Forged By Falcrest

"Owww," Ren muttered, rubbing his elbow as Atlas shoved him up the wall.

"Come on, give me a hand now," Atlas said, reaching out an arm.

Ren shot him a glare but grabbed his hand anyway. With a grunt, Atlas jumped, his feet scrabbling against the stone as Ren pulled with all his might. After a few seconds of effort, Atlas finally hauled himself onto the top of the wall.

They stood together, catching their breath on the dividing line between Uppertown and Midtown. Atlas still didn't know why they called it Midtown. It wasn't nice enough to deserve the name—it was the slums, plain and simple.

He turned his gaze away from the eyesore below and looked up at Uppertown instead. That view was far more appealing. From this vantage point, he still had to crane his neck to take it all in. Like its name implied, Uppertown climbed higher up the mountain, its buildings pristine and orderly even under the faint moonlight.

The wind bit at his face, sharp and unforgiving. He tried to pull his hood tighter around him, but a ripping sound stopped him short.

"I really need that jacket," he muttered under his breath

.

"What was that?" Ren asked, his voice barely audible over the howling wind.

Atlas glanced at him and couldn't help but grin despite himself. Ren's nose was running, and his cheeks were flushed red from the cold, but the kid still looked determined. Atlas shook his head. He still didn't understand why Ren always insisted on tagging along.

"Nothing," Atlas said, waving him off. "Let's keep moving. I need that jacket, and tonight's my only chance. After this, it's going to get too cold to even try."

Ren clapped his hands together, the sound echoing down the wall. "You're not wrong about that."

"Shhhh!" Atlas spun toward him, pressing a finger to his lips. "Do you want the guards to hear us?"

Ren froze, looking a little sheepish. "Right. Sorry."

Atlas sighed and took the lead again, carefully making his way down the other side of the wall. The climb wasn't difficult—it wasn't even that well-guarded. The gates between Uppertown and Midtown were open during the day for trade and movement, so the wall itself was more of a symbol than an actual defense. It was there to remind people where they belonged.

The wall stood around ten meters high, its solid stone surface imposing and unyielding. Climbing it would have been nearly impossible if not for the small protrusions of stone here and there, just enough for their small frames to find footing.

Atlas's boots hit the snowy ground with a soft crunch, quickly followed by Ren's. Firelight flickered along the wall, growing brighter as it moved closer. A deep voice called out, gruff and sharp, "Is someone there?"

Atlas and Ren exchanged a wide-eyed glance before bolting into the shadows.

They barely reached the cover of an alley when a large figure rounded the corner. The man's silhouette was intimidating, with broad shoulders and a sword strapped to his side. In one hand, he held a burning torch, its glow casting eerie shadows across his scarred face as he scanned the area.

His gaze landed on the footprints in the snow. He let out a long, deliberate sigh and muttered under his breath, "Fucking kids."

Without another word, he turned and walked back the way he came, his heavy boots crunching with every step.

Atlas let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, but Ren was still clutching his forearm like a lifeline. His grip was tighter than Atlas thought possible.

"It's alright," Atlas whispered. "He's gone now."

"That… that… that was a Nightblade," Ren stammered, his voice barely audible.

Atlas nodded slowly. He should have been scared, but instead, a strange excitement coursed through him. When the man had turned the corner, it was like a beast had opened its eyes and stared straight at them. The man's aura had been suffocating, overwhelming.

But Atlas didn't feel fear. He felt awe.

A grin spread across his face. He wanted that. He needed to be that.

He had to be Ascendant at least, maybe even Transcendent.

Atlas didn't know much about magic. He knew that awakening your mana core made you an Awakened, like his friend Alex. After that, there were Ascendants—the ones who made up most of the Blades. And beyond them were the Transcendents, the leaders.

But what came with those titles? What made them so powerful? He had no idea.

Sitting outside the academy gates all those times, he had made himself a promise: One day, I'll find out. I'll climb out of Midtown—no matter what it takes.

"Hey, are you there?" Ren voice pulled him from his thoughts, followed by a sharp poke to his cheek.

Atlas blinked, startled. "What the hell was that for?"

Ren grinned. "You went pale. Thought you got so scared you passed out standing up."

Atlas raised an eyebrow, then slowly lifted the edge of his jacket, revealing fresh nail marks where Ren had been clutching his arm earlier. He stared pointedly at the marks, then back at Ren.

Ren's grin faltered, but only slightly. "Uh… anyway," he said quickly, changing the subject. "Let's go. Let's get this done while it's stopped snowing."

Atlas rolled his eyes but couldn't help the faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Yeah, yeah. Let's move."

Making their way through Uppertown was much easier than navigating Midtown. The streets were safer, cleaner, and though there were patrols, they weren't constant.

Everyone knew the consequences of getting caught breaking the law in Uppertown.

So why was Atlas about to do exactly that? Some would say it was because he was stupid. Others might chalk it up to him being young. He would say it was because he'd been freezing his ass off for the past two winters.

He slowed his approach, and Ren bumped into his back.

"Ah, what the hell?" Ren muttered, rubbing his nose.

"Shhh, this is it," Atlas whispered, pointing at a large stone building ahead. It was at least twice the size of the orphanage. Which made this place massive. The orphanage managed fifty kids, but this place was immaculate, it could easy house them all.

The stones were pristine, and the roof looked as though it had never needed a single repair. No cracks, no crumbling, nothing out of place. Atlas felt a flicker of envy. These people had no idea how good they had it. If only they knew what it was like to live in Midtown.

He shook the thought away. He had a job to do.

Ren moved up beside him, watching the building with wide eyes.

"You can stay here if you want," Atlas offered. "I'll grab you something nice."

Ren shook his head vigorously. "No way. I walked all this way—I'm not stopping now."

Then, more quietly, he added, "Besides, someone has to watch your back."

His voice was so soft that Atlas had to strain to catch it. When he did, it made him pause. His breath hitched for just a second.

He wasn't used to people caring about him. Sure, Granny Lucy was always there, and he knew he owed her his life ten times over, but other people? That was rare.

Atlas didn't know how to respond. So, he didn't. Instead, he pushed the moment aside.

"Let's go, then," he said, his voice steady as he turned back toward the building.

They rushed under the moonlight, sticking to the shadows as the snow began to fall again. Soon, they were standing beneath a wooden window. Atlas reached out to open it, but it wouldn't budge. Locked.

He scanned the building, frustration bubbling, until he spotted a balcony above.

The window there was slightly cracked open, a thin sliver of light visible from inside. On the floor of the balcony lay the stub of a cigarette, still faintly smoking.

Atlas pointed to it, and Ren nodded in understanding.

"How are we doing this, boss?" Ren asked quietly.

Atlas looked around some more, weighing his options. His eyes landed on a climbing rose bush winding up the side of the building. It was covered in thorns, but it was the only way up.

He grimaced. "I'll climb it. No point in both of us getting torn up. Just stay down here, keep watch, and make sure no guards come by. Call out if you see anything."

Ren hesitated, his brows furrowing, but eventually nodded. "Okay, but be quick. It's starting to snow again."

Atlas crept toward the base of the bush, crouching low as he moved. The vines snaked up the wall, covered in sharp thorns that glinted in the moonlight. He glanced at the open window again, then back at the bush, debating.

Bugger it. In for a nickel, in for a dime.

Shrugging off his tattered jacket, he braced himself as the cold air bit into his skin. To his surprise, it wasn't much worse without the jacket. Clearly, the thing hadn't been doing much good anyway.

Wrapping the worn fabric around his hands, he grabbed hold of the vines and began to climb.

The ascent wasn't as bad as he'd expected. He earned a few scrapes on his legs and tore his already ragged pants, but his hands were spared by the makeshift padding. By the time he reached the balcony, though, his jacket was in worse shape than ever.

Atlas sighed, tossed it back down to the ground, and gestured for Ren to grab it.

He turned his attention to the slightly ajar window. Carefully, he pushed it open, wincing as the hinges let out a faint creak. He froze, holding his breath.

Come on. Not even the hinges at the orphanage made noise. This place is supposed to be nicer!

Minutes seemed to pass, though it was likely only seconds. When no further sounds came, he let out a slow, silent exhale and slipped through the window.

The instant he closed it behind him, the warmth of the room enveloped him, chasing away the cold. For a moment, he stood there, letting himself take it in.

The wooden floor gleamed in the light of a crackling fireplace, and a massive fur rug sprawled across the center of the room. At the heart of the space stood a polished wooden desk, its surface neat and orderly.

Atlas took a cautious step forward, only to freeze as he heard the sound of water dripping onto the floorboards. Looking down, he cursed silently. His boots were soaked, and melting snow was pooling beneath them.

Gritting his teeth, he quickly removed them, placing them near the window to dry. At least now he'd make less noise.

Barefoot and jacketless, Atlas took another step forward, his eyes scanning the room. It looked like a study, but the fine furniture and the warmth of the fire made it feel like another world compared to the orphanage. A pang of envy threatened to rise, but he shoved it aside.

Focus. Get in, get the jacket, and get out.

Steeling his nerves, he crept forward, determination burning in his chest. He was cold, tired, and shoeless, but he would make this work. He had to.