The wooden floorboards of the orphanage dormitory groaned under Rein's weight. He lay staring at the ceiling, the darkness of the room feeling heavy against his skin. Around him, the other boys were lost in sleep, their rhythmic breathing the only sound in the silence.
But Rein's mind was a storm.
He kept seeing the leader's smirk in that alleyway. He felt the phantom pain of the boot striking his ribs. Weak. I was too weak. If Orin hadn't intervened, Rein knew he wouldn't have just lost the fight—he might not have walked away at all.
A soft sigh came from the cot next to him. Orin. By this time tomorrow, his best friend would be gone, entering the elite world of the Government Academy. They had started at the same line, but now, the distance between them felt like an ocean.
Rein rolled onto his side, his nails digging into his palms. I can't stay like this, he thought, the resolve hardening in his chest. I won't.
The next morning, the sky was a bruised gray, heavy with the threat of rain. Rein walked in silence beside Orin toward the heavy iron gates of the orphanage. Orin looked different today. He wore a crisp, standard-issue recruit's uniform, and he carried his small travel bag with the ease of someone who knew exactly where he was going.
"You didn't have to walk me all the way here," Orin said, breaking the silence.
"I wanted to," Rein replied. His voice felt thin, even to his own ears.
They stopped at the gate. Orin turned, his expression uncharacteristically soft. He placed a heavy hand on Rein's shoulder. "You're not weak, Rein. You've got more heart than anyone I know. You just need time to let your body catch up to your head."
Rein didn't trust himself to speak. He just nodded.
"Four months," Orin reminded him, giving his shoulder a firm squeeze. "I'll see you at the mid-year intake. Don't make me come looking for you."
Orin turned and stepped through the gates. He didn't look back—not because he didn't care, but because he was moving toward a future they had both dreamed of. Rein watched until Orin's figure was swallowed by the morning mist.
For the first time in years, Rein was truly alone.
As evening fell, Rein found himself on the outskirts of the city. The wind here was colder, whistling through the rows of weathered stone markers in the public cemetery. He stopped before two simple graves. They were tucked away in a corner, overgrown with stubborn weeds and layers of dust. The names carved into the stone were fading, worn down by years of neglect.
Rein stood there for a long time, the silence of the dead pressing in on him. Without meaning to, his mind slipped. The gray cemetery vanished, replaced by the warm, golden glow of a memory he had tried a thousand times to bury.
The restaurant had been full of life. The clinking of silverware, the smell of roasted spices, and his father's loud, infectious laughter. Rein sat between his parents, feeling safe in the golden light of the oil lamps. His mother had smiled at him, brushing a stray hair from his forehead.
Then, the world shattered.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The sharp, deafening cracks of gunfire ripped through the music. Glass exploded inward. Screams replaced the laughter as the heavy oak doors were kicked off their hinges. Two rival groups stormed in, turning the dining room into a slaughterhouse in seconds.
"Rein! Move!" his father roared.
He grabbed Rein's arm, dragging him toward the back of the building. A stray bullet shattered a lantern nearby, and orange flames began to lick up the curtains. His father shoved Rein into a small washroom and slammed the door. "Stay here! Don't make a sound!"
Rein huddled on the floor, his hands over his ears. He heard the muffled thuds of bodies hitting the floor. He heard his mother scream his father's name—followed by a sickening, wet choking sound.
Then, silence.
The door swung open. His father, blood splattered across his shirt, grabbed Rein's hand again. "We have to go… we have to—"
They stepped back into the main room. It was a nightmare. The air reeked of gunpowder and something metallic. His mother was standing near the center of the room, her eyes wide with terror as she searched for them.
A man stepped out from the smoke behind her. Rein watched, frozen, as a long blade plunged through his mother's chest.
He tried to scream, but no sound came out. The man yanked the steel free, and his mother crumpled to the floor like a broken doll.
"NO—"
K-POW!
His father's cry was cut short by a single, final gunshot. His body jerked and collapsed right beside his wife.
The killers didn't even glance at Rein. To them, a sobbing child wasn't a threat or even a witness worth silencing. They stepped over the bodies and vanished into the night. By the time the officers arrived, the restaurant was a tomb. It was recorded as a "gang dispute." To the city, it was a statistic. To Rein, it was the end of the world.
Rein's breath hitched, the cold air of the cemetery snapping him back to reality. He realized he was shaking. His fingers were curled so tightly into fists that his knuckles had turned white. The scent of blood and smoke was gone, replaced by the damp smell of earth and rain.
He reached out, his hand trembling as he brushed the dirt from the base of the headstones.
"I wasn't strong enough then," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I watched it happen, and I couldn't do anything."
He stood up straight, his gaze hardening as he looked out over the darkening horizon. The pain was still there, but the shame was being replaced by something else. A cold, sharp resolve.
"I will be strong," he promised the silent stones. "I'll do whatever it takes. I won't be the one left behind again."
As the last bit of light faded from the sky, Rein Aldric turned his back on the graves. He walked toward the North Ward—toward the rumors of a teacher who didn't care about exams or government titles.
He didn't need a certificate to tell him he was a soldier. He was going to become a weapon.