"Wake up, dear rising Sun!"

  In the shadowed alleys of Solthar, a land of secrets and steam, a fifteen-year-old Sol clung to his dreams like a fragile thread of fate. He laid sprawled on the cobblestones, the bitter taste of blood mingling with the grime in his tightly shut mouth. He had left the underground city of the Solthar to buy food, as Madam had so kindly requested of him. Maybe even sign up for the competition that had plastered itself on the dirty brick walls. When he saw it, Sol wondered if it was the key to escape from the chains of the orphanage that held him captive, or even the very city that held him in like a cage.

  The city.

  Oh, how he was sick of the smoke clogging his lungs. He hated the land, he hated being confined in the darkness of the underground. The sky was obscured, he could only imagine the blue in his dreams. Even that was faded and blurred. Each time he opened his eyes, he was met with brass pipes, gas lamps and steam hissing in anger. Amidst the bustle, people cough as they walked. The poverty sat deep in the heart of the city, the great Cathedral of Sun sat in the center, and the filthy rich folks, as he referred to them, dominate that space. But Sol was never that lucky to be among those. A simple, poor boy who lived in the small orphanage funded by the followers of the Sun, run down by the very grasp of poverty and located in the underground city, right where he slipped out from.

  People moved through the haze in patched coats and leather aprons, their faces smeared with ash and copper dust. Shadows passed by the shrouded alley, where the pipes ran through walls like exposed nerves of the city. The sun rose, yet it was concealed behind the smog and dense clouds. Ironic, for a land that praised the Sun, it never gazed down at the people of Solthar.

  Not even once, even if a kid was bleeding out in the alley.

  "There has been a rise in missing person reports lately." One voice spoke among the passerby's, reaching the boy's ears.

  "Oh dear. It’s best not to go out past dusk..."

  "Why do you want to participate, you orphan!?"

  "Go back to the sewers!"

  Sol believed himself to be strong but he could barely stand up anymore, and the people did not choose look this way. As if a bloodied up kid was not of any concern to anybody.

  From the entrance of the alley, a small figure emerged, running to him. A very familiar face with concern lacing it.

  One of the boys with chubby cheeks turns and yelled, "What are you doing here passing by? Can’t you see it’s occupied!"

  His fellows agreed with a murmur.

  "Turn away right now!" Another boy yelled rather offendedly.

  Yet, he ran, not paying them any heed. His eyes were locked to Sol: the young boy with messy dark hair and eyes that could rival the colors of golden flames.

  "Hey!" One of them yelled again, and the other runs to kick the newcomer but he side steps. The attacker fell flat on the concrete, blood trickling from his nose and scaring him from the sight of sudden red beneath him. Sol watched the nameless hero land a square punch onto the chubby boy’s face and the group of bullies immediately ushered away.

  "Finn... What are you doing here?" Sol coughed, sides aching from the kicks. Finn worried for him like a mother hen, helping him stand up and leading him out the dirty alley. He limped, but followed without a complain. Finn, as he called him, does not hurry him.

  "I was waiting for you at the market, and you were late." He smiled, softly. To that, Sol doesn't say much, simply hanging by his side as Finnian guided him through the streets.

  It took a long walk, and one that was difficult considering how slow that had been. Eventually, the city became thinner, the density of smog thinned out as they passed through the streets akin to a labyrinth. Lesser people roamed the edge as Finnian slowly lead them out. Sol attempted to limp faster, not to keep his friend occupied with him for long. It was futile, as he just groaned in pain, concerning the other boy even more.

  It took them from the never ending cluster of buildings out to a grass field. The road ended, and there was a simple path taken by travelers and merchants. At a further distance was a lone dense tree within the grass field. Besides it, a small, cottage sat among the golden grass. When they eventually reach the cottage, the sun was already in the highest point, and Sol looked up to see it's rays slip through the clouds. The smog hadn't completely left them behind, as he wished, but it was thinner out here. He preferred that.

  The cottage was small, yet comfortable as they entered it. In it was a modest sized kitchen, a living room that consisted of a single worn out couch alongside a wooden table, and a bedroom that the Granny stays in most of the time. Granny Lethea—an old woman who would let them stay at her place, though he didn't remember the first time they had met her, just that Finnian and him had been visiting the golden fields often— and someone who always claimed she was close to passing than living another day.

  In return, they would keep her company. Sol hadn't asked how his friend had encountered this woman when he was brought here for a first time, but a comforting sight of a lovely cottage sparked something, and thus, the two children would spend their afternoons alongside the old woman. She would ask Finnian to leave with her a single book each time they left. Sol wondered if she had read each book enough times without getting bored of rotating between them. But then, her memory wasn't the best.

  Occasionally, Finnian would wipe her face and feeds her medicine that she had forgotten to take on her own. Then, the old lady would worry he is wasting his time on someone on the death bed, but Finnian could only respond with nothing.

  Sol gladly greeted her, as Finnian scurries around to look for a rag and some band aids for his wounds. She called him a young boy and asked Finnian to make him tea. Her memory was hazy, but she made sure to remember Finnian. Which was a gamble with Sol, sometimes she would call him with different names, sometimes she would ask for his name, other times she would greet him with a warm smile and his name.

  Sol, personifying the sun.

  The old woman chuckled and indulged in a small talk when he took his place on the chair. He told her about his day, skipping the part where bullies had gotten to him. His days were never really eventful, what would there be in the underground city?

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  She soon closed her eyes for a nap.

  "I do close my eyes to dream about walking through these fields." She mutterd, more to herself than him, almost forgetting he was there.

  "Well, we can take you there. I am quite strong!" He grins as Finnian presses a rag on his cheek rather harshly.

  "Hmm… child, it’s different, but I do appreciate your… enthusiasm."

  Heat rose to his face, and he scratched the side of his face. "I only meant…"

  "My legs." She continues, "I lost them to that flesh eating curse."

  He tilted his head, searching his memory, recalling what he had learned in the orphanage’s lessons. The flesh eating curse of Arkansis was known as a storm that swept everything in it’s wake. Like a calamity, it took everything from people, animals, livestock and even crops. It plagued villages, not letting anyone survive in that distant nation. Now, it only existed in books and whispers.

  "I would travel so much, that each time I dream, I dream of traveling back to Telmoria." She whispers a name he does not recognize even if he strains his memory once more. Before he can ask her, she had already slipped into a dreamland.

  Sol looked up to see his friend leaving the room, and followed Finnian out.

  "Thank you, Finn," he said sincerely. For everything.

  "Don’t make it weird. You’re my friend. Friends don’t need thank-yous." Finnian responded with a snort, and stuck his tongue.

  "Well… you could atleast show me how you punched those bullies?" Sol lifted a finger to his chin, pondering. "Looked easy when you did it... I can never get one punch right…"

  "How could I? I was just mad at those annoying kids." He said as if he wasn’t one himself, and Sol giggled at that. "My fists moved faster than my brain. Don’t copy me unless you want broken knuckles!" Finnian disagreed, telling him it was just a worry that made him fight the bullies away.

  "Still. I should know how to defend myself. Bullies aren’t the only ones out there." He's quieter now, but Finnian heard him anyways. "And I’ll need it for the Trials."

  The Trials of the Sun are a sanctioned bloodsport, run by the city-state of Solthar under the followers of the Sun. They are celebrated as a sacred tradition, a way to purify the unworthy and exalt the chosen ones.

  "You’re obsessed. First learn how to throw a rock straight, then we’ll talk about coliseums and glory," he added. "Let us go to the marketplace before it's late. You had to buy something did you not? Madam would be furious if we are late."

  Sol nodded happily. He was sure, as long as Finnian was by his side, no bully would look his way. A little wrathful gaze from the hero of justice would send them scurrying away like flies.

  "Yeah! Let’s go! With you next to me, no one’s dumb enough to try anything anyways!" With that, they are gone with the wind, leaving behind the granny sleeping in her lone cottage.

  As always, the boys come back the next day, and the next day. In Sol’s eyes, the cottage sat with a stillness that defiesd time against the rush within the city. It was strange, yet so calming.

  One afternoon, slipping through the back door, Sol found a sack of flour propped up against the wall. Seeing it, a mischievous grin tugged at him. With a bit of rope and some wood to make it stand, it became a makeshift dummy. He patted the soft, sagging shoulder, testing its weight, and stepped back into a fighter’s stance.

  He was here earlier than his friend, using a branch to beat up a sack. Granny Lethea sat on the chair today, a book in her hands, but her eyes remained on the boy.

  "Off to save the world young man?" She broke the silence, "Are you defeating a dragon or an evil god?"

  "If I had to choose, it'd be… an evil god! Like some abyssal-wraith as a god!" He raised his sword up in the sky, before dropping in down harshly onto the poor sack.

  Each time he showed up past dawn, Lethea accompanied him off to practice fighting at the back of the cottage. He was surprisingly decent at it—as good as a child could be. By the time it was close to sunset his small arms would ache, trembling from the effort. Sol does not know much, but he liked swinging a thick branch around, pretending to be a hero in one of those many fantasy books he would read with the children in the orphanage.

  "I didn't expect to see you here so often. After all, you would get bored laying around." One day, Finnian found him there on a hot afternoon. And after weeks of constant abuse that the sack has faced, it was fairly weak and torn from the sides. But Sol doesn’t relent, swinging once down onto it.

  "Well, I do get bored, but it's better than being at the busy marketplace." He grinned, wiping sweat from his chin and throwing his makeshift weapon on the grass, "This place… it is very peaceful… as if the time has stopped."

  The two sit in the shade until the sky begins to glow with evening. Then Sol turns to him.

  "Come with me tomorrow—to the marketplace. It won’t be the same without you."

  "Of course. We’ll go together, like always." Finnian gave him an equally toothy smile, nodding without hesitation.

  · ? ·

  A few days later, when young Sol arrived, he found the old Granny Lethea sitting by the table in the far corner of her tiny kitchen, a square table by the window framed by wood and vines, with two chairs on either side. She occupied one. In the modest house, it was an equally tiny space, yet it so comfortable. It felt like a home, unlike that orphanage he must return to—that felt unfamiliar, as if he never had belonged there. Perhaps that was why he found his feet dragging him here every time. He took a chair in front of her and watched her arrange pieces of paper. He hadn't gone directly to the small garden to beat up the evil god as he always did.

  "What are these?" Sol asked, leaning forward with a childlike curiosity.

  "Charms," she answered, as if remembering the stories behind them as she picked up one, "This one heals."

  It is a small, long, narrow slip of parchment, no bigger than the size of a palm. On it, there's writing he did not recognize. He gazed at it, as the old woman lifted another to show.

  Charms were magical pieces of paper that could summon powers to do as the the swielder wished. Though, uncommon, magic drifted in the world of "". Some were blessed by gods, other used magical items to channel power.

  "Luminara's light," she commented at the page glittering with the colors of pale light.

  He tilted his head in question. He has heard that name before, but it started far from that memory. He did not ask her, and she lifted a third parchment wordlessly. This one had a golden shimmer beneath the Sun’s light, slightly different from the previous two.

  "A charm blessed by the Sun. They were given to me by a companion when I first departed on my travels…" She does not look as she slides it toward him. "Now, I give it to you, child."

  He waved his hands around, panicked and flustered at the sudden gift. "No, Granny Lethea. I have no need for such important thing."

  The paper shone with golden intricate writing he could not read, but felt it. It’s a warm calling, and he decided to accept the gift after she insisted. He froze, then slowly let his fingers close around it. As he touched it, he felt the pulses of energy—a gentle caress of the sunlit morning, of dawn.

  "This charm is no trinket, boy. You know magic is never free. If I give it, you must promise me something in return."

  Sol swallowed. His throat felt tight. Promises were heavy things; at the orphanage, he’d learned not to believe in them. Children his age would promise him dessert in exchange for work, and then betray him… His grimaced at the memory. Yet when the warmth tugged at him, curling up his arm, the parchment glowed once.

  "Speak your oath, or return it to the table."

  "I—I swear... to only use it only when it matters most." Sol vowed, and to his surprise, the parchment flared once, sealing the vow.

  His eyes widened at the sudden flare of the charm. He had heard of magic doing strange things all the time, of course, who hadn’t? It was there in the whispers of stories, faint promises from priests and beggars alike. But this was different. This was real.

  "It’s—It’s glowing." His voice cracked, laced with surprise and panic.

  "Then it is yours to keep." Granny Lethea replied with a nod, leaning back in her chair. "Keep it close to your heart. You will need it someday, eventually."