"Get behind me. Now."
The words didn't sound like an order, but rather a choice. And the boy knew which one would keep him alive. He stared at Cal for a moment, before slowly making his way behind him.
"Who the hell are you?" one of the men asked, trying to sound indifferent, despite constantly switching his gaze to Cal and the dead body that laid there.
"That's none of your concern." Cal replied.
Another one of the men — the taller of the two — clenched his jaw, before taking a slight step forward.
"I think it is, brat! This has nothing to do with you! You should leave instead of trying to play hero to a street rat like that kid behind you!"
Cal glanced behind him, the boy crouched in pain from the earlier beating, and in slight fear. He turned back to the men before talking.
"You're as foolish as you are bold if you think ordering a kid around can get you what you want." Cal smirked, slightly raising his sword. "You're a poor excuse of a man, trying to cheat others to get what you want."
The man's veins could be seen in his forehead, the words from Cal doing what they intended. He gritted his teeth, anger and indignation etched upon his face.
"If we're such cowards to you, what will that make you once we beat you dead?"
Cal exhaled deeply, gripping his sword tighter. Not in fear, but in preparation.
"Why don't we find out?"
As soon as the words left Cal's lips, one of the men rushed forward, fully intending to hurt this lowly smith who had just thrown a wrench in their plans.
Cal's sword hit its mark, slicing through the skin of the man's chest wall. He didn't have time to process the feeling of the metal meeting his body before he felt the blood pouring from his side.
The man didn't even scream. The only reaction he had was a slow glance to where his chest was once intact and whole. He staggered.
One step forward. Then another. Then he dropped to his knees, right in front of the boy who hid behind Cal. The man's eyes slowly started to lose their light; his mouth contorted into a grotesque line of blood and pain.
"H-Help me..."
The words barely made their way from his throat before he fell forward and hit the dirt.
The boy shuffled back, trying his best to stay away as far as he possibly could from this dying man. Cal slowly walked up to the man, checking to see if there was any indication that the strike wasn't enough. He didn't want this to be dirty. These men needed to know what their consequences were. Whether they died or lived wasn't his concern.
Cal turned his gaze to the final member of the attackers, his eyes boring into the man's soul.
"What's wrong?" Cal asked, his voice filled with provocation, a smirk lining up his face.
The man was now visibly shaken, and Cal knew it. Sweat beaded at the man's forehead; his legs were quivering and useless.
Cal began to walk toward him. Slow steps. Deliberate. Each one echoed off the walls of the alleyway.
"D-Don't come any closer!"
Cal tilted his head slightly. "Then make me stop."
The man's lips quivered, his voice dying in his throat. Cal kept advancing — not rushing, not taunting, just moving forward with that same quiet certainty.
When the man finally twitched, Cal moved.
A single, fluid motion. The edge of his sword grazed the man's arm, slicing cloth and skin.
The man screamed — not from pain, but from sheer panic. He collapsed, clutching his arm, and falling onto his back.
He retched onto the dirt. The stench of bile filled the air as he scrambled backward, kicking up dust.
"Leave me alone! STOP!"
Cal exhaled, lowering his sword, and gritting his teeth in anger.
"Are you making a request? Or are you quoting someone else tonight?"
No response. The man choked out a sob, almost as if the remaining life and fight in his body had left in sheer horror.
"Leave," Cal said simply.
The man didn't need to be told twice. He stumbled to his feet and bolted into the distance, disappearing into the fog beyond the alleyway.
Silence followed. Cal didn't even notice the boy, who was still on the ground, trying to piece together what he just saw.
Without looking at his sword, Cal went to wipe the blood off his sword with a cloth he had for this purpose, only to notice something.
His gaze lowered down.
The sword was spotless.
There wasn't a single bead of blood on the sword. No stains, no smears, no drops, or anything in between.
For a moment, he just stared at it. The weapon gleamed dully beneath the pale light, unmarred despite the carnage it had caused.
"…What the hell," he muttered under his breath.
He brushed his hand along the spine of the blade. He felt nothing but the cool steel that it was made of. No warmth, no viscous liquid, and no proof.
Something was off.
Before Cal could think of any possible reasons for such an oddity and before the eerie thought had rooted itself deeper in his mind, a small voice was heard from behind him.
"T-That was... That was incredible!"
Cal blinked, the sound pulling him back to the present. The boy was standing now, wide-eyed, staring at him as if he were something otherworldly.
The boy with sandy blond hair continued to stare. Cal thought the boy would be filled with a sense of repulsion and terror. Traumatized, even.
But that wasn't the case at all.
The boy slowly stood up and instead of running away, he stood there, his eyes still fixed on Cal.
"How'd you do that?"
Cal quirked an eyebrow. That's the first thing this person asks after getting their life saved? No "thank you"?
"I uhh... learned from my granddad," Cal replied.
The boy nodded slowly, almost like he was trying to piece it all together on his own.
"Thank you..."
Cal didn't even look back. He looked at the ironstone that was dropped before the whole situation went awry, gathering it and trying his best to haul it in his arms.
"I'm sorry I stole from you," the boy said.
Cal scoffed. Deep down, he wanted to snap back. This boy stole from him. He has no right to apologize.
But then again... it didn't seem like this person had much of a choice. Cal bit his tongue back.
"Just... drop it."
The boy looked down for a quick moment, his feet shuffled in an awkward motion, before he glanced back up at Cal.
"My name's Vincent. Vincent Aurelian."
Cal still didn't turn fully to Vincent, his gaze still facing the direction in which the scavenger fled. An introduction at such a time felt out of place, to say the least.
"Caelum Virell. You can call me Cal."
Vincent nodded, trying his best to stand taller, but the slow remnants of his beating from the now deceased men had clung to his skin and bones. He winced as adjusted his posture.
"Nice to meet you..."
Cal finally turned around, looking at Vincent proper for the first time. There were red marks that were engraved into the boy's face from the assault, and his body was shaking a little.
But there was nothing fatal.
"You should leave," Cal muttered, exhaustion bleeding into his tone. "This place has nothing good for you. And you should know better than to take deals from men here. Do you not know anything about Lamnor City? This is a rat's nest!"
Cal felt the irritation build up inside him. Who'd willingly come here for opportunity? For resources? There was nothing to behold here! This pitiful wasteland of a city. Any person who thought otherwise was undermining what really belonged here.
Trash. Meritless trash.
Vincent jumped a little from the rise in volume of Cal's voice. He quickly whipped his head downwards, like if he looked at the ground too much, he wouldn't be talked to.
"I-I didn't have any choice! Those men... they would've killed me if I didn't give them anything. Just my luck... that they found me here of all places."
Cal sighed deeply, trying to figure out what they could possibly have wanted with Vincent.
"Where are you from?"
Vincent kept looking at the ground, not answering. Cal started to get even more annoyed. He felt the tendency to snap at Vincent rising in his throat like hot lava.
"Any parents?!"
Vincent's breath hitched a little, his legs stopped in their movements.
"No..."
Cal's eyes widened slightly. The words had remained in the air longer than they should have. His shoulders had tensed even more than the fight that happened a few minutes ago.
"Where do you live?"
Vincent's gaze was now switching between the dirt and Cal's boots. A moment that felt like it spanned hours had passed before his voice sounded out — like he was afraid the world might silence it again.
"I... just scrape by around Gravenmoor Hold."
Cal's eyebrows furrowed. "The hold?"
Vincent nodded faintly. "Yeah. Near the food stalls. The Runecarriage terminals too. People throw out half-eaten meals there or lose coin if you're lucky enough to find it."
He gave a hollow, awkward laugh that didn't last long. "It's been that way since last winter. The guards there don't even bother with you anymore. And the soldiers of the platoon don't even make an effort here."
Cal said nothing for a while, the wind passed through the alleyway. He stared at the bruises on Vincent's jaw and the hands that wouldn't stop trembling.
Lamnor was an unforgiving place. Anything that would be worth something was chewed up and spat out. And this kid was just another piece of it.
Cal clicked his tongue, glancing away. "Damn it."
He didn't want this. Didn't want to care. He'd already done enough by saving the boy's life. But the thought of leaving him to rot in that cesspool—it wouldn't sit right. Where would Cal be without a home to belong to? The Hollow Anvil. Darius Virell.
This was no different.
After a while, Cal finally muttered. "Come on."
Vincent blinked. "Huh?"
Cal started walking, adjusting the ironstone that he was holding. "You heard me. Don't ask any questions. Just follow."
Vincent stood frozen, the words taking a moment to settle. Then he scrambled to follow, stumbling slightly before catching up beside him.
"Where... Where are we going?"
Cal didn't look back. "The Hollow Anvil."
Vincent tilted his head, wiping grime from his cheek. "The forge? Why there?"
Cal gave him a curious look. "You know of it?"
Vincent nodded in response. "I've heard it's a decent establishment by the guards at Gravenmoor. I've never been there though."
Cal's lips twitched into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Well, you will now. That's where I live."
The two figures disappeared into the dim mist curling at the edge of the alleyway, the echoes of their steps fading into the hollow silence.
------
They arrived at the front of The Hollow Anvil — its hanging sign swaying faintly with the wind, the faint orange glow from within cutting through the haze. The smell of hot metal and coal dust hit Vincent first. It was the smell of sweat, iron, and life — strangely comforting after the cold stillness of the quarry.
"You actually live here? You're a blacksmith?"
Cal nodded, pushing the door open, followed by the ringing of the bell above. The warmth of the forge hitting him instantaneously, like it always had after a long day.
Thank God I went back for the ironstone I left at the mines...
Vincent followed closely behind Cal, looking around the interior. His eyes were wide in awe and intrigue. Inside, racks of half-finished blades lined the walls, each one gleaming faintly beneath the lamplight. Swords, daggers, spears, and even ornamental hilts hung in ordered precision, their craftsmanship deliberate and exact.
It wasn't grand, but it felt alive. Honest.
"You run this place?" Vincent asked softly, his voice still raw from the cold.
Cal set the sacks of ironstone down with a heavy thud. "Me and my granddad."
He started unlacing his gloves, but before he could hang them, a familiar voice bellowed from the room downstairs.
"Cal? That you, boy?"
A moment later, Darius emerged from the workshop. The old man's hair was slick with sweat from the hours of work. His apron was stained with soot, and his hands were blackened from the hours of work he put in while Cal was away.
"What in the world took you so long?" Darius grumbled, wiping his hands on a rag. "You said you were just going to get some more ironstone!"
Cal looked up, steady but visibly tired. "Ran into some trouble on the way."
Darius's gaze shifted to Vincent, who had instinctively taken a small step back under the older man's scrutiny. The boy looked painfully out of place amidst the glow of the forge.
"And who's this?" Darius asked, tone softening with confusion.
Cal didn't hesitate. "Found him near the mines. Looked like he needed help getting out of the cold."
He didn't dare mention anything else. Not the theft. Or the scavengers. Or the blood.
Darius gave a curious look, glancing between the two of them. The quiet was stretched for a beat, filled with the weight of unspoken things.
"Well, it's late. He can stay the night. There's stew in the pot if either of you have stomachs to fill."
Vincent blinked, caught off guard. "Thank you, sir."
"Don't 'sir' me, boy," Darius muttered, though a small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Name's Darius. Cal will show you around."
Vincent nodded quickly, clutching his tattered sleeve like a child being scolded for tracking mud inside.
Cal took off his outer coat and placed his sword carefully on the rack beside the door. The weapon gleamed faintly in the firelight—clean, unmarked, like nothing had happened. He stared at it, wondering what possibly made it appear so.
He frowned slightly but shook the thought away.
"Come on," he said to Vincent, motioning toward the stairwell. "I'll show you around."
Vincent followed him up the narrow wooden steps, his boots creaking against the old floorboards. The second level was quieter — lit by lanterns that cast soft amber hues against the stone walls. Cal gestured to each part as they walked.
"That's the storage. We keep spare ore and materials there. That room's my granddad's quarters. Mine's across the hall. It's not much, but it'll do for the both of us."
They stepped inside the room. Like Cal had said, this wasn't anything grand. Simple stone walls and a small cot were all that filled the room. He thought nothing of it, but Vincent saw different.
"I've never... slept somewhere so clean before."
Cal stopped. Those words had landed a bit harder than he wished they did. If this was clean to Vincent, then what on Earth was he surviving on all this time?
"I wouldn't call it clean..." Cal began.
Vincent smiled faintly in response. "No, it's brilliant..."
Cal grabbed some blankets and bedding from one of the open racks outside, setting it on the floor next to the bed.
Vincent began to get himself comfortable, walking to the makeshift bedding Cal had prepared. "Thank y-"
"No," Cal said. "You take the bed."
He said nothing after that. Just a simple request. Vincent's eyes widened slightly before he slowly walked to the bed, laying in it. The bed's embrace was unlike anything he ever felt before. It felt like a massage, slowly kneading the pain away from his muscles.
Cal turned to leave. "Try to sleep. You'll need it."
Vincent hesitated. "Cal?"
He stopped, glancing back. "What? You don't need to thank me."
Vincent's eyes met his, curious and uncertain. "N-No. It's not that. It's just... Back there... with those men. The way you fought — how your sword didn't-" He cut himself off, fumbling for words
Cal's expression turned slightly perplexed. So, he wasn't the only one to notice. Whatever question that was to come next, Cal knew it was going to be unexplainable.
Vincent finished his question. "Are you... an Ecliptic?"
The air shifted.
Cal froze, his body freezing — not in anger or fear, but in shock. He peered out the door before turning back to Vincent, his voice carrying alarm.
"No," Cal said, his voice sounding a little unsure. "And never ask that question again!"
Downstairs, the fire in the forge hissed softly—like it, too, had heard something it shouldn't have.