Joe jolted as an armored man limped toward him, stumbling down the alley Joe had chosen to hide in. It was one of Joe’s colleagues—another guard from the station. His face was ghastly: pale, sickly. A familiar green had spread across his skin like a rash. His eyes rolled, unfocused, scanning the walls as he tilted and fell headfirst.

  Mustering what little courage he had, Joe crawled over and checked on the man, brushing hair from his eyes and feeling for a pulse. The guard looked up at him, as though something alien hovered above. Then slowly, his eyes began to clear, and the green receded.

  “Joe?” he asked.

  “What happened?” Joe replied. It wasn’t the perfect question, but he was desperate to keep the man talking—to keep him awake. “Where’s the pain? Are you in pain?”

  “No, no… I’m just… what’re you doing? Did I get whacked on the head or something?”

  ◇─◇──◇─◇

  A powerful hook launched Blū into the air, flailing under the night sky before he crashed back onto the road. He sprang up quickly, eyes locked on his opponent, Jug. Another swing rocketed toward him before he could even blink. Blū narrowly dodged by bending back, taking the chance to drive his knee forward.

  Crunch.

  Unsurprisingly, he dropped to the ground, his knee throbbing with pain after colliding with solid metal.

  Jug kicked him in the back, sending him rolling a meter down the road.

  “Whahaha! Blū, come on. Give me something to work with. My hopes were so high.”

  Blū glared at the ground, teeth grinding. His hands and feet pulsed from wounds—punch after punch, kick after kick.

  “Like an ant trying to crack a brick, you can do nothing,” Jug said, striding confidently toward him. “Strength alone will only take you so far. You need people backing you.”

  His aura darkened, pulsing with an uneasy rhythm. Surath’s presence… Jug was basking in it.

  “Don’t get pissy just because we found him. He can help you too, if you let him.”

  Blū spat a chunk of blood and coughed up spit just to clear his voice. “Don’t pretend he cares about us. You know what his being here means.”

  “Death? You think I don’t know?” Jug clicked his tongue. “Death comes for all of us. Who cares if it all disappears, so long as there’s some pleasure in it? Tell me, do you even enjoy being a hero?”

  “I never said I was.”

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  “Oh? Maybe you should stop puffing your chest so much, then.”

  Blū rubbed his head, trying to shake the fog clouding his mind.

  “You say I’m blind to the truth,” Jug went on. “Yet you can’t even admit what you’re trying to be.”

  Blū sat up, straightening his back in a half-formed stance.

  Jug sighed. “If you’re no hero, then walk away. Do yourself the favor.”

  “Ha! We both know it can’t end like that.”

  “Then show me, boy… are you a hero or not?”

  ◇─◇──◇─◇

  12 years ago

  Blū was so sure he wanted to leave with Figree, Crit, and the rest of the party he hadn’t even met yet. So, so very sure. But still, he found himself staring longingly up at the Tinkerring dojo. He could hear the chants of the masters and the grunts of the students. He would’ve given everything to that place… if they’d let him. But now, that effort would go to the crew he’d pledged himself to. That passion would go into his work as a hero, and he’d become someone. Someone worthy of respect.

  His breath caught as someone on the hill locked eyes with him—Master Silver, the man who’d sent him away. Blū felt a flicker of resentment. But for some strange reason, he couldn’t hold on to it. He could only replay their last meeting in his mind, again and again, trying to make sense of it. Maybe there was no answer. Maybe the man just didn’t like him. Plenty of people Blū had met felt the same.

  Silver didn’t look away. It was Blū who turned and walked off, weaving through the streets toward the meeting place with his new party. They were supposed to have lunch, then head out toward the walls. Blū had snuck into the city, so he’d never figured out the proper way in or out. The whole system was complicated—gears and platforms elevating people up and down.

  Mearly popped into his mind, no matter how hard he tried to push her away. He wanted to see her again, to tell her how amazing he was about to become. But that wasn’t the way to go about it, he’d decided. When he saw her again, it would be as a great hero. Even so… he wanted to say goodbye. He pushed the feeling down again.

  After spotting the tavern he’d been told to look for, Blū did his best to recall the route from there. The streets were coated in grime. Thankfully, the people he passed didn’t seem like the gang type. Not the greatest reassurance, but it did something to settle his nerves.

  He knew he was in the right place when he turned a corner and was met by a sea of blue flowers scattered across a well-kept field. He found himself smiling—a welcome reflex after a stressful morning. Along the street beside the field, Blū saw a man sitting on a short wall, smoking from a cheap pipe. He had greasy grey hair and triangular bags under his eyes. Tall and skinny, wearing a brown knee-length coat that looked only half-washed. The man didn’t even notice Blū until he was right in front of him. Then he gave a passive, slightly irritated glance.

  “Are you with Figree?” Blū asked.

  The man took a moment to process the question. “Huh…? Oh. Yeah. Yes, I’m with him. I’m guessing you’re joining us?”

  Blū nodded.

  “Alright,” the man said with a smile, pointing to an alley a few steps away. “Walk down there.”

  Blū did as instructed, moving forward anxiously, one step at a time. Each step felt weighty—like the last steps of this life. Once he turned that corner, he’d meet his adventuring party. Friends he’d know for years to come. Together, they’d become strong heroes. He picked up the pace, too excited to bask in the moment’s significance. He skipped past the corner and opened his eyes wide, hoping to burn the image into memory.

  Strange, dangerous-looking men held Crit and two other boys in ropes, their mouths gagged. In a heartbeat, all the life drained from Blū’s body, leaving behind a hollow, frozen shell. He stared in horror, his ‘new life’ shattering before him. One of the men he recognized—Figree. His face was dull, save for a slight, unsettling smile. His eyes were so lifeless they looked black.

  A strong, blunt force struck the back of Blū’s head, slamming him to the cold ground.