The dream was not just disturbed. It exploded. A massive shockwave of sound tore through the room and, before Silarias could even force his eyes open, the shadow threads of Vespera shot beneath the door like striking snakes. They wrapped around his ankles with icy precision and he was brutally pulled from his bed. He was dragged across the rough floorboards of the hallway, pulled through a ceiling door, and launched onto the rusted iron plates of the roof while falling straight into the training ground.
A full hour had passed. The morning in the Ward was a miserable place of toxic purple mist and sharp metal. “Wrong! Wrong! WRONG!” Beat roared.
He did not move like a human. He glitched. One moment he was ten meters away and the next he was sitting directly on the shoulders of Silarias with his weight shifting with impossible speed. “You are fighting the vibration! You are noise boy, not music!”
On the opposite side of the roof, Nyx stood shaking. Sato had pushed a massive silver string instrument into her arms, which was an old object that hummed with unstable and violent energy. The threads of Vespera pulled her wrists into painful angles. “You calculate the mathematics, Architect,” Sato hissed, and his blind gaze was fixed on her soul. “But your heartbeat is dead. You are a machine without a spirit.”
Silarias exploded with frustration as he slammed against the metal roof for the thirteenth time. “Damn it! These worthless gloves will not work! It is like having two dead blocks of concrete attached to my arms!”
Suddenly, the chaos stopped. Even Juro took an extra deep breath from his pipe.
“Sil, seriously,” Nyx sighed as she wiped silver sweat from her forehead. “Were you even listening when they explained Soul Binding?”
“I… I was not exactly there,” Silarias said nervously while rubbing a bruised elbow.
“You were fast asleep against a crate of juice in the back of the hall,” Sato said, and his voice was heavy with judgment.
“You were snoring louder than a huge steam turbine!” Beat grinned while spinning his drumsticks.
“Us too! Us too!” Ren and Kael laughed in perfect unison as their heads popped out from beneath the roof like twin monsters.
“I could hear it from across the street!” Lila shouted from a neighboring rooftop, and her purple cloak moved in the wind.
Juro stepped out of the swirling smoke. “Silarias, you see them as tools. A hammer. An axe. That is why they resist you. You are insulting their very existence.”
Silarias looked down at the raw and battered metal of his gloves. His anger disappeared and was replaced by a deep understanding. With a soft care that shocked the mentors, he began to clean the soot from the metal with his sleeve. Then, he pressed the cold and hard iron against his cheek.
“I am sorry,” he whispered to the steel. “I did not know. Truly. It is a pleasure to meet you. I am Silarias. I am going to become the strongest person who has ever carried you. We belong together. We are one.”
Something happened then that took the breath from the mentors. A deep and glowing golden light began to come from the very inside of the metal. The gloves became liquid gold while flowing and shrinking until they fit perfectly to his bone structure, joining with his arms until they felt weightless and as natural as skin.
Beat grinned wide with a wild look in his eyes. “Beautiful moment, Nobody. Truly touching. But let us see if your new friends can dance in the hell of the tempo.”
Beat slammed his sticks onto the roof. A massive circular shockwave of energy erupted which formed a vibrating dome. Inside this barrier, gravity made no sense. The air became thick and full of static electricity that pulsed at the exact same time as the heart of Beat.
“For you, Silarias, this is a battlefield! Every step must be on the beat or the gravity will snap your bones like dry wood!”
Nyx closed her eyes. She stopped calculating. She let go of the logic and the numbers and, for the first time, she listened to the silence between the notes. When the next wave of energy struck, she struck a silver string. Her lunar power finally matched the music while dancing in harmony with the crushing environment.
Silarias moved faster. The gloves felt like his own flesh. He ducked, turned, and blocked exactly on the beat. His third strike was so pure that the golden energy of his soul appeared for a fraction of a second as a roaring golden lion claw. He was incredibly close to actually striking Beat.
Click. Beat caught his fist just a millimeter from his nose. “There. Enough for today. You have learned what it means to exist within the rhythm.”
Later, downstairs in the heart of the tavern, the entire group gathered at the long table. The atmosphere was serious and the weight of the day was pressing down on them.
“Why does everyone call me Nobody anyway?” Silarias asked suddenly as he stared into his bowl. “Is it because I am nothing? Because I have no family?”
The room went completely silent. Juro breathed out a cloud of smoke that formed into a vision from thirteen years ago. A massive and dying monster appeared in the smoke with its body covered in wounds as it protected a crying baby from the enemies.
“It is not an insult, Silarias,” Juro said heavily. “With his final breath, that creature raised you toward the gray sky and roared: ‘Here he is! The boy who is everything to those who have nothing! He is the hope of the Nobodies!’”
“You are the Nobody because you do not belong to the kings on their thrones of lies. You are the son of the forgotten.”
Thick tears rolled down the cheeks of Silarias while making tracks through the soot on his face. “He did not even know me. Why was I everything to him?”
Nyx did not hesitate for a second. She slid closer and wrapped her arms tightly around him while burying her face in his shoulder. “It is okay, Sil,” she whispered. “You are never alone. You are my sun and I am the shadow that protects you.”
Silarias turned completely red with embarrassment at the sudden hug. The entire table began to smile and push one another.
“Eat your soup, Nobody!” Calamity Jane shouted with a smile. “If you do not get strong, then that creature died for nothing.”
Silarias laughed through his tears. For one night, the world inside the Broken Horn was in perfect balance.
Officially, the true dark creatures are mindless and deformed monsters from a dimension of pure chaos. They are brutal creatures with no culture or mind, and they are driven only by an extreme hunger. However, the Federation deliberately uses this term as a nasty word for anyone they wish to treat poorly.
The Monsters, including the Dwarves and the Demon kin, are most frequently insulted as monsters. Though they have zero connection to the dark dimension, the Federation labels them this way because of the underground fires of the Dwarves and the horns of the Demon kin. This group makes up roughly fifteen percent of the marginalized population in the Ward.
The Parasites, including the Elves and Nature spirits, are claimed by the Federation to be bleeding the world dry of energy that belongs to the machines. They represent about ten percent of the outcasts.
The Trash, including the Cyborgs and Outcasts, are dismissed as broken machines rather than living things. They are the largest group and comprise nearly forty percent of the Sector Null population.
The Mistakes, including the Shifters and Hybrids, are labeled as a mistake in creation. Animal people make up twelve percent of this demographic.
The Shadow Rats are the poor humans living in the darkness of the city. They make up the remaining twenty three percent of the oppressed classes.
Deep beneath the floorboards of the Broken Horn, where the air was thick with the smell of old paper and cooling metal, lay the secret room of Bones. The room was lit by a soft orange light from jars of glowing moss that lined the stone walls. It was a place of quiet and heavy history, far away from the noise of the tavern.
Bones knelt on the cold floor and his metal parts clicked softly in the silence. In front of him lay Toji, the wolf, who was resting on a bed of heavy velvet and straw. With a movement as delicate as a clock maker, Bones held out a silver bowl filled with raw meat mixed with glowing moon salts. Toji took the food with a slow and rhythmic grace, and his silver eyes never left the face of the alchemist.
“Eat well, Great Traveler,” Bones whispered, and his voice was like a gentle hum of machinery. “Your journey has been long and the path ahead is steeper than the mountains of the old world.”
As he wiped a smudge of black ash from the thick fur of the wolf, Bones began to speak. His voice took on a tone of deep respect, like someone telling a story that had been buried for a thousand years.
“The people of the Ward think they are alone in their suffering,” Bones said while looking at an old painting on the wall. “But they forget the bloodlines. There are those hidden in the deep cracks of this world who have kept the faith for seven lifetimes. They are the Silent Watchers, and the ones who believe the ancient warriors did not just die out, but simply went beneath the ground to wait.”
He pointed to a map carved into the stone table. “The Ward is not just these few rusted streets. It is a massive place of iron and shadows which is much larger than any map the Federation dares to print. Deep within its center, there are entire tribes living in the steam vents. Some worship the Sun Lion as a god of fire while others see him as a brother of the stars.”
Bones leaned closer and his mechanical eyes moved to focus on the ancient symbols carved into the collar of Toji. “They whisper of a day when the golden roar will return to drown out the sound of the factories. To them, the ancient legends are not just stories. They are a promise written in the blood of the Nobody. They believe that when the sun and moon finally align in the hands of two children, the old world will burn to make way for the new.”
Toji let out a low vibration, which was a sound that seemed to agree with the weight of the words. Bones nodded. “The Federation calls it a myth. They call it a fairy tale to keep the orphans quiet. But you and I know better. The dawn does not ask for permission to break the night.”
The Ward burned, but for the first time in seven lifetimes, the ash felt like a foundation instead of a grave. The legends had roared. As the sun began to set behind the smoke, the people of the Ward saw the Broken Horn not as a tavern, but as a lighthouse.
