Part1: Beginning

The rain hit harder than usual that morning. It was the kind of cold that clung to the skin, seeped into the bones, and stayed there. Felix Reygal trudged down the sidewalk, his head bowed low, his fists clenched inside the thin pockets of his worn-out jacket. The fabric was damp, smelling faintly of mildew and iron. The latter wasn't the rain's fault.

A fresh cut ran across his cheekbone, crimson crusting at the edges. His lip was split, swollen, the taste of copper still sharp on his tongue. The rest of him ached—a deep, raw ache that had long become familiar. It was hard to remember a time when he didn't hurt.

Ahead, the school loomed like a concrete beast, grey and indifferent. Felix tightened his jaw, inhaling deeply through his nose as if steeling himself for war. In many ways, it was.

The hallway was already bustling by the time he stepped inside, a cacophony of laughter and footsteps echoing off the tiled floors. He felt their eyes before he saw them—hungry, predatory stares tracking his every move.

"Hey, look who decided to show up!"

Felix didn't need to turn around to know who it was. Marco Brenshaw, the ringleader of the pack, leaned lazily against the lockers, his grin sharp and full of malice.

"Must be a new record. What's it been, three days since you last cried home to Mommy?" Marco sneered, his tone dripping with mockery.

Felix kept walking.

"Oi! I'm talking to you, loser."

A heavy shove to his shoulder sent him staggering into the lockers. Felix hissed as the metal dug into his ribs, but he didn't fight back. Fighting back only made it worse.

"Let's see what you've got in the bag today, huh?" Marco's hands were already tugging at the straps of Felix's backpack.

"No, wait—" Felix's voice broke as he tried to pull it back, but another boy—Dean, maybe?—grabbed his arms, yanking them behind his back.

The sound of his bag hitting the floor was followed by the harsh rip of the zipper. His books, papers, and a small, battered chessboard spilled out.

"Aw, look at this!" Marco picked up the chessboard with exaggerated care, turning it over in his hands. "Didn't know you were such a nerd, Reygal."

"Give it back," Felix muttered, barely above a whisper.

"What was that?" Marco stepped closer, leaning down so that his face was inches from Felix's. His breath stank of mint gum and cruelty. "Speak up, freak."

"I said… give it back!" Felix's voice cracked as he yanked his arms free, lunging for the chessboard. For a moment, he thought he had it—his fingers brushed the edge—but Marco was faster.

With a cruel laugh, Marco slammed the chessboard against the floor. The wood splintered, pieces scattering in every direction.

Felix froze.

"Oops," Marco said, feigning innocence. The laughter of the group around him was deafening.

Something inside Felix twisted, sharp and hot. His vision blurred, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. He dropped to his knees, frantically gathering the broken pieces.

"Careful now," Marco said, kicking one of the pawns further down the hallway. "Wouldn't want to lose your only friend."

They walked away, their laughter echoing long after they were gone.

Felix sat there, his hands trembling as he cradled the broken chessboard. His heart pounded in his chest, his breaths coming short and fast. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, but it wouldn't go away.

It never did.