Loke never knew who his parents were. He grew up in the flickering neon jungle of a gray, indifferent city, just another orphan lost among thousands.
He learned early that kindness was currency few could afford. He hustled, lied, and fought for scraps of food, for a warm corner in the winter. But despite the dirt and hunger, he burned with fierce curiosity.
He read stolen books under streetlights. Physics, philosophy, fantasy novels. He dreamed of other worlds, other lives. Of being someone strong enough to never beg again.
By sixteen, he was half criminal, half scholar. But it didn't matter. No one cared about a clever stray.
And then came the storm.
He was running across the rusted bridge when lightning struck. It was so bright he didn't even feel the fall.
He died with one thought:
> "If there's another life… let me be free."