CHAPTER 1: A Boy with Nothing

Rivermere, a dark, crime-ridden metropolitan landscape situated in the middle of nowhere. In this little town, strength was currency. Status was measured by how strong an individual is. But unfortunately, the higher ranking citizens, instead of ensuring the development of the town, they turned to a life of oppression. Enslaving the weak and killing off the weaker for entertainment. Survival of the fittest was the motto of this corrupt society.

One noisy night, a child was born, not in the way most children were—ordinary and expected—but in a way that made the world crueler.

His father, Emmett Jackson, was a blacksmith, built like the anvil he worked with. His arms were thick as tree trunks, his hands calloused and burned from years of shaping iron. He had once been known as the strongest man in Rivermere. His mother, Miriam, had been a beauty in her youth, with dark auburn hair and piercing green eyes, though they had long since dulled from exhaustion.

When Miriam gave birth, the midwife frowned. "Small thing, isn't he?" she muttered under her breath.

Emmett scoffed when he held his son for the first time. "Scrawny," he said. "This thing can't be mine."

Miriam said nothing.

The midwife added, "So what's his name going to be"

Emmett retorted, "I don't have time for this, Miriam will take care of that" The midwife immediately turned to Miriam as Emmett stormed out, "So..."

Miriam spouted, "Let's just call him Devon" The nurse, filled with confusion, asked, "Why so?","It doesn't really matter. Just get this over with.", Miriam retorted.

A couple of years later...

Devon grew, but he never grew enough. His lean and scrawny-looking stature made everyone who laid eyes on him immediately know how weak he was. This made it hard for him to even associate with the other kids. While the others ran wild through the town, climbing trees, wrestling in the fields, taking numerous tests to show their impeccable strength, Devon struggled just to keep up. His status as the son of the once strongest man in Rivermere worsened his case. Anytime he tried to join a group of friends, they pushed him aside.

"Stay out of the way, runt."

"I cant believe your dad is The Emetome, a weakling like you cant possibly be related to him"

"You're too slow, Devon."

"You'll just lose."

Devastated with everything around him, he decide, maybe the best option is to work harder to grow stronger, just like his father. He tried to carry heavy buckets from the well, but his arms burned after only a few steps. He tried chopping wood behind the blacksmith shop, but even when he put all his weight into the swing, the axe barely sank into the bark. Emmett, utterly disappointed in the complete mess his wife had created, he failed to see Devon as his successor.

One evening, Emmett watched him struggle. Devon could feel his father's eyes on him, drilling into his back like a branding iron. He gritted his teeth, lifting the axe again.

"I can do it," he muttered under his breath.

But when he swung, the axe slipped from his sweaty fingers, landing uselessly in the dirt.

His father exhaled through his nose. "You'll never be anything. H-How?! How did I give birth to such a mistake?!! How??!!"

Devon turned, shame burning through him. "I—"

"Shut it!! You were born weak," Emmett said as he drew closer to his son. He look him straight in the eye, "And weak is all you'll ever be."

Devon wanted to argue. His face took a mixed expression of anger and disappointment. He wanted to say that he could be strong if only his father would teach him. But what was the point? He could see the disappointment in his father's eyes.

Devon was a burden.

His earliest memories were of the forge—of the choking heat, the clanging hammers, and the ever-present scent of molten metal that clung to his father like a second skin. Emmett was a man of iron, both in craft and in heart. He had no patience for weakness, no tolerance for mistakes. And Devon, to his great disappointment, was nothing but mistakes.

The boy was small for his age, his limbs thin and frail compared to the broad-shouldered apprentices who worked under his father's command. He lacked the strength to swing a hammer properly, the endurance to keep up with the long hours, and most of all, the obedience to remain silent when reprimanded. Emmett had tried to make something of him, but Devon had never been enough. Never strong enough. Never obedient enough. Never the son his father had wanted.

"Worthless," Ferris had muttered under his breath more times than Devon could count. "The boy's got nothing."

And maybe it was true. Because Devon had no gift for the forge, no aptitude for the work that had defined his family for generations. He was weak.

One dark and breezy evening, Devon, who had recently turned twenty, sat by the Rivermere pier staring into the sunset. Even though, he was still weak, he built up a little muscle and began to look more attractive. He sat by the lake, recounting his past and questioning his life choices, torn between taking his own life and fleeing the village. He raised his head towards the setting sun and begins to tear up.

"Why?...How did I end up in this place?" He asked, sobbing silently.

Suddenly, he spots a suspicious figure wearing a cloak with a symbol which seem to be a circled letter A. The figure slowly headed towards the town square. Devon decided to follow him. After a couple of hours, he notices a lady in white walk out of a house. Suddenly, she took off running. Devon stood filled with confusion as he watched the figure dash after her.

Contemplating whether to leave them be or to follow along, his mind clouded, his body responded to his rush of adrenaline and he dashed after them.....

NEXT- CHAPTER 2: New "Friends?"