The journey from the glittering stone bridges of the Capital to the "home" Mina spoke of was a descent into a world the sun seemed to have forgotten. The festive music of the Starlight Festival faded until it was nothing but a haunting, rhythmic thrum in the distance, a reminder of a celebration that did not belong to the people here.
They arrived at an abandoned, lopsided shack perched precariously on the edge of the city's limits, where the encroaching forest began to reclaim the rotted wood. It was less of a house and more of a collection of discarded planks and rusted sheet metal, held together by nothing but desperation and prayer.
The moment they stepped inside the cramped space, several more children, pale, hollow-cheeked, and wide-eyed, emerged from the dark corners like ghosts.
"Mina! You're back!" a young boy cried, rushing forward. "Did you get it? Did you find any bread? The little ones are crying."
