Chapter Text
Centuries ago there was a boy.
He didn’t understand why the rich folk were on the edge of town. This was where more of the dirty and grimy people were. The people who wouldn’t mind getting dirty because their skin was already pale. Their skin was already covered in sweat from working in the small fields layed out. The sun barely came out in the swampy area, making all efforts towards the field to make up for the lack of sunlight. It was always wet and muddy, so why were the rich people here? Why not back where the ground was drier and their “oh so expensive” clothing didn't have to get soaked.
Maybe if he paid a little closer attention he would've noticed the gold nuggets being traded between the blacksmith and the two noble folk. But instead he focused his attention on the irritatingly pink purse that had to hold something worth a few coins. Leaning up against the house he felt the random pattern of cobble stones behind him. The chance of the rich fold noticing him slowly creeping towards them would be slim. They were just standing there, the mistress in her oh so annoyingly pink outfit while the mister wore an outfit also oh so annoyingly colorful.
As he mentioned that the outfits were annoying and colorful? Who knew a man could wear so many shades of blue. Who knew there WAS that many shades of blue?
The moss colored grass was a good cushion for his footsteps. As he reached for the fuschia purse he didn't notice the large and calloused hands reaching for his tiny wrist. He let out a yelp as his wrist froze, not from fear but the muscular grip holding it in place. He looked up at the burly man holding him still. Tan skin, black spiky hair, a stubble on his chin and red eyes that made the blond child oh so wanna run away.
“Oi Brat!”he boomed while tightening his hand around the small wrist.
Blue eyes met red as he looked up at the blacksmith of the town. Tears welled up as the child screamed, “LET GO!”, he needed to leave before they figured out who he was. He wouldn't stand to see those disgusted and tired eyes again. Yanking his arm away didn’t seem to work.
“Hey aren’t ya Alice’s Twerp?”
Son of a Biscuit
The grip on his wrist lightens just enough that the child could rip his arm away and run off. Running off from the three adults he cried.
The blacksmith stepped back as he looked at the kid running around the corner, “Hey! Calm down!”
“Are you okay, Darling?”, the male asked as he approached the woman.
She gave a small laugh as she nodded, “Don’t worry about it, it’s just a kid who needs to be raised better.
Who lived on the edge of Satus.
Red eyes watched where the kid turned at the corner in silent hope for the kid to turn back. He never did.
“Well Rufio, I do believe it is our time to go before more misbehaved kids decide to harm us once more.”
“Sure thing…” the larger male responded absentmindedly.
Rufio stood there for a few moments as he felt the sun begin to set behind him in the horizon. He should probably head back to work.
Who just tried to survive.
It wasn't until the moon had risen and the sun was long gone that he considered trusting his gut and following what it was telling him.
The boy held his head down low against the wall. He wasn't far from where he was earlier. He didn't want to go home. There wasn't food there, or any warmth. He messed up enough that day. He could hear the croaks and groans of the Zombies that came out at night, along with the skeletons that bones rattled at every shift. Even an occasional hiss of the large spiders that were around. So he didn't bother moving when he heard the steps of a villager that walked towards him.
Instead of walking past him like every other person that night the villager stopped. The 7 year old could see the figure shift his legs as he leaned up against the wall. The same wall he was against since the sun was still up. He didn't move when he heard the figure starting to speak towards him.
“Ya know, most leave from the scene of the crime?”
It was a familiar voice, not a comforting one(not yet at least). It took a moment for the child to recognize the voice as the person from earlier. The same who caught him stealing from the nobles.
He didn't move and kept silent.
He knew that the blacksmith held something in his hands after they kept shifting their arm. Shadows and a silhouette in his peripheral vision. More words filled his ears, “No response?”
They pushed themselves off of the wall and dropped whatever it was on the ground close to him, “Fine but here-, Get on out of here, it's late.”
The child finally looked up to see the burly figure walk off, and an apple on the ground. Grabbing the apple he could see a small note attached to the apple and he glanced at it. Neatly folded and waiting to be opened. Blue eyes filled with confusion.
As he opened it up he let out a huff. “I don't know how to read…”.
It wouldn't be until he was much older and looking back at the note in his hands he would realize it said the words “Keep Fighting Philza”.
~~~
The small village of Satus grew as the years passed by, and so did the boy. A church was builded, Fields had grown and the population had grown from a few hundred to a few thousand, but ever so oddly enough you could still find just a few streets from the edge of town, a blacksmith's shop.
On the day the world shifted was the day a Teen with his hair in a low ponytail, that went down to his waist, was sitting on the roof. His smile radiated as he looked down on the people passing by. He wore a leather chestplate and leather boots, a small knife strapped to his thigh.
It was easy to be fooled by his carefree attitude but he was truly alive just yet. But we can say,
The boy fought and survived indeed.
~~~
The hammering of the blacksmith was comfort to Phil at this point. He was always at his uncles, it was his home. Looking up at the sky he smiled, it was a peaceful day. Atleast, until the clanking of the hammer stopped and his uncle's voice filled the village street.
“GET OFF MY ROOF PHILZA!”
Letting out a soft tsk and a mumble of “old man”, the 16 year old jumped off the roof and landed gracefully in the dirt strip. It was routine at this point the small bag of what he wanted to give to his uncle bounced on his hip.
Giving a small grin he looked at his uncle innocently, “I’m back Rufio!”. He scratched his neck adding to the innocent affect like he wasn’t gone for a few days.
The black haired nodded and turned back around to the lava pit with the sword he was working on. “Good! Come help with this Furnace.”
“No welcome back?”, Philza faked tears and approached the lava pit just as Rufio pointed towards him swinging the sword upwards in the air. “I'll say welcome back when you tell me goodbye, now grab that coal”
Grabbing the shovel in the coal bin he smiled as Rufio told him, “Just a shovelful is good” Going toward the furnace on the other side of the lava pit he quickly shoveled the black stones into the furnace. Raw iron in the upper compartment. Fire bursting from the bottom.
“New Ore shipment?”, He smiled as he leaned down into the furnace nearly close enough to burn his face.
“Are you trying to burn your eyebrows?” the older said as he glanced at the younger. Placing the sword of hot metal into the bucket, finishing off the iron sword. Turning his head, Rufio smiled as his nephew gave an enthusiastic “Sure thing”.
He laughed as he kicked the shorter in the boots gently “Take off that damn chestplate”. Pulling out the sword he looked down on the reflective material and sighed, glancing and the sandy blond hair in front of him.
“Hey Philza…”, the older sighed as he finally gave into the same tug on his instincts. The ones telling him to make sure Phil didn't have a chestplate on. The one telling him not to be hesitant on showing the younger his mom. They always helped in the end so why would he not trust them now.
“Yea?” Phil smiled, as he looked back on the other. As he watched the younger man smile and approached pulling off the leather chestplate on his back.
Rufio looked down onto the sword and felt the leather on the handle help keep a simple slip from sweaty hands. The small emerald in the pommel of the sword. It wasn't anything truly fancy like the stuff he made for the noble man that went to his shop but it was more than just a simple Iron sword. He held it out towards Philza.
“I need to show you something, and take this.”, he knew that this wasn't going to end the best but he had no reason to lie to the child. Withholding the truth is lying, right?
Philza nodded as he tossed the leather plate onto the stone slats holding the lava. Hopefully the plate does not fall into the lava. That will definitely catch on fire.
Leading the way he walked out of the blacksmith shop’s pavilion and started leading the way. Not that he needed to lead the way, If he just told the teen where to go he could walk there too. But he knew the teen wouldn’t walk to his mothers house willingly. Even Rufio sometimes hesitated going there every weekend to give his sister.
They passed the church covered in moss, and walked the streets compacted from hundreds of people walking them before. They didn’t approach the center of the town where the streets were fading into cobblestone. They walked instead approached where the streets became more dusty and less compact from less usage. Where the small wooden shack laid. As they approached Philza slowly came down to a stop realizing where they were going, a frown filling his face.
“Isn’t this my ma’s house?” Philza slightly pulled away before slowly following Rufio. Philza glazed at the front door that Rufio leaned next to.
“Go in, you'll see what I need to show you… I’ll be here”.
Philza watched as the darkness of the room filled his vision. He knew that someone was in there. His back tingled right around his acnestis. Oh that's a fun word, Acnestis, the part of your back that you wish to itch but can't reach. Philza would try to reach and deal with the unreachable itch but as he walked into the cold wooden house he couldn’t bear to lift his arm.
Stiff from nerves.
As he carefully closes the door behind him, he glances around waiting to see his birthgiver standing somewhere around the house. She wasn’t.
Instead on the bed farthest from the front door laying parallel with the window and a blonde woman laid. She wore a long sleeved nightgown that was a light purple color. Almost like Alliums. Her bangs gracefully covered her face and were hiding her eyes that were closed. In the light of the window she seemed so pale. Cold, and unpleasantly still.
Why did Rufio want him to she is mother- oh.
It wasn't until he noticed the folded hand on her chest he realized something. She had passed. It couldn't have been more than a day ago since the house still smells stale, which although didn't smell nice at all was better than a dead body rotting. Dealing with small mice already plugged his nose for the rest of the day when he had to deal with them.
She laid there peacefully. Philza didn't care, not really, he wasn't close to her in any way. She wasn't an abusive parent, just neglectful. Which is why he lives with Rufio. Even then it wasn't living, as Philza went off to a village or traveled in the surrounding marsh. The inch and burning sensation on Philza’s back only grew stronger as he watched the dust particles float around in front of the window. Just above his birth givers sleeping (dead) form.
In a few years from now Philza would like to say he said some condolence and griefed his mother. But that would be a lie. He whipped around and ran.
Slamming open the door was the first thing he did to alert Rufio that he was done. He saw everything that he needed to see.
(Later he wound up finding out that he didn’t see everything that needed to be seen. He would realize if he waited just a few minutes he would meet Mother Death herself. Dropping off a singular Poppy. The flower of remembrance and regeneration.)
When Rufio jumped in surprise and ran after him he didn't think to stop instead. The urge to run was strong. The feeling of burning on his back was stronger than ever and it was like a fire nipping at his back. It was burning.
Rufio wasn't fast enough to grab Philza as he turned towards the swamp and swiftly marched into the unknown. It was quite easy to avoid the few bushes and trees. Jumping over small swamp puddles and more as he swung the sword at any vines that happened ro be in his way. The iron long sword that Rufio just so happened to trust him with earlier.
Rufio always did have a good gut.
The adrenaline from his emotions and running was likely the only thing that prevented him from hearing the blue shirt he was wearing ripped. The back turned shredded and something pushed its way out of the back of his shirt. They emerge from the same area that was burning. Not that Philza noticed.
The mass that grew from his back was a pair of wings. Not yet feathered and not yet large enough to start growing feathers in. Instead small grey tufts covered the skin of the wings. It was after they emerged fully that Philza finally collapsed, dropping the sword onto the swamp ground.
Nothing was quiet as the blonde let out a scream. Eyes unfocused on anything in front of him.
Why did a stranger's death affect him so much?
Yes she was his mother but…
They were practically strangers. Weren't they?
The scream rang out for all to hear and yet creatures came from the shadows to see what it was. At Least not for a while.
The last thing Philza saw before his vision blacked out and he collapsed into the wet ground was a black cat staring up at him gently with green eyes. They were like emeralds filled with curiosity.