![[Jules.png]] Jules doesn’t remember much about the fall of Alexandria. He remembers the heat, the fire licking at the sky. He remembers running, dodging through the panicked crowd, trying to keep up with his mother’s hand in his own. And then he tripped. He hit the ground hard, his hands scraped against stone. For one heartbeat, he couldn’t move. By the time he got up, she was gone. He ran through the streets calling for her. For his father. For anyone. But his voice was swallowed by the roar of destruction, by the screams, by the weight of the city as it fell apart around him. And when it was over, Jules was alone. At first, Jules tried to find his parents. He searched the streets, the ruins, the alleys where survivors whispered and scavengers prowled. But Alexandria had no answers for him. So he stopped asking. Stopped talking. Words didn’t matter when there was no one to listen. He found the others by accident. A group of children like him, lost, hungry, learning to survive in a city that no longer wanted them. Some had been orphans before Alexandria fell. Some had homes once, but no longer. They let him stay, not because he spoke, but because he was useful. Jules knew how to listen. He knew how to watch, how to move quietly, how to fade into the background. He was smaller than most of the other kids, but quick. And when it came time to steal bread from the market stalls, he never got caught. When Sordia Vignti came, Jules wasn’t sure if they were friend or enemy. They were loud. Too loud. Too big, too powerful, too much like the kind of people who had always ignored kids like him. So he did what he always did. He hid. But Big Guy found him. The massive warrior crouched down, met his eyes, and instead of reaching for him, instead of telling him what to do—he just sat there. And then, after a long silence, he offered Jules a piece of bread. Jules took it. And for the first time since the fall of Alexandria, he spoke. "...Thanks." Jules still doesn’t talk much. But he doesn’t need to. Sordia Vignti sees him, even when he doesn’t say a word. For the first time in a long time, he doesn’t have to fade into the background. For the first time in a long time, he isn’t just surviving. He’s living.