The raven-haired thief grinned, gazing up at the starlit heavens as the smoke obscuring them was blown back momentarily by a sudden breeze, a small shower of sparks rising skyward from the bonfire as laughter boomed throughout the courtyard below him. The sounds of raucous voices, mugs being filled and knocked together, and general revelry were clearly audible no matter where one stood within the fortress which had become colloquially known as the Valefar Arsenal, or, more formally, The Arsenal of the King. Even Seire thought the latter name was a little silly, but, he had to admit, it was pretty cool, and that suited him just fine.
Smirking with satisfaction, he turned away from the window, casually swirling the red wine in the crystal glass he held before unceremoniously downing the remnants of the drink in a single gulp. Setting the glass aside on a nearby table, the King of Thieves flopped down into the gigantic chair - or, more accurately, throne - that served as the centerpiece of the long hall's back wall. Naturally, the gargantuan seat, complete with staggeringly luxurious cushions of white velvet and ornate patterns of silver and gold lining its surface, had not originally been part of the Arsenal. But, after finding that the deposed former "king" apparently no longer had any need of his throne, Seire had been charmed by the enormous and exceedingly comfortable piece of furniture, and had personally overseen its... acquisition. Besides, there was a big, empty hallway on the second floor with a polished hard wood floor, fancy white and gold carpeting, and a gratuitous amount of ornamentation, with an unoccupied space in the back situated between two large marble support pillars. That was just begging to have a throne installed, in Seire's opinion. A square, glass-topped table with seats for all of his chosen officers and a hollow inside complete with magical projectors for strategy meetings, as well as a few other miscellaneous and suitably grandiose furnishings, had completed the setup, creating one of Seire's favorite rooms in the Arsenal: the grand hall, officers' mess, and war room. Granted, even though Seire now had an army of his own and enough weapons and supplies to equip them, and even though he was now technically the King of his own micronation within the tower, he didn't really plan on starting any wars, so the name was largely superficial, but still, a war room he had declared it, and so a war room it would be.
Sweeping his gaze across the rest of the hall, the thief allowed his eyes to wander over the many tapestries and fanciful gilt patterns adorning the wall on his right and the ceiling, as well as out of the many giant windows on the left side, and the table that ran down the room's center. The five other chairs surrounding the table - two at either hand on his throne, two at the opposite side, and one across from his throne - were occupied save one, and housed a diverse group of figures who seemed to be enjoying themselves, again save one. The seat on Seire's left hand, now occupied by the formidable shape of the former pirate Black Zess - Seire had appointed him as an officer both out of respect for his skill and honor, and so as to keep his personal followers in line and under the command of someone they knew and trusted - was the one towards which the most attention was now directed. Two of the individuals currently conversing with the somewhat uneasy pirate were some of Seire's fellows from the mainland, consisting of a serious-looking giant of a man with long red hair, and a much smaller, expressionless woman whose pale skin, white hair, and red eyes stood as a sharp contrast to the man sitting close beside her. These two were some of Seire's oldest comrades, as well as being some of his closest friends.
The young man, Shirou, was a former knight and member of the nobility, who, disillusioned by the corruption inherent in the system, had abandoned his title, sold his estate, and took up life as a wandering warrior, perpetually seeking out battle in the hopes of becoming stronger, before a certain encounter swayed him at first through his honor, and later through his beliefs, to join the Valefar Group as its foremost fighter and instructor in combat. However, although his serious external appearance and businesslike manner as well as his rather intimidating stature made many fear him, the truth was that he was just as carefree as his commander. Either way, the two were sworn brothers, and got along capitally, working together on almost everything they did. Although, that tradition had changed as of late, as Shirou now had other things to worry about as well as helping Seire manage the guild. Most notable among these was the young woman seated next to him, and their recent marriage. The thief grinned at the thought of those fond memories. As they couldn't have the ceremonies officiated by the church due to the rather pressing issue of being labeled enemies of said establishment for... certain reasons... Seire had instead taken matters into his own hands. Suffice to say, the crew of a state-of-the-art ship of the line had never expected to have their proud and mighty vessel stolen for a day by a guild of thieves so that their leader could briefly assume captaincy and carry out a wedding under that authority. Granted, he probably could have just had a certain priest he was well acquainted with have done the deed for him, but that would have been no fun.
The young lady's given name was Scarlet, but due to the inevitable confusion between Scarlet and Shirou's names due to their overwhelmingly mismatched nature, most people simply took to referring to her by the nickname of "Mute," which she certainly seemed to be in regards to most conversation. Although her past as a Mage-Assassin still haunted her to the present day, with the help of Shirou and the encouragement of Seire, she had managed to come a long way from how she had been when the two "brothers," give or take one sarcastic archer, had first rescued her from her old life, installing her as the chief intelligence officer of the old Valefar Group, a role she had now assumed once again within the new guild.
The other officer, however, was a new addition to Seire's personal circle, a certain old man who, instead of resuming his post as gate guard, had been abruptly promoted out of deference to his incredible loyalty, determination, and experience. "Old Aldric" as he was most well known served as the guild's quartermaster, treasurer, and inspector, ensuring that the Arsenal was well stocked with provisions, that payments were received and distributed properly, and that all members of the guild were upholding the rules Seire had laid down. A respected member of the group, his wisdom had earned him a place apart from the rest, and a smaller, secondary throne of his own across from that of the King of Thieves.
Black Zess, meanwhile, although initially distrusted, had been instated as the enforcer and operative of the PTA, their hand outside of the boundaries of the Arsenal. When there was a threat to their guild, a deal to be carried out, or other such tasks to be dealt with, the Reagal Group was there to perform the task. Playing the part of a separate entity from the PTA, they in fact served as a front for the thieves' guild as a whole, doing the guild's dirty work without inculpating the guild itself. This had earned Zess himself a title aside from his personal nickname, as his status as essentially Seire, but on a smaller scale, had not gone unnoticed by members of either the main guild or his own following. Initially a joke at his expense, he'd taken the title as a badge of pride: The Little King. Seire found this moniker rather amusing, both because it elevated his own standing, and because Zess was far more physically imposing than his superior officer. Consequently, it had fallen into use throughout the guild, and, in some cases, even outside of it.
And, as for the final officer (well, actually, the owners of the six seats weren't the only officers of the guild, but nobody really cared about the seventh member and unofficial second-in-command of the PTA, the only evidence of whose existence and position was a tiny, featureless stool of half-rotten wood nestled into the very corner of the room.) the voice of Seire and the chief of public relations for the guild - although she carried out both of these tasks only indirectly, not wanting to be associated with the sordid reputation of the PTA... She whose seat was at Seire's right hand was currently standing next to one of the windows, looking with mingled surprise and patient, dismayed acceptance down on the rowdy celebration taking place in the courtyard below, and largely tuning out the three officers' inquisition of Black Zess following his appointment.
"Is something the matter, Giselle?" Seire asked, grinning as he lounged casually in his throne. The Archer sighed, turning to face her commander with a complicated expression somewhere between a painfully forced smile and a countenance of disbelief.
"When you called this a 'merry little band,' you weren't joking," She replied sarcastically. "Well, aside from maybe the 'little' part. How many people in this castle answer to you now, anyway?"
"Oh, at least a few thousand, I should expect. Many of my old associates from the continent have made their way here to join the new guild," The King of Thieves replied casually.
"I rest my case," Giselle sighed. "Anyway, what are we even celebrating this time? And where are you getting all of the provisions for these feasts of yours, anyway?"
"I won't bother with the second question, as you already know as well as I do what the answer to that is. As to what the subject of our revelry is... er... I suppose it's a celebration of the appointment of our newest officer. Yes, that sounds like a reasonable enough justification, doesn't it?"
"So, in short, you have absolutely no idea why your men have started a bonfire in the courtyard and are currently drinking themselves into a stupor on stolen wine... again."
"That about sums it up," Seire replied, shrugging dismissively.
"It's best not to question these things, I think," A voice piped in helpfully from the table as the red-maned head of Shirou turned to face the Archer. He gave a grin, kicking back and resting his feet on the table.
"Exactly what he said," Seire agreed, nodding in what was probably supposed to be a sage manner.
"Just how do you people remain an effective, functioning guild, anyway? This place seems more like a banquet hall than a fortress, if you ask my honest opinion," Giselle asked pointedly.
"Ah, but you see, my dear Giselle, nobody did," Seire grinned cheerily, abruptly sitting up. "But, I'm in a generous mood, so since you've given me your unsolicited opinion, I'll give you mine! It's because of our determination, willpower, and manly spirit!" Rising to his feet, the thief struck a comically overdramatic pose in an obvious parody of his own theatrics. To the slight surprise of Black Zess, however, Seire's ridiculous stance was abruptly one-upped as Shirou, too, rose from his seat with sudden violence, striking an even more ridiculous posture. To the ever-mounting disbelief and confusion of- well, actually, Black Zess was the only one who both had no idea what was going on and was actually surprised at this point, but still, it counted. Anyway, to HIS ever mounting surprise and confusion, both Seire and Shirou began without warning to... well, actually, it wasn't really clear what they were doing. It seemed like some sort of competition to see who could be more ridiculous than the other, but it might have been a debate as well. It was hard to tell.
"Indeed, my brother!" He cried enthusiastically. "Our manliness is what sustains us, guiding us towards our tomorrow - no, towards our DESTINY in the face of all the trials that stand in our way!"
"Like alcoholism?" Giselle asked pointedly from the sidelines.
"Especially alcoholism," Shirou replied calmly, dropping his outstretched hand and resuming a normal posture just long enough to speak before clearing his throat and returning to his ridiculous stance as though he had never left it.
"No, brother!" Seire replied pointing accusingly towards his red-haired partner in insanity before grasping dramatically towards the ceiling. "Why should we let ourselves be shackled by destiny?! He who gives into fate submits to a path which he is forced to walk, unto the bitter end! All men are oppressed by the cruel tyrant known as destiny, the inevitable end to which their dreams seem like they must come. BUT!" Seire spread his arms wide, as though to take in the whole of the room. "This is not the end! Even in the face of inexorable predetermination, men may yet struggle to achieve their dreams! The road is long and hard, and yet, it is a path that must be walked! For at the end of this road lies not loss and pain, but triumph! If you wrest your dreams from the cruel grasp of fate, that means you've won! COURAGE, MY BROTHER! COURAGE, FORTITUDE, AND A MAN'S BURNING HEART! It is these things, and these things alone, that can determine the path that a man walks!"
"What the hell are you people even going on about?" Black Zess asked, bemused, from where he sat.
"You are new here, yes?" The quiet, calm voice of the white haired girl seemed to display absolutely no surprise at, or even interest in the bizarre conversation taking place right beside her, as did her expressionless face. "You will grow accustomed to it," She assured calmly. Old Aldric, meanwhile, merely smiled, and remained silent.
"This is normal for them," Giselle sighed. "Sadly."
"AGH!" Shirou groaned, clutching at his forehead in a completely absurd manner. "How could I have been so blind!? You speak the truth, my brother! I am sorry... I have failed you!" With those words, the red-haired man knelt as though struck down by the force of the thief's bombastic proclamation. "I am beaten! Before the truth of such a man, I am but a boy!"
"Say no more!" Seire protested, stepping down from the podium of his throne as he firmly laid hold of Shirou's wrist, hoisting him to his feet. He returned the grip, a cross-handed, old-fashioned sort of handshake that was made hilarious by the impossibly serious expressions worn by both participants in the gesture. "You are no boy, my brother... YOU, TOO, ARE A MAN! If you can see the path ahead of you, then come with me, and we shall walk it together!"
"Can such a thing be done?" Shirou asked hopefully.
"With our boiling blood, anything can be done! We are brothers, Shirou! Believe in that bond, and together, we shall grasp the future, and mold it into our own image! That is the promise we made long ago, is it not?" Shirou nodded intently, with the air of a student heeding the advice of a wise master.
"Yes, my brother!" Shirou replied, and with those words, the two spoke together, reciting what was apparently some sort of catchphrase between them.
"WE ARE THE ONES WHO WILL MAKE THE IMPOSSIBLE POSSIBLE!" Seire declared. Without missing a beat, Shirou took up the recitation. At the same time, the two broke off their handgrip, each flinging themselves backward and spinning around in a completely ridiculous manner. Seire pointed at Shirou as he spoke, who returned the gesture by spreading his arms while his "brother" swept up his hand towards the heavens.
"WE ARE THE ONES WHO WILL CARRY THE UNDYING FLAME OF MANHOOD ON TO TOMORROW!" With those words, Shirou swept back one of his hands, shaking a fist before him. Seire continued by clenching his own hand into a fist, and wrenching it downward as though he was trying to tear the sky down.
"WITH THAT IMMORTAL FIRE, WE WILL BECOME STARS, BURNING BRIGHTER THAN ALL OF THE LIMITLESS HEAVENS!" Both braced themselves, and then, leveling their fists, lunged towards, yet past each other, aiming their right hands to intersect as they passed.
""WE ARE THE ONES WHO WILL BRING AN END TO FATE, AND FORGE OUR OWN DESTINIES IN THE FIRES OF OUR BURNING HEARTS!"" As both shouted those words, their fists collided with overwhelming force, Seire striking downward, while Shirou lunged upward. With a mutual roar, Seire pushed off of his brother's arm, while Shirou used the momentary locking of fists to launch his partner upward. Seire flew into the air, flipping head over heels, while Shirou spun about with the force of his punch even as Seire landed and pivoted to face him. In perfect synchronization, they locked arms, and then spun to face their at least partially baffled audience, punching with their interlinked right hands even as they completed their ritual. It wasn't clear whether it was the force of their shouting or of their mutual strike, but the wineglass Seire had set down across the hall spontaneously shattered into countless pieces.
""BROTHERS' SECRET ART: FISTBUMP! OF! ETERNAL! FIIIIIIIIGHTTTIIIIIIIIIIINGGGGGGG SPIIIIIIIIIIIRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!""
...
The hall was completely silent. A moment later, the two released each other's arms gave a mutual, grave nod of respect, and then returned to their seats.
...
"No, seriously," Black Zess asked, his eyebrow still twitching slightly. "What the bloody hell just happened?"
"They're toying with your mind," Giselle replied, sighing as she, too, returned to her seat, rubbing her head in the futile hope of driving away the headache that now assailed it. Whether this was caused by her frustration at her demented company or the sheer volume of their voices, however, none could say. "Trust me. This is normal for anyone new to their crazy pack." She put her hands on her hips, striking a less extreme version of one of Seire's earlier poses. "They stand like this and go on about MANLINESS, because clearly that's the only quality that's done any good for this guild, but the actual content of their speech is irrelevant. It's their unique brand of hazing. They screw with your head as much as possible, and if you can cope with it, then you pass the test."
"Wait, SERIOUSLY?!" Black Zess asked, incredulous. "So all that posturing you're so fond of... all that's just an act? I thought you were legitimately insane."
"Why, Zess! You wound me!" Seire said overdramatically, clutching his heart as though it pained him before abruptly grinning and continuing normally. "Now what fun would it be if I was acting?"
"Great. My new commanding officer is a nutcase. This is worse than that time in the Telzacan Gulf," The pirate groaned.
"Out of curiosity, what exactly happened 'that time in the Telzacan Gulf?'" Seire asked innocently.
"Oh, don't even get me started." Disgust filled Zess' voice at the mere mention of the incident. "I just hope the damn bird that caused all that has his own special place in hell. I'll never keep a parrot again."
"I... see..." Giselle grimaced sympathetically to Zess' plight. "But, you know, I have to say, I pity you. You have it worse off than any of us ever did."
"What do you mean?" Zess asked, seeming irritated by this.
"Well, back when I first met him, Seire was really the only maniac to deal with. His lackeys were all relatively normal... or at least, as normal you can be when you're working with him. As for those two..." The Archer pointed to the two seated further down the table. "Well, she joined under special circumstances, so she never got the full treatment, and as you can see, he turned out to be just as crazy as Seire was."
"I see... Well, in that case, I see only one solution to this problem."
"What's that?" Seire asked.
"If being crazy is what you need to last here, then I'll just go drink until I'm just as loony as you lot are," Zess declared triumphantly, rising from his chair with a smirk and striking a salute that was nearly as over-the-top as Seire and Shirou's previous display. "If you'll excuse me, mon capitan!" With this bombastic declaration, he turned, and strode out the door. Seire gave a catlike grin, one that Shirou immediately matched.
"He's going to be fun," Seire observed, grinning broadly.
"He'll fit right in, don't you agree, Mute?" Shirou agreed, nodding enthusiastically. Scarlet merely nodded silently in response to this analysis, but evidently, this was enough to satisfy her enthusiastic husband, who seemed content to emote enough for both of them.
"Oh god, no, anything but another madman," Giselle added, planting her face against the glass of the transparent table. Ignoring her protest, however, the others merely grinned and continued their discussion.
"But, you know, if he joins us next time, we'll have to change up the ritual," Shirou observed somewhat poignantly. "He could always take your second line, so that the number of lines we deliver is all equal, but the Fistbump of Eternal Fighting Spirit is made for just two people. It's going to be hard, getting a third part in there."
"Hmm... you have a point. Maybe we could just have him do special effects? An explosion behind us as we finish the pose, for example?" Seire suggested.
"Well, he is a mage," Shirou agreed. "But, wait... didn't he only know ice spells?"
"Oh. Right. Well, that's a problem, then." The thief sighed, but swiftly grinned and continued. "You know, though," He observed. "It's really been too long since we did that last, hasn't it?"
"You're right. It's been a few years, hasn't it? Kind of nostalgic, now that I think about it."
"Yeah, it is," Seire agreed, nodding. "It really has been a long time. It really feels like just yesterday that all of this started, and yet, it's been ages since we first started operating, hasn't it?"
"Careful, brother," Shirou chided. "You're starting to sound like an old man."
"I take offense to that," Aldric chimed in quietly, breaking his long silence at last as he gave a sly smile beneath his white beard. Shirou and Seire glanced between each other for a moment, and then gave a raucous laugh. Even Scarlet, whose countenance usually displayed a complete lack of feeling, cracked a slight smile at long last, and Giselle, exasperated through she was by the impossibility of her new comrades in arms, joined in as well. To be perfectly honest, the four old acquaintances hadn't all been assembled together for a great many years. Giselle had left the Valefar Group on the mainland several years prior to the castle's appearance, and Shirou and Scarlet had been on leave until recently to set their new life together in order. Seire, meanwhile, had quit the Valefar group to relocate to the Floating Castle, starting the PTA in its place. And yet, somehow, they'd all found themselves meeting and working together once again. It was strange to call this sort of thing a coincidence, wasn't it...? Seire gave a wry smile as he thought of all the events that had led to this point. Although he was loath to admit it, the unlikelihood of the path he had walked certainly was enough to cast doubt on the belief that it had all happened on its own, that the present in which he now lived was just the sum total of all his choices and actions, and their outcomes, both coincidental and direct. Yes... although it went against his personal wishes, he supposed that his life up until this point, his past, and his experiences... they might all have been called the work of a sort of "fate."
Hey, me of yesterday... What do you think of the me of now? if you saw how far I'd come, would you finally be satisfied? I wonder...
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
44 centimeters. That was the radius within which these arms of mine could reach. Everything within that circle was my domain, the realm of things that I could touch. It wasn't much, but it was all I had. I couldn't remember things ever having been different. Actually, I couldn't remember a lot of things in those days. Not my parents, not even my name, or the world outside of my home. All I knew was that I existed, and that I had no choice as to what I would do with the life I possessed.
I don't know if my parents sold me willingly or gave me up to pay some sort of debt. From what I can remember of them, I don't think it was the former. Call me naive, old fashioned, or overly idealistic, but... I'd like to believe that the individuals who birthed me into the world wouldn't just throw me away because it was convenient. Maybe it's just my imagination, but, sometimes, if I try really hard to remember, I can recall their faces, their smiles... But what I remember most is the last thing I ever saw of them. I think Dad was sitting in a chair by the fire with his head in his hands, but I'm not sure. But Mom... she was screaming, reaching out, trying to take me back. I think I reached for her too. But it didn't matter. She was too far away, and these arms were far, far too short. As the door closed between me and her, I could hear her shouting what I think was my name. If only I could remember what it was... Anyway, there was one last part of that recollection. I remember seeing a man climbing into a carriage across the street from me. He was blond, with blue eyes, and short, straight hair. His face was rigid and angular, and that, combined with the purple suit and accompanying silken cloak he wore, made me immediately recognize him as a noble. He shouted something to the driver, and pointed to a big castle on a hill in the distance, silhouetted by the sunset. I don't know why, but I remember his smirking face and that castle better than anything else. Maybe I felt like he was mocking me, towering over little old me with his wealth and power from the top of that distant hill.
It's been years since then. I got moved around a lot as I changed hands. First, I was part of a slave caravan that took me to a big city. I can't remember much of what happened there. I was still broken up about being away from my family, and I didn't really understand what was happening to me at the time. I must have been... what, six? I don't know. I can't remember. When I try, all that comes back to me is the light, and the noise. It was like a thousand suns, all focused directly on me. I couldn't see, but I could hear them, all around me. The other slaves were crying, or just shaking, making their chains rattle. But it wasn't them that caught my attention. Rather, it was the voices from beyond the auction block. I could hear people talking. I didn't know what they were saying. They were using a lot of words I didn't understand, and some of them might have even been speaking in a foreign language. Anyway, I didn't like it. There were people out there, but I couldn't see them. I tried to reach out to them, so I raised my arms, but again, I found that they were beyond my grasp.
After that day, things went by so quickly it's hard to detail. Nobody really had any interest in raising some kid from such a young age so that he might make a good servant later, so instead, people just passed me off like it was some sort of game. It seemed to me that a week didn't go by where I didn't change who it was that I called "master" at least once. I don't really remember much about those times, either. I spent most of my time, if I was lucky, cleaning my master's quarters, or waiting on his needs like a good little pet. Oftentimes, though, I wasn't so fortunate, and spent my days looking out through the airholes of a particularly large box. I didn't see much of the world outside of my crate, no matter how hard I tried to look. But, I guess I was never really one to give up, so I never stopped trying.
I don't know when I started, but I found that a good way to ease the tedium of being locked in a box for transport was to spread my arms and start spinning. The goal was for me to reach out further and further, until I could touch all of the walls of my box without moving. It was a silly plan, I guess, but with each time I spun around, I felt like the radius of my arms was growing wider. And, despite all the time that had passed and the countless miles that were now between us... I felt that if I kept on spinning like that, if I kept on reaching out further and further, I'd finally be able to touch the hand that I remembered so vividly reaching for mine.
Time passed, and eventually, my radius had grown wider. A full 65 centimeters were within my reach. Even within moving from where I stood as I spun, I found that I could touch the centers of all four sides of my box easily. Soon, I was sure I'd be able to touch every inch of the walls that encased me. I don't know why I was so hell-bent on it. Maybe I thought somebody'd praise me, or something? Well, it didn't really matter all that much, anyway. It gave me an objective, a purpose in my life, which was a novelty to me back then. If I had something to reach for, then I felt like I'd managed to accomplish something worthwhile. Even if it was just the walls of the prison around me, it was still a step up from not being able to touch anything.
Eventually, I guess, I must have gotten old enough that there was a use for me. The last of my many masters apparently got a really good deal, selling me off to some mining company operated by a noble of some sort or another. For whatever reason, I hated the man from the moment I set eyes on him. Maybe it was because he reminded me of the noble I remembered from the evening I was taken. In any case, I think the feeling was mutual, because he sent me away faster than any of my other masters ever had. At first, I thought I'd just be going back to my box. To my surprise, however, I found myself instead lead to a wagon full of other slaves - mostly kids like me, bought early so they'd have time to learn the ropes of the job they'd be doing for the rest of their lives, and so that they'd build up the necessary strength and experience to be productive during their prime. Far from being put back into my box, I was instead transported down into the bottom of a giant mining pit. Apparently, some kind of magic-rich jewel was found quite frequently there, and it was our job to dig out these jewels without breaking them.
In the place of my old box, I found myself packed into tight, underground quarters with a few other slaves. The walls here were farther apart, and I found once again that I couldn't reach them. It dismayed me to realize that I had to start all over again, and yet, I resolved to continue my spinning until I could overcome this obstacle. Time went by, and the walls grew closer. Soon enough, a comparatively broad radius of 75 centimeters was my dominion, and the distance between me and the boundaries within which I lived had been vanquished once more. Well, having the mind of a child, I couldn't help but feel pretty confident in my ability to reach and spin by this point. And so, I resolved upon a truly lofty goal.
From within the pit, the daylight was almost entirely obscured by the sheer cliff faces surrounding us. However, if I stood at the very center in the middle of the day and looked straight up, I found that I could see a narrow patch of sky. I suppose to most people, it wouldn't have seemed like much. But all I had ever seen of the world was a tiny pinprick of light faintly showing through the air holes of my box. To me, the sight of the blue sky, no matter far away it was, or how tiny it seemed, was a source of boundless wonder. I wanted to see more, wanted to reach up and touch the distant heavens. So, I spun. I kept on reaching out, grasping not for the concrete boundary of the walls around me, but for the sky itself. I guess it was more of a reasonable goal to reach for the earth instead, but, even if it was beyond the radius of my two arms, it seemed like it was almost within my grasp.
During this time, of course, my life was far from easy. Every day at sunrise, the overseers would arrive - both they and the supply train used some kind of hidden pathway down into the pit that we slaves weren't allowed to know about, for fear that we'd escape - wake all of us up, and assemble us outside. They would divide up tasks for the day, determining who would work in the mines, who would carry back the jewels we dug up, and so on and so forth. I was pretty big for my age, so I got sent to work pretty frequently from a fairly early point in time. I was just a kid, but I did my best to keep up with the adults as they dug. That was all I knew how to do: spin and dig. It was all that there was in my world, two simple tasks that took up the entirety of the radius of my arms. In that artificial world, far beneath the surface I dreamed of seeing, I was "fated" to remain for the rest of my life, spinning and digging and spinning and digging and reaching and reaching until I finally died.
I didn't get along well with the other slaves. Our portions of food were based on how profitable we were to the company. I did pretty well, I think, because I got fed enough to satisfy my needs, albeit not enough to quench my hunger entirely. Many of the others, however, weren't quite so lucky. They were fed enough to keep them productive while always keeping them hungry for more. It was a calculated strategy to control them, in the hopes that it would drive them to mine faster and dig deeper, increasing company profits whilst simultaneously reducing the expenses that the noble who ran the little operation had to deal with. At the same time, it kept them from trying to escape, since if they tried to leave, they'd starve long before they crossed the desert in which the pit was located and reached any civilized territory. Just in case that didn't scare us straight, they told all sorts of horror stories about how awful the surface was. Dragons waiting in the desert to swallow us up, giant beasts of metal that would crush us if we ever rebelled... They tried to convince us that things were actually better down in the pit we lived in, at the same time rhapsodizing about the noble who owned us, about how he had saved us from the terrors of the above-ground, and how he was the only thing protecting us from the innumerable threats lurking there. I don't really have a reason why, but I thought it was hogwash right from the very start. Maybe it's just because I hated the man, as I said. Or, maybe it's because I didn't want to believe that there could be suffering in a world with so much light, in a land where the sky was so bright and blue. To me, reaching the golden country of the surface was more important than anything, even my life.
But, I digress. As I said, I did not get along well with my fellow slaves. Quite frequently, I'd find myself cornered by groups of them, beaten into the dirt and left to lie sulking in a corner as I watched my hard earned meals being devoured. The overseers were pretty lax about things like that, and more often than not, fights between us slaves were more a break from duty than they were reason for the supervisors to exercise the authority of their whips. So long as it didn't get too serious, and they didn't run the risk of punishment, I guess they must have thought it was fun to watch us fight each other. I think I saw them taking bets at least once. But, the point was, when it came down to it, the people who claimed that they were protecting me didn't give a damn whether I lived or died, and with that realization, I found my convictions growing that this was not the place for me. I dreamed more vividly of the surface, of the faint memories of a home and family that I'm not even sure I ever really had. And so, I became even more determined to continue reaching out into the world around me.
I fought back. I realized that nobody was going to stand up for me, so I did it for myself. When they came at me with numbers, I fought back with strength and smarts. By letting one slave snatch some insignificant morsel from my bowl, I could get the others to turn against him, and then give them all a sound thrashing while they were distracted. Then I'd take all of their meals as well as what was left of my own, to teach them not to mess with me. Pretty soon, though, I found that nobody was going to try to stop me if I took what wasn't mine. It was then that I realized it: in this world, all that matters is how far a person's reach extends. Those with more power and influence than others take what they like and live as they please. By lowering others, they can raise themselves up, growing closer to their potential. More than anything else, I wanted to become as great as I could be, to reach out as far as I could, and touch the sky itself.
So, I turned the tables on them. The ones who had once singled me out, those who had beaten me down and stolen my hard-earned food from before my eyes, found their positions reversed. The hunter had become the hunted, and pretty soon, I was the one pummeling them into submission, then snatching up what scraps of food they'd been given and taking them for myself. I got stronger, and stronger, and stronger, and kept on reaching out into the world around me, snatching up what I liked and taking what I saw fit to. If somebody got in my way or pissed me off, then they were sure to get it. I'd beat the crap out of anybody who messed with me, and they knew it. Before too long, the puny little workaholic brat the rest of the slaves had terrorized had become one of the most feared kids in the pits.
Now, I say one of for a few reasons. Namely, because I wasn't the only punk there was. Far from it. I guess what made me stand out was that I was a loner, but there were certainly others, and unlike me, they didn't mind lowering themselves to hunt in packs. I had earned their hatred by standing up, and they wanted nothing more than to push me back into my place. But, they weren't the real threat.
Among the slaves, there was a kid around my age. He didn't look all that special, but there was just a certain... something about him. Everything he did seemed to exude power and authority. He carried a self-assurance that was unlike anything I'd ever seen before. I really admired... or perhaps it would be better to say that I envied him? But that wasn't all he had that I didn't. No, the thing that made me most jealous was the fact that, unlike me, he had a name: Selles.
The fact that he actually had a name of his own was strange enough, but there was something far more bizarre about him. Namely, while most of us wretches were just interested in helping ourselves, that kid was different. Compared to us, he was basically a saint. Whenever one of the other slaves got picked on, he'd be there to help. And if somebody lost their food, they could always ask for his, and he'd hand it over without a second thought. I think I was in awe of him for that. I didn't understand why somebody would do such things.
Well, given how differently our attitudes were, it was inevitable that we end up fighting at some point. I decided I'd beat up some random kid two years younger for me just because she got a larger portion than I did - not something you'd expect me to do, huh? - when suddenly, I got creamed out of nowhere with the blunt end of a crowbar. By the time I got up, Selles was helping the girl to her feet, asking if she was alright, making sure she hadn't dropped her food, and being generally nice. I... I couldn't understand it... and it pissed me the hell off.
Let me begin by saying that, when I get mad, it's not a pretty sight. I have a tendency to completely lose it, and, consequently, things around me have a tendency to break. Things like people. I don't recall exactly what happened, but by the time I came to my senses, I was trying to throw a freaking mining cart at the kid, and he, for his part, was beating the shit out of me with a crowbar. Suffice to say, I lost that battle.
I was still recovering from the injuries I got in my fight with Selles, so you can imagine that I was far from being at my best. So, it was no surprise that the gangs of wannabe thieves I've already mentioned decided that this was the perfect chance to knock me down a few more notches. Before I knew it, I found that I'd been surrounded and was getting beaten to a pulp for the first time in ages. But, just then, what should happen but a crowbar comes flying out of nowhere, and who but Selles steps in and starts beating people down right and left? I didn't know what to think of it. Just a few days ago, I'd been trying my hardest to beat him to a pulp, and yet he came to save me without second thoughts. But, he had helped me, so I suddenly found it rather difficult to hate him. I never understood why he helped me that day, but from that point forward, he became my closest and only friend. I tried to emulate everything he did, even though I didn't understand the meaning behind it. I spoke with as much confidence as I could muster, acted and moved with purpose, and tried to match up the inflated mental image I had of Selles. I wanted to seem larger than life, somehow, just as he did.
Perhaps, at least in part, I succeeded, because he gave to me the thing I had envied him most for: a name. The word that was now my own was a simple one, and it, itself, meant roughly the same as having no name at all... and yet, it was mine. Somehow, that made all the difference.
"Null." That was my name.
Time continued to pass, but two things remained constant. Firstly, every time I reached for the sky, I found myself growing slowly closer to the heavens. A radius of 85 centimeters was now the distance that I could spin around, almost twice the area I first recalled as being my own. Secondly, I tried to be like Selles in everything he did. Together, I'd like to think that we made the pit a better place. Or rather, I'd like to think that the reason I fought so hard was so that I could do that. But the truth was much less idealistic than that. It was because I was simply living in awe of him, walking in his shadow in the hopes of becoming as strong as he was. I didn't understand the purpose he had for his actions, but I thought that, if it had made him so strong, then I, too, would try to be a "hero" like him, so that I could obtain that same power.
But, bit by bit, I think I came to understand him a little better. I, myself, could only reach within 85 centimeters of where I spun. But, I found to my surprise that the distance of my "world" now exceeded that, for I had the 90 centimeters of Selles' grasp upon which I could suddenly rely. 175 centimeters was the radius of my "world," and to my amazement, it suddenly began to expand. With every new person we helped, another pair of hands joined our "world." Reaching out alone was hard, so my two arms joined with two more. But just four was not enough, so a circle of hands formed together.
And then, as one... we reached for the heavens.
Selles, like myself, did not believe the tales told by the overseers. Granted, he had much more reason to, as he had apparently seen the surface personally, albeit not very much of it. But, to us, who knew only the life in the pit and our circular world of interlocked arms, even his limited tales of simple, mundane, and trivial things he had observed were like the messages of an oracle delivered to us, and they inspired a confidence and a fervor that soon overflowed. Fueled by Selles' stories of the surface and their anger at being lied to all their lives, the slaves revolted one day. I don't know what started it, to be honest. Maybe somebody didn't get enough food, or someone got tired of being whipped. It didn't really matter, though. In a matter of minutes, everything was pure chaos. Overseers were beating down anybody who came into reach, slaves were leaping atop their supervisors, trying to crush them into submission through sheer numbers. And me?
I hid. Because for all my vaunted strength, I was still afraid of getting hurt. The masters seemed invincible, unstoppable oppressors who would surely crush me if I went against them. I wanted to escape, to reach the blue sky above, but I found that my fear stayed my feet. That hesitation nearly got me killed.
The overseers swept the pits, armed with real weapons instead of just their usual whips. They cut down everyone in their way who didn't surrender and submit to punishment. And then, they came to me, frozen with terror as I was. I couldn't bring myself to reject my dreams and kneel, so they methodically prepared to kill me where I stood. The sword fell, and I was sure that I would die in another second.
And then? How did I escape? What saved me from being cut to pieces then and there? You probably have already guessed that by now. In case you haven't, though, I have a feeling you won't be surprised when I tell you that the man trying to kill me found both his wrists suddenly broken by a crowbar.
"Run," Selles told me, and run I did. To this day, I'm not sure how I escaped. I ran until there was nowhere left to go but up, so I went up, climbing at least half a mile of sheer, rocky cliff, then crossing at least a dozen more miles of desert to find the civilization I'd longed for at last. I don't know how I managed. I just did it. Around the time I reached the halfway point up the cliff, the sounds of fighting down below stopped. I never looked back down to check, but I didn't have to. Without a doubt, Selles, as well as all of the other slaves who had participated in the rebellion, were killed. I knew that, but I refused to see it for myself, because I was still scared. But now... I wasn't scared of dying. Rather, I was scared of seeing, ultimately, how strong the "hero" I had idolized was. Had I seen his body with my own eyes, I don't think I'd have been able to continue trying to become stronger, seeing the way that the path had ended for one who had been, in all ways, my better. He had died in my place. I didn't understand why he did it, just like I didn't understand why he had saved me to begin with. All I knew was that he had. And that... pissed me off.
I decided then and there what my new code of beliefs would be. I wanted to understand Selles, to be like he had. And so, I continued trying to emulate my own mental image of him, even though he himself was dead. First and foremost, I wanted to become stronger, to reach my potential. But to do that, I thought that somebody else would have to pay. A bizarre sort of equivalent exchange, as it were. But, it couldn't be just anyone. Those weaker than myself were not to be further lowered for my own gain. I'd become like Selles, hunting only those who thought they were strong, but who did oppress those weaker than themselves. Any of these people who desired strength but refused to seek it in improving themselves were the enemy. Those who sought power but would not stand on the backs of the weak to gain it were my comrades. I would search out those with similar goals to myself, assemble them, and, working together, take down those above us, just as Selles had tried and failed to do before me.
In those days, I never realized that I'd missed the entire point of being a "hero." For no matter how broad I thought the radius of my world now was, unrestricted as I was by the towering cliffs of the pit... I, without wings, still fell far short of reaching the sky.
