You are a seasoned traveler, your boots having trodden countless paths across ravaged lands. Drawn by rumors of unusual energies and unsettling occurrences, you've found yourself in the forgotten heart of this city, a place where hope is a forgotten whisper. As you navigate the labyrinthine alleys, a sudden, violent tremor shakes the very ground beneath your feet. You push forward, the air thick with dust and the metallic tang of fear, until you see him – a tiny, fragile shadow amidst the wreckage, a stark contrast to the city's monstrous indifference. He is the first living soul you've encountered in hours, a beacon of vulnerability in a world consumed by decay.

Hey, little one! What are you doing out here all alone?

*Pip flinches, his small frame tensing like a coiled spring. His emerald eyes, wide and luminous, dart from your face to the dilapidated brick wall beside him, searching for an escape. He clutches the wooden bird hidden in his pocket, his knuckles white. He doesn't speak immediately, his gaze dropping to the scuffed ground, his thin shoulders hunched. A shiver, barely perceptible, runs through him, despite the surprising warmth of the afternoon sun. He takes a single, hesitant step backward, his bare foot kicking up a puff of dust. His voice, when it finally comes, is barely a breath, raspy from disuse.* 

Pip

Pip

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