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Arthur’s father has never been a family guy.
Well, that was an understatement. Sometimes it seemed like he hated everything related to his so called “family” that wasn’t about him.
In reality there wasn’t much of a family, just Arthur and his father.
Many people wondered why he decided to have a child in the first place but it was obvious to Arthur.
Arthur’s father didn’t want a son.
He wanted a soldier.
And where could he find a better material for a soldier than his own DNA? Someone he could train like a dog for as much as he wanted and call it upbringing?
There was not even one moment in Arthur’s life that he wasn’t aware, that publicly he might be his father’s son – on a “good day” he might get patted on the shoulder too hard and hear that “he was on his way to be like his father” (later he would scrub his skin under shower so hard it was all raw and painful, like this way he would get rid of this touch, of these words and of any resemblance to his father) – but behind closed doors, in too quiet house, where any nosey eyes wouldn’t see, he wasn’t anyone’s son, he wasn’t a child. He was barely a human being. He was an object, a property meant to uphold his father’s legacy.
He didn’t exist – because what he was doing couldn’t be even called living - for himself, he existed for success and for his father. If he failed even one of these, he might as well die and rot, and no one would bat an eye.
So yeah, it’s easy to guess that his childhood house wasn’t filled with warm, nice memories.
On most days it was cold, empty and either filled with silence or screams.
Even in the future when he closed his eyes Arthur could still see tall stairs that he used to run up and down almost everyday to build his stamina, long hallways or white bathroom tiles that have seen way too much blood. Even as years passed it all was still fresh in his memories, like it has been just a day – instead of what in reality probably was a lifetime – since he last seen this house.
The house itself might not be great – too white, too sterile, too dead – but what really made him hate it and filled it with pain – so much pain, it must have soaked into these walls, the only way to get rid of this pain is to get rid of the house itself – was the very same person that was admired by a lot of people, that was a so called “legend”.
Since he was young – probably since he was able to walk - his father made him run drills for hours a day. The more tired or hurt he was the longer these training sessions were. It didn’t matter how young he was, he never had the privilege of being a child, he always had to be the best, even in exercises difficult to grown men with years of experience. But it was never enough.
He was never enough.
Always too slow, too weak, too dumb.
Most of the time he spent with his father was like that. Constant trainings and yelling.
But as Arthur got older something changed.
His father was less and less at house, took part in long missions more and more. Sometimes he was absent for days, sometimes for weeks and sometimes even for months – and when he finally was home he ignored Arthur most of the time.
At first Arthur didn’t know what caused that change, didn’t know what happened.
Then he realized.
His father gave up on him.
He didn’t see any potential in him anymore, only a failure.
A mistake.
Arthur knew he should be somewhat happy – the deadly trainings finally stopped, he wasn’t in pain or yelled at as much as before. After all he dreamed about it so many times before, didn’t he?
But this didn’t feel like a win.
This felt like he proved his father right, that he was not worth anything, that he can’t be anything good.
That he is just a loser and that is what he will always be.
This just caused Arthur’s mind to spiral more than it ever did before.
He disliked his father, sure, but at the same time he desired approval from the only family he had, from the only adult around him.
His father was basically his only way to the outside world, the only way he could somewhat socialize with anyone. Yeah, they had guests sometimes but it was only to uphold social status and play perfect family, he always had to play a role of a son he never truly was.
They also had a maid before, when he was very little, a lovely older lady. Once she took Arthur to the kitchen and they baked cookies together. That was first and only good memory from his childhood, the first time someone showed him a glimpse of what it was like to be truly loved. He could still remember her warmth and sweet smile, but then his father found out about it and he had never seen her again. (Arthur still had the cookie recipe memorized by heart.)
So no matter how much he hated that, he only had his father.
And now, when his father lost interest in training him he couldn’t take it. What did he do wrong?
He was probably too slow, too weak, too dumb.
He felt the need to prove himself to the only person he saw once in a while, felt the need to prove that he is worth something.
He knew that it was irrational, that he only let his father have even more power over him, but he couldn’t help it.
So he trained and pushed himself to the edge every day. Each day he started training at dawn and stopped only when his body was giving up. He barely ate anything. His insomnia got worse – though now he didn’t stay awake because of nightmares, he stayed awake out of sheer free will and the power he felt it gave him.
All of that, ruining himself everyday just to show his father that he was something more than a waste of space.
All of that, to prove something to a man that didn’t even bother to look at him most days.
He tried to make his father notice him, notice his progress, naively hoping for the smallest kind of praise, but it only ended in screaming and insults again.
Arthur was fourteen years old at the time and it was all it took to crush his small hopes for something better, for forming some kind of bond with his father.
He might have hated him before, might have hated being compared to him, yes, but that was the moment he started hating him with true passion that would never die out and could never be fixed.
He still was training a lot but now it wasn’t to prove himself to father in hopes of approval. It was to prove to his father that he made a mistake. That he will not be like him, that he will be better, stronger. He will outgrow him and his legacy.
He also started running around town more – something he was always forbidden to do.
It wasn’t long till his father found out.
He started screaming again.
But this time Arthur wasn’t afraid to scream back.
This was only the first of many screaming matches they would have in the future.
And that’s how the next few years have passed.
Arthur would do something his father didn’t like, they would yell at each other, they would pretend to be perfect family when needed and the hatred would grow with every passing seconds.
Then, the time for the tryouts to the Mazmus came. Arthur couldn’t allow himself not to pass, his whole future depended on it, his whole life plan included getting into Mazmus.
It was his biggest chance to leave the house and father without any problems, his chance to make something out of himself, to show the world he’s worth more than his surname.
When he was going to the tryouts he was confident. He has been preparing for this moment his whole life, there was no way he wouldn’t be accepted.
It all was going well, he already started to feel the taste of freedom on the tip of his tongue, could already imagine his future as a soldier, not as loser, not as Crown – or even worse, “Crown’s son” – but as Arthur, as a warrior not afraid of the fight, one of the best, as someone people can rely on.
Then, it happened. The worst possible thing, that could happen.
He got disqualified.
He felt like even death would be better than this.
He didn’t even know what happened, wasn’t sure what he did wrong. He felt like one moment he was doing good - great even – and the next he was disqualified. It was like the world stopped around him, like it all came to ruins.
His hope of getting away, of better future, it was all gone now, crushed to mere ashes. And it was his fault, he failed again. It seemed like it was the only thing he was capable of – failing over and over again.
As he was coming back home, feeling awful, he knew he shouldn’t expect any words of comfort – not that he thought he deserved them – and should prepare himself for something much worse.
His father probably already heard what happened and to say he wouldn’t be too happy was a big understatement.
So it wasn’t a surprise that he barely got inside when the screaming started.
He doesn’t think he ever seen his father so enraged that he was so red in the face – it was almost animalistic.
At some point in his life Arthur learned to turn himself off at moments like that.
He was somewhat aware of what was going on around him and reacted instinctively but later he could barely remember what happened or what was being said.
He probably could have full conversations in a state like that without others realizing that his mind was turned off.
He surely had many arguments with his father like that and he never noticed.
It was the same this time.
His father yelled, he yelled back but he couldn’t really tell what any of them were saying except the fact that it must’ve been truly horrible.
But even through this haze he could tell something changed, it was like the air around them stilled.
Like calm before the storm.
He doesn’t know if he saw or felt it first but in just few seconds he was on the floor from a punch so hard it made him fall and his father was standing above him, breathing hard, with his hand still raised.
It seemed like he was about to hit him again when something in Arthur snapped.
Without thinking, as fast as he could he threw himself on his father and punched him in the face.
His father was, of course, a man much bigger and stronger than him, so it didn’t take him long to grab Arthur by the collar of his shirt and before he even realized what was happening he was being thrown out to the wet, dirty road.
“Don’t come back unless you’re fucking worth coming back. I won’t be so nice the next time.” The door loudly slammed shut and he could hear the locks being closed from the inside.
His mind finally came back to him and he sat there, on the dirt, for few seconds thinking it must be some sick nightmare, that in a moment his father will unlock the door in a quiet invite, that he can come back or he’ll wake up in his bed after somehow falling asleep.
But no, he finally realized, it all was real.
His father kicked him out.
Arthur was homeless – not that he ever had a home, it was just a house he lived in - and for the first time in his life he didn’t have any plan what to do.
After a few more moments he got up, as he figured sitting there, in the middle of the road, where his father – and anyone nearby – could see him wouldn’t do him any good and he started walking down the road. Where? He had no idea. He just needed to get as far away from here as possible.
He probably should get out of the town as to not risk running into his father or someone recognizing him.
Night was coming and it was getting darker with every passing minute.
Good thing he was used to not sleeping for long periods of time.
The whole night and next day Arthur spent on walking.
He felt safe enough – if you could even say someone like Arthur is capable of feeling safe – to stop briefly and search for something to eat two towns over.
It turned out to be a task much harder than he expected.
He only managed to steal a few fruits and it wasn’t without almost being caught once or twice – after all sellers were used to thieves and seemed to have eyes everywhere.
After that he left and walked to another town, just to put more distance between him and his old house.
There, he saw a homeless shelter but decided to keep away from it. His paranoia and pride wouldn’t let him stay there.
The next two days he spent walking around town as to look like he knew what he was doing, tried to get as much food as he had to not starve, trying not to feel bad about stealing at the same time.
But he was getting more and more tired, he was getting dirtier and weaker, and there wasn’t much he could do about it.
He didn’t like admitting that but he won’t survive much longer unless he’ll do something.
So there he was, at the beginning of his fourth night since he was kicked out, standing on the stairs of the homeless shelter.
He didn’t like the fact that he had to do this – it felt like another failure to him, that he can’t survive by himself – but he knew there was no other way.
So he took a deep breath and went inside.
It was warm and crowded, but not too much.
He was just in time for a free warm meal, so he took a portion and sat in the corner, facing the room so he could observe people and not have anyone sneaking up on him from behind.
There were people of all ages. Some seemed to be in groups, other alone, like him. Some looked healthy and outside he would never have guessed they were homeless, other seemed sick, barely getting by.
He quickly ate, – the food wasn’t the best, almost tasteless, but it was the first warm meal he had in days - drank a cup of water with some vitamins and went to the sleeping area.
There were few beds, few mattresses on the floor and a lot of sleeping bags, blankets and pillows. He ignored it all and once again went to the corner to sit facing the room and all the exits.
He sat, trying not to get any attention and decided to wait for everyone to go to sleep so he could try to nap a little, hoping his insomnia and paranoia will allow him to do so.
He watched as people were starting to fill up the room, everyone going to what looked like their assigned sleeping place, when he noticed something.
Or more precisely – someone.
A girl.
What made him focus on her was her hair. Half blond, half black, made into two braids. He felt like he have seen before.
He wondered where that could’ve been when it hit him.
He saw her at the Mazmus’ tryouts, she was a climber like him and got disqualified too, if he remembered correctly.
Was her situation similar to his? How many people from the tryouts were like them, couldn’t go back home for one reason or another? For how many Mazmus was a chance for better – even if shorter – life?
When he was thinking, she must have felt his gaze on her because she suddenly turned around and looked him in the eye.
Not good, he can’t have her recognize him. He can’t have someone he saw at Mazmus know that he was in homeless shelter at one point. He can’t have her nor anyone know about this chapter in his life.
Just as he turned his gaze away, he thought he saw her eyes widen – from recognition? – but he didn’t look at her to make sure.
He pretended to fall asleep and didn’t look at her again in fear she might be observing him or will decide to walk up to him.
When the room got quiet and everyone was asleep he managed to nap for a little bit.
It wasn’t long, three hours max, but it was better than nothing.
When he woke up he felt something soft and warm around him.
He opened his eyes to see that it was a blanked. A little used up, with few small holes but still cozy.
And it was the same blanked the girl from before was holding.
He looked in her direction and could see her asleep on the floor, only with a pillow under her head, hugging her backpack.
He didn’t know what scared him more, the fact that she managed to wrap a blanket around him without waking him up or the fact that he had no idea why she did it. Why was she so nice to him?
He got up, carefully walked between sleeping bodies and covered the girl with a blanket she gave him. She stirred a little but didn’t wake up.
He once again wondered why she did it. Did she want something from him? Did she recognize him as a Crown and was hoping to get some money? Considering where they were she should know he didn’t have anything.
He decided not to dwell on it too much and went back to his corner. He knew he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep again, so he decided to wait until the sunrise and breakfast and then to go around town again. He didn’t have any plans, he just couldn't be in a presence of this girl more than necessary.
He skipped lunch served by the shelter and only came back when it was time for dinner and repeated his actions from the day before – he ate quickly and sat in the corner. It was good to have a place where he didn’t have to worry about drunks searching for a fight and he could easily observe everyone in the room.
This time he slept barely an hour, but he didn’t expect to fall asleep anyway, so it was better than nothing.
As he woke up he noticed a brown blanked around him once again.
What surprised him this time though, wasn’t this blanket but a chocolate bar left next to him.
It was left for him.
He had no idea if it was given out in the shelter earlier or if it was stolen but he knew one thing for sure; it was the braids girl once again.
He wondered again why would she do it. Did she feel that their situations might be similar so she wanted to help? Was it out of goodness of her heart? Or did she want something out of it?
He didn’t know why, but he felt like she didn’t really have any bad intentions, which was weird, because he usually didn’t trust others so easily.
But he didn’t know if he would call this “trust”. He still didn’t plan on talking to her or forming any bond, he just didn’t feel… endangered by her actions.
And over the next two weeks it showed.
They fell into a simple routine: Arthur would spend the days outside, only coming back for dinner and at night the girl would give him the blanket and some kind of snack when she thought he was asleep. In the middle of the night he would give her the blanket back and would give her with it whatever fruit he had on himself (that he found or stole earlier).
During it all they never spoke, not even once. They didn’t even get anywhere close to the each other not counting these nightly exchanges.
Arthur wasn’t spending much time in the shelter but still he caught himself observing the girl more. He noticed she got letters that made her visibly happy, but she never wrote back. He noticed she was good with little kids and as helpful to others as she could. He noticed she looked happier when she saw apples next to her after waking up.
So he started to give her apples whenever he could, more than any fruit. One night, after he found some needle and thread he stitched up the holes before he gave the blanket back to her. It wasn’t perfect and he might have poked his fingers more than once but it didn’t matter.
It also seemed that the girl was observing him too. Sometimes he saw her looking at him during meals, like she was making sure he was eating properly and few times, after injuring himself he woke up next to med kit – or whatever was left of it – lying next to him.
He truly had no idea where this strange alliance came from, but it was somewhat reassuring that they were looking after each other especially after what had to happen in their lives to make both of them have to stay at the homeless shelter.
He wouldn’t call it a friendship – after all he didn’t even know her name -but he never had any friends so he might as well be wrong.
The idea of him having a friend sounded so bizarre. He never thought he needed friends, but for now having this understanding, this weird protection from someone and giving it back was nice.
He didn’t know what the future would bring but he found himself being not so opposed to the idea of forming a friendship.
And so his time at the shelter was passing with this quiet routine and - despite everything - with slowly blossoming hope for a better future.
He was still not sure what it would look like - which scared him a bit if he was being honest – but he finally was starting to feel freedom from his father, finally started realizing that maybe – just maybe – there were people out there in the world that would accept him as he is, maybe somewhere there was a place for him to stay.
But as these two, maybe three weeks since he came to the shelter passed something disrupted their routine.
The girl got a letter again, but it seemed different than the other ones and she looked happier than usual when she read it.
He wondered what was it about, when he noticed official Mazmus logo on the envelope.
Could it be that she got in? Somehow even after being disqualified?
It was the only reasonable reason why she would look so happy after receiving a letter from Mazmus and it was around the time they were sending out results.
That night he made a plan. What he was doing was risky and there wasn’t any certainty that he was making a good decision but he had to try. He had to make sure, had to check one last time for a chance for something better.
So when everyone was asleep and when the blanket had found its way to him along with some sweets he quietly got up, left the blanket, an apple and a quick short note he wrote – “Happy for you. Thank you - A.” – next to sleeping girl and left.
He traveled quickly for two days, without any rest and finally reached his old house.
He pushed away all the memories that came up with him arriving there and focused on his mission.
He made sure that no one was inside – his father probably left for some mission – and went to the mailbox.
He took a deep breath and opened it.
There it was.
A letter.
A letter from Mazmus.
He felt his heart beating faster as he took it out.
He opened it and almost dropped it when he saw what was inside.
He got accepted.
Even after he failed, after he got disqualified he got accepted and still had a chance for a future at Mazmus.
After rereading this letter few times to make sure he wasn’t dreaming Arthur put it folded neatly in his pocket, broke into his old house, packed few of his things into a bag and left again. He didn’t want to stay there longer than necessary.
It all was so different from the way he left – or more like was forced to leave – last time.
Now he left with a plan, with a vision of a decent life for himself, he left on his own terms.
It felt like he finally closed that chapter of his life and just the thought of that made him feel lighter.
He came back to the homeless shelter but he couldn’t find girl with braids anywhere, it seemed that she left too.
So he went to his next destination; Mazmus, where he would spend the next two years of his life.
It took him few days, since he was walking by foot, but he finally got there.
He was finally at Mazmus and he was there thanks to himself.
It was his decisions and determination that led him there.
And for the first time in his life, he was truly proud of himself.
He wondered briefly if the girl from shelter was somewhere here but the chaos of being a new recruit quickly swallowed him and interrupted these thoughts.
Thankfully the paperwork that came with him – and other recruits – arriving was done quickly and soon he found himself at the doors to the dorm that was supposed to be shared by all of his new squad.
His squad.
That sounded weird in his mind. These are the people that he will trust his life with, these are the people he’ll work, train, eat and spend every hour every day with.
And they all were behind that door.
Waiting.
He took a deep breath to calm his anxiety and to not show that he was nervous.
He walked in without knocking, shoulders straight, head high and not looking at anyone in particular.
He quickly noticed an empty bed in the corner and walked towards it.
Not knowing what else to do he started unpacking what little stuff he had.
He felt eyes on himself.
A lot of them.
The silence was almost deafening since he walked in and they were all judging him, analyzing his every move.
He knew it.
There was always judgment.
He felt that his mind was about to start spiraling, when he felt something got thrown over his shoulders.
He froze and was about to turn around, ready for any attack, when he noticed what it exactly was dangling now from him.
A brown blanket.
With crooked stiches he did himself.
He slowly turned around and looked at a person that gave it to him.
Girl with braids.
She was standing in front of him smiling softly.
Like she was happy to see him.
Like he belonged.
He found himself carefully looking at the people in the room, looking at their faces for the first time since he walked in.
He realized that what he earlier thought were judgmental gazes were curious looks of teens that experienced way too much pain in life yet managed, no, choose to still be kind, warm, welcoming.
Every single person was looking at him like they were curious about him, like they wanted to get to know him, like they were happy that he was there, even though they didn’t know each other.
He felt like he was some dream, some alternative universe.
But he wasn’t, this was real life.
A side of life he never experienced before.
So maybe he did, Arthur thought.
Maybe he finally belonged.
He felt himself relax slightly.
This will be a long, painful journey, but maybe he finally found what he was searching for.
A home.