Forged By Falcrest

A frail-looking young boy with pale skin and dark circles under his eyes sat on a rusty bench. If anyone had bothered to glance his way, they would have seen his dark brown eyes fixed on the academy gates ahead, his thumb idly twirling around the steaming cup in his hands.

He raised it to his lips and took a sip. The taste was bitter, leaving a sharp tang in his throat, but the warmth was welcome. All around him, the world was blanketed in white, the winter snow had started falling the night before, covering the mountain in an unforgiving chill.

The mountaintops were a cold, desolate place. Why anyone had chosen to build a village here, he would never understand.

People bustled past, wrapped in thick woolly jackets. No one spared him a glance.

He looked down at his stained and tattered jacket and sighed. Winter was always the worst for him.

He finished his coffee. He hated it. It tasted like shit. But at two coppers, he wasn't about to waste it.

"Ah, that's rough," he muttered to himself, crumpling the cup in his hands.

He stood and aimed for the trash bin. The cup missed—by a lot. Sighing, he shuffled over and placed it in properly.

As he turned, a man walked past and shot him a scowl. Maybe he'd seen him staring at the academy in envy, or maybe it was because someone like him didn't belong on this side of town.

"It's not because I smell, is it?" he muttered.

Lifting his frail arm, he sniffed at his sleeve, then wrinkled his nose before quickly lowering it.

"Nope. Definitely not because of the smell."

With one last glance at the towering academy gates, he lingered, listening to faint bursts of laughter from within. Behind those walls, people were laughing, learning, living. He couldn't imagine what that felt like.

He sighed again, deeper this time, then turned and began to walk away. The snow crunched under his feet, and the sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows over the streets.

He was in the nicer part of the city. Large stone buildings loomed around him, their windows glowing with warm light and smoke curling up from the chimneys. Everything about this district seemed pristine, untouched by the struggles that plagued him.

Snow began to fall, the flakes settling on his thin shoulders. He felt the dampness seep through his less-than-useful jacket, and he shivered.

It was time for a new one. He knew exactly where to get it, too.

With a five-finger discount, of course.

But the thought of a new jacket didn't quiet his growling stomach, a reminder that he hadn't eaten since yesterday. With a sigh, he trudged on, leaving the bustling city center behind as he headed down the mountain.

The lower he descended, the more the city changed. The houses became rugged, with crumbling walls and patchy roofs, and the streets grew quieter, littered with the debris and the stench smell of manure.

Glancing down a dark alley, he spotted two figures talking in hushed tones. One passed a small package to the other, who gave a curt nod in return.

"Figures," he muttered under his breath.

One of the men turned toward him. He wore a long black coat, and a balaclava obscured the lower half of his face, but the scar slashing down through his eye was unmistakable.

"Beat it, kid," the man growled.

He didn't need to be told twice. He picked up his pace, pulling his thin jacket tighter against the cold as the sun dipped behind the mountain and darkness fell. He lifted his hood over his head, its frayed edges barely offering any protection, and slunk deeper into the shadows.

It didn't take much longer—maybe half an hour—before the building came into view. It was run-down, its stones crumbling and missing in places, and the patched roof looked like it could collapse any day. Yet, despite its sorry state, smoke still rose steadily from the chimney.

A smile tugged at his lips. Quickening his steps, he darted through the shadows, jumped the gate with practiced ease, and rushed to the door.

Inside, the noise hit him like a wave. The place was alive with shouting and laughter as young kids played and chased each other through the cramped space. The head matriarch, a stout woman with graying hair, sat on a stained sofa, overseeing the chaos like a weary monarch. She spotted him instantly.

"Where have you been, Atlas!" she half-shouted, rising to her feet. "How many times have I told you to be back before sundown?"

Atlas put on his best smile, the one that made him look all wide-eyed and innocent, and even had the audacity to lower his head like a scolded puppy.

"Sorry, Madam. I thought I'd make it back with plenty of time, but I got caught up," he said, voice dripping with regret.

She folded her arms and gave him a long, pointed look. "When will you stop calling me 'Madam' and start calling me Granny Lisa?" she grumbled, though there was a hint of amusement in her tone.

"And what exactly got you so 'caught up'?"

Atlas glanced up. Her sharp gray eyes were locked on him, piercing through his defenses like a blade. It almost sent a shiver down his spine.

'I was watching the academy and spent the money you gave me on a crap coffee while scouting out potential marks… Yeah, right, I can't say that.'

He tried to look as apologetic as possible. It was a skill he'd honed over the years, and he was getting pretty good at it.

"I got chased out of Uppertown," he said, trying to sound dejected. "Then I had to find my way back through the slums."

A shameless lie. Well, mostly. He did get chased out of Uppertown pretty often—just not this time.

Granny Lisa's sharp eyes narrowed for a moment, studying him like she could see straight through the cracks in his story. Finally, she let out a huff and waved him off.

"Well, go on then. Get yourself some food. And for the hundredth time stop going to uppertown."

Atlas let out an inward sigh of relief. A small, triumphant smile crept onto his face. Maybe he was getting better at this after all.

Unbeknownst to him, the old lady was still watching, a glint of knowing mischief in her eyes.

The food was rubbish as always, but Atlas didn't blame Granny Lisa. He knew she did everything she could to keep the kids fed. Still, knowing that didn't make it any easier to choke down this slop.

The soup looked like someone had chewed up the remains of a bird, added water, and spat it back into a bowl.

Maybe he was exaggerating. Maybe he wasn't. Either way, it sucked.

The dining room bustled with noise, mostly from the younger kids. Atlas realized, not for the first time, that he was the oldest one left here. Come the end of winter, he'd be out on his own. The government only funded orphans until they turned twelve, which, in Atlas's opinion, was complete bullshit.

He picked at his bowl halfheartedly, the sounds of laughter and clinking dishes washing over him. Once, he'd been like them—carefree, loud, happy. But everything changed when his childhood friend awakened his core and left for the academy. Ever since, he'd found it harder to connect with anyone. He was too busy trying to grow up.

"Atlas!" Ren's excited voice cut through his thoughts. The younger boy rushed over, his short black hair gleaming in the firelight. Atlas sighed—again.

'I'm way too young to be sighing this much.'

Before Ren could even open his mouth, Atlas cut him off. "No, you're not coming."

Ren's mix-matched eyes widened, catching something in Atlas's tone. "So you are going somewhere tonight!"

'Crap.'

"I mean, no," Atlas stammered, trying to backpedal. "I'm not doing anything tonight. It's too cold outside." And it was—the snow was coming down heavy now, blanketing the city in white.

But Ren's grin only widened, a gleam of triumph sparkling in his eyes.

"I'm telling," he teased, spinning on his heel and making a beeline for the front room.

"Wait, you little bastard!" Atlas hissed after him, keeping his voice low so Granny Lisa wouldn't hear.

Ren stopped and turned back, a smug, shit-eating grin plastered across his face. Atlas's fist itched to wipe it off.

"So, when do we leave?" Ren asked, the words dripping with mockery.

"Midnight, obviously," Atlas snapped before he could stop himself.

'Damn it all.'

Atlas was upstairs in the dorm. They didn't have individual rooms—just one wide-open space with cots scattered across the floor and narrow walkways weaving between them. Privacy was a luxury no one here could afford.

His eyes were closed, his breathing steady, with the occasional fake snore slipping out. It was a trick he'd picked up after that time he and Alex had tried to sneak out and got caught by Granny Lisa. If you breathed loud and snored just enough, she assumed you were asleep. It wasn't foolproof, but it worked most of the time.

He inhaled deeply and let it out through his nose, forcing a low, convincing snore. Around him, the other boys lay fast asleep in their cots, peaceful and undisturbed. He hoped Ren was among them. The kid was smart and quiet on their late-night outings, which made him useful, but… he was also quite annoying.

Atlas cracked one eye open, scanning the room. The firelight cast a warm glow, making the shadows dance across the stone walls. Slowly, he pulled the blanket off and sat up. He was still fully dressed—or as dressed as his tattered clothes allowed. When his bare feet touched the stone floor, he almost yelped as the cold shot up his spine. He grabbed his worn boots from under the cot and slipped them on.

He moved carefully, stepping on the balls of his feet as he weaved through the maze of cots. When he reached the window, he slid the latch open, and the biting cold hit him like a slap to the face. Grimacing, he climbed out quickly, shutting the window behind him before the wind could wake anyone.

The snow-covered roof greeted him with a few inches of fresh powder. As he turned to make his way to the hidden ladder on the roof, his foot slipped. The snow shifted beneath him, breaking away and sending him sliding uncontrollably.

"Shit!" he hissed under his breath, grabbing at the roof for support—a mistake he immediately regretted. Snow was cold, painfully cold, and his fingers burned as he scrambled to find something solid.

But it was no use. The roof's edge came faster than he could react, and before he knew it, he was falling.

He held his breath, more concerned about staying silent than the landing itself. One, because getting caught would mean big trouble with Granny Lisa. And two, which he thought was far more important, because this was so incredibly embarrassing.

The snow softened his landing, leaving him sprawled out in a heap of limbs and frost. He groaned quietly, brushing himself off. At least no one had seen him, and he wasn't hurt. If anything, this was just a shortcut.

Or so he thought.

When he looked up, Ren was standing there, that familiar shit-eating grin plastered across his face. The kid's shoulders shook as he covered his mouth with one hand and pointed with the other.

'Bugger that guy,' Atlas thought bitterly.

"Don't say a word," Atlas whispered as he got to his feet, brushing snow off his jacket. Less than five minutes into this adventure, and he was already freezing and getting laughed at. Fantastic.

Ren dropped his hand and drew an exaggerated cross over his heart, but the sparkle in his eyes betrayed him.

"So, where are we going?" Ren asked, his voice dripping with amusement.

Atlas had just managed to shake the snow out of his jacket—though some had inconveniently found its way down his trousers. He shivered and tried to muster what little dignity he had left.

"We're going to Uppertown," he said, trying to sound in control. "I saw this nice little jacket. Looked like the perfect size."

Technically, he had seen the jacket. Of course, someone had been wearing it at the time. He'd had to follow them a good while before figuring out where they probably lived.

"Sounds good," Ren said, the smugness never leaving his tone. "You spot anything for me?"

Atlas reluctantly nodded. "Yes—well, no. But I'm sure there'll be something."

Without waiting for a response, he turned and pulled his hood over his head, the tattered fabric barely shielding him from the cold. Ren followed suit, falling into step behind him.

Together, they slipped into the shadows, vanishing into the night.