Life alone wasn't always easy. They say things get better with time... except it never did. That is, until he met his first friend. His friend was an older man, grumpier, a veteran of the streets... and of war. The same nimble fingers that were able to disassemble a weapon and reassemble in less than 31 seconds were the same fingers that taught how to lift a wallet from a man's back pocket, take cash from it, and toss it on the ground where it could be "found". The first meeting was a rough one, the kid was hiding under a bridge, staying dry from the rain, but shivering none the less, when a rough voice called out.
"What 'cha doin' here, Kid? This my spot, out cha go 'for I sock ya"
The kid looked in the direction the voice came from, seeing a huge figure, standing like an oak tree. Steady, unwavering. Lightning flashed and he was able to see a beard, unwashed for years.
"I'm sorry, Sir, I was just trying to stay warm and dry. I didn't realize this spot was taken, I'll be off now."
The man, seeing how young the kid was, softened his tone. "Ah, Ain' no use in that now, is there? Don' wan' ya catchin' no 'neumonia or wutever be goin' round these days. C'mere, Wuts your name, kid?"
The kid looked at him, and said curtly, "All anyone ever calls me is 'Hey, you'."
YOU ARE READING
The Primordial
FantasyIn a world where magic is commonplace, there exists art frowned upon.., Mages with magics used primarily for destruction are prosecuted. Will one blessed with fire proceed to burn down this corrupt system, or give it new life?
