush of flowing water.
As Sophie followed the sound of laughter, a chill ran down her spine.
She noticed faint stains on the dirt path — small, dark patches of dried blood. It wasn't fresh, but recent enough to make her steps quicken.
When she reached the riverbank, the scene before her froze her in place.
Seth was on the ground, his small frame trembling as the other children surrounded him. Their laughter wasn't innocent. They struck him with sticks, hurled rocks at his body, each blow followed by more cruel amusement.
It was the kind of violence that no child should ever know — the kind that felt too deliberate, too practiced.
Then, one of the boys stepped forward. Black hair. Blue eyes. Around Seth's age — six.
He grabbed Seth by the head and clenched his other fist. The skin on his arm began to shift, hardening into rough, stone-like layers.
A Talent — Reinforcement. The power to strengthen one's body with elemental force.
And he was about to use it on Seth.
BAM!
The boy's fist crashed into Seth's face.
BAM!
Another strike. Then another.
Each blow echoed through the trees, dull thuds mixing with the sound of rushing water.
Seth's small body jerked with every hit until the trembling stopped.
He lay still on the ground — silent, motionless.
For a moment, it looked as if all life had left him.
Seth's blonde hair was matted with blood and dirt, streaks of red and brown tangled through the strands.
His eyes, once bright, now glimmered with a dull, lifeless red.
It was as if he had given up on everything — the pain, the cruelty, the world itself. Who could blame him?
The blue-eyed boy raised his fist again, ready to strike, when Sophie's voice cut through the chaos.
"Stop!" she shouted, charging forward and yanking his arm away.
The boy froze, confusion and fear flickering across his face.
"What is wrong with you kids? What is this?" Sophie's voice shook with a mixture of anger and despair. "You need Jesus!" she exclaimed, her words ringing out over the river and forest.
Sophie wasn't finished watching the scene unfold — she was a healer.
Kneeling beside Seth, she pressed her palm to his chest. A soft, radiant green light spilled from her hand and rolled across his skin, swallowing stains of blood and mud until his face, once pale and raw, looked cleansed and whole again.
The glow faded as quickly as it had come, leaving only the quiet of the forest and the whisper of the river.
Seth lay still, eyes open but empty of any answer. He didn't speak; he simply stared, as if the world had narrowed to the sound of the water and the warmth of Sophie's touch.
She checked him once more, fingers gentle and sure, then lifted him into her arms with the careful, practiced motion of someone used to carrying the fragile and the wounded.
"You boys will get proper punishment from the headmistress," Sophie said, her voice calm but sharp enough to cut through any protest.
The children who had surrounded Seth shifted under her gaze — some averted their eyes, others tried to stand their ground, but none of them met her steady stare. The boy with the stone-hardened arm, black hair and blue eyes, unclenched his fist and lowered it as if the motion cost him more than the blow ever had.
Sophie tucked Seth's head against her shoulder and began to walk back toward Hope, the cliff path rising beneath her feet. Around her, the forest felt different: the laughter had been replaced by an uneasy hush, and the river's cheerful rush was now a distant, indifferent murmur.
The orphanage's name promised hope; today, Sophie intended to make sure it at least lived up to that promise for one small boy.
***
Evening fell over the orphanage.
Seth lay in his bed, the sheets tucked neatly around him. His body bore no marks — Sophie's healing had erased every bruise and cut — but the weight on his mind was unmistakable. His eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, haunted by the memory of the day's cruelty.
The nannies had attended to him, offering soft words and gentle care, but they couldn't reach the part of him that had been shattered.
The incident had been reported to the headmistress, as it had to be. But even with that report, even with the promised "punishment," the truth lingered: Hope, the orphanage's shining name, offered nothing but discrimination and despair.
For Seth, tonight would not bring comfort, only the quiet echo of what it truly meant to be different in a world that celebrated power.
And of course the excuse from the headmistress was; "He isn't a Titan. We prioritise special kids and not disabled trash."
"So this is what its going to be like everyday."
Seth said, for the first time after being thrashed by the boys today.
Seth's voice barely rose above a whisper, yet it carried the weight of a world he hadn't yet fully understood.
"I've… been left behind, huh?"
The question lingered, not really seeking an answer, more a confession to the emptiness that had always shadowed him. For a moment, the room was still, as if even the orphanage itself had paused to listen to the quiet resignation in the six-year-old boy's words.
[End of chapter 1]!