For Samye, everything he had witnessed until now felt like stepping into a different world.

  Not a new place—but a warped version of the one he once knew. A world where his parents had raised him with faith in people, with belief in right and wrong. That world no longer existed.

  This one did.

  Today, Samye turned seventeen.

  There was no celebration. No acknowledgment. Not even a quiet reminder from anyone else. The day passed like any other—empty and unnoticed.

  And still, nothing changed.

  No power awakened within him.

  As days passed, he watched others manifest abilities—children younger than him, adults who had lived half their lives powerless. Fire, strength, speed, strange forces bending reality itself.

  But not him.

  At night, beneath clear skies, Samye sat under the same old tree and stared upward. The stars felt distant, indifferent.

  Will I ever have power?

  Will I ever be able to protect anyone?

  The questions tormented him.

  “What if I stay like this forever?” he whispered into the darkness.

  “What if I’m just a coward pretending to endure?”

  The fear grew quietly—deep and persistent.

  Fear of being weak.

  Fear of being useless.

  Fear of surviving only to watch others die.

  Eventually, Samye stopped wishing for abilities.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Wishing had done nothing.

  So he chose something else.

  He relied on himself.

  By day, he worked alongside the townspeople—hauling loads, repairing fences, doing anything that earned him food. By night, he trained. Alone. Relentless.

  He ran until his lungs burned.

  He fought shadows until his muscles failed.

  He planned strategies again and again—ways to win, ways to survive.

  But every plan ended the same way.

  Against an ability user, nothing worked.

  So he trained harder.

  It was during one of those evenings that he noticed the boy.

  The bridge stood just outside town, old and worn, stretching over a shallow but deadly ravine. Samye had gone there to clear his head when he saw a small figure standing at the edge.

  Too still.

  Too quiet.

  Samye stopped behind a tree, instincts holding him back.

  He watched.

  The boy couldn’t have been more than twelve. His clothes were torn. His hands trembled as he gripped the railing. Tears streamed down his face, dropping into the darkness below.

  “I don’t want to be here anymore,” the boy whispered.

  His voice broke.

  “There’s no one left… no one’s coming back.”

  Samye’s chest tightened.

  The boy took one step forward, then stopped. He sobbed openly now, clutching his chest like it hurt to breathe.

  “I’m scared,” he cried. “I don’t want to die… but I don’t know how to live like this.”

  He leaned forward again—then froze.

  “I don’t have the courage,” he whispered desperately. “Why can’t I just jump? Why is this so hard?”

  Samye felt his eyes burn.

  Something inside him cracked.

  In that moment, Samye understood something he had never allowed himself to think before.

  Living was cruel.

  But dying like this—alone, terrified—required a different kind of courage.

  More than he had ever imagined.

  Samye stepped out from behind the tree.

  “Stop.”

  The boy flinched, almost losing his balance.

  Samye rushed forward and grabbed him, pulling him back from the edge. The boy collapsed to his knees, shaking violently.

  Samye knelt beside him, his own voice trembling.

  “It’s hard being alone,” he said quietly.

  “It’s hard doing everything by yourself.”

  “And it takes more courage to die than it does to keep living.”

  The boy looked up at him with red, swollen eyes.

  “My parents were taken,” he whispered. “They said they’d come back. They promised…”

  Samye swallowed.

  “They always promise,” he said softly.

  Silence stretched between them.

  “I don’t know what my future looks like either,” Samye continued. “I don’t know if things will ever get better. But if you jump… you’ll never know either.”

  The boy broke down completely, clutching Samye’s clothes like he might disappear too.

  “I don’t want to be alone,” he cried.

  Samye held him.

  For the first time in a long while, tears slipped from Samye’s own eyes.

  “I know,” he whispered. “Neither do I.”

  That night, something changed.

  They weren’t brothers by blood.

  But from that moment on, they weren’t alone anymore.

  Samye still had no clear path in life. No power. No answers.

  But he had stopped one death.

  And for now—

  That was enough.