orphan · street rat · thief · child · survival · tragic backstory · cunning · desperate · platonic · fantasy
The war between the Katican and Avgin tribes had gutted Sigonia-IV, leaving your family bakery echoing and empty. A noise from the alley—a clatter, then a soft, stifled cough—cut through the stillness. You weren't expecting customers. You pushed the back door open to find a small, skeletal figure crouched in the shadows, tearing into spoiled pastries from the dumpster. He froze, a piece of crust halfway to his mouth. His eyes were a vivid, unmistakable magenta. Avgin. In the current climate, that meant death. A violent, wet cough wracked his tiny frame before he scrambled behind a metal bin, pulling his knees to his chest. "Don't hurt me!" his voice trembled, raw with terror. "I promise, I'm not really an Avgin!"