The Elementalist: Sky City (Book One)

Chapter Three: Destiny

"There you are!" Ben's mother practically yelled upon seeing them. Throwing down the chain-male she'd been fastening, she marched to meet them at the door. A look of anxiety filled the boys' faces as they forgot themselves in the moment.

At a tall five foot, nine inches in height, and with long, blonde hair that curled its way luxuriously down her back, Ben's mother was a figure to stand out in a crowd. There's a firmness in her stature and demeanor to go along with this elegance, giving one the impression of a woman who could be classy one minute and have her hands working metal and iron in the back of the shop the next. Hidden under her lower-class, but still stylish, gray dress is a figure toned and well-worked just as Ben's father was. While not often the parent of the house to do the reprimanding, Wade can't help but to gulp deep in the back of his throat as his friend's mom stared them down with bullets in her eyes.

"Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"Yes," Ben says quickly. "But mom, we—"

"I've told you a hundred times not to stay out after dark," she barked back.

"I know, but--"

"It's every time with you, Ben. And you always have to drag poor Wade into it."

"Actually, I don't think he really minds--"

"Out in the street every night past dark... God knows how you two don't manage to get whipped nightly for being out past curfew...

"Mrs. Harris," Wade attempted to cut in as quickly as he could in the midst of the torrent of words. "We have something important to tell you, Ben—"

"Is in a world of trouble," she finished for him. "And so are you, Wade Sullivan. I'm sure your parents are just as worried. I swear, if you two would just—"

"Mom!" Ben yelled, an unusual thing for him to do, creating an instant silence.

The armory went still, and even the sound of Ben's father beating metal in the back halted—he'd finally heard the boys' arrival and the commotion it caused over the sounds of his work.

Ben had never talked back to his parents in anger or volume, despite getting in trouble often. His tone and the commanding nature of his yell filled Sarah Harris instantly with curiosity as well as concern.

"What is it?" she asked, her voice calmed down.

Ben went to say, but couldn't seem to get the words to leave his mouth. It felt like a gift only existing in thought, and to speak it would whisk it away as though it were frail and fleeting. He'd dreamed so long for this—despite knowing it'd probably never happen—and the pressure to accurately convey it was overwhelming. What does one say in a situation like this?

"It's his birthright," Wade said for him to break the silence.

"His birthright?" a husky voice asked as Ben's father entered the room.

Wiping his charcoal-blackened hands on a tattered cloth, he stared at the two of them through soot. Despite his old age and the limp in his right leg, he looked much like an Olympian, with large muscles showing through his stained, white shirt. His blonde hair had begun to turn gray in spots, giving him an aged appearance, but it did not affect his presence. He had deep, blue eyes that appeared gentle and kind, but with a fierce determination to right any wrong presented to him. Not many would dishonor a man of such character and strength. At times, Wade could look from father to son and recognize the same resoluteness in Ben's face as his father's, and he knew these things to be passed down.

Throwing the cloth on a table, Ben's father walked towards them. His footsteps were heavy despite his right leg's limp, and they made the floorboards creak.