a man is born

The cave reeked of damp stone, rotting wood, and the sour stench of unwashed bodies. Torchlight flickered weakly against the jagged walls, casting long, shifting shadows across the prisoners huddled together like cattle.

Men, women, and children—all of them stolen from Castle Grave—sat with their backs pressed against the cold rock, their eyes hollow, their bodies bruised and starved. Some had chains binding their ankles, others had thick collars locked around their throats.

They were to be sold to Atlantis.

Roadie strolled through the cave, stepping over discarded bones and half-eaten scraps. The bandits around him drank and laughed, sharpening their weapons or dividing up stolen loot.

He stopped when one of his men handed him a sealed letter.

"The hell is this?" Roadie muttered, turning it over in his hands. A red wax seal bore the insignia of a noble house—one he didn't recognize.

His brows furrowed.

Reading was never his thing.

He scowled, turning to his men. "Any of you lot can read?"

The bandits exchanged awkward glances. Some scratched their heads, others chuckled.

"If we could read, we wouldn't be bandits, boss," one of them snorted.

Another chimed in, "Yeah, we'd probably be tax collectors or something."

The group burst into laughter.

Roadie sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Bunch of illiterate bastards."

Then—

A small, thin voice spoke up.

"I… I can read."

Roadie's gaze snapped toward the prisoners.

A boy stepped forward, his movements slow and hesitant. His long, white hair hung over his face, almost hiding his sunken, tired brown eyes. His wrists were bound with thick, rusted cuffs, far too heavy for his frail arms. His ribs were faintly visible beneath the dirt-stained rags he wore, a clear sign of days—maybe weeks—without proper food.

Roadie tilted his head, intrigued.

"You?" he scoffed. "You can read?"

The boy nodded.

"And what's your name, kid?"

The boy hesitated before answering, "Zander."

Roadie chuckled, amused. He flicked the letter onto the ground near the boy's feet.

"Pick it up and read it, then."

Zander, his movements stiff from malnourishment, bent down and grabbed the letter. His cuffs clanked against the floor as he adjusted his grip and carefully unfolded the parchment.

He cleared his throat, then began reading aloud.

"To the great Roadie,"

"A cart is going from Castle Grave to Storm Watch. Send your men to intercept it, and we can split the goods. Of course, you get the bigger piece. We'll meet at Black Mountain five days from now."

"—Baron Traud."

The cave was silent for a moment.

Roadie whistled, genuinely impressed. "Huh. Not bad, kid. Where'd you learn to read?"

Zander hesitated, his grip tightening on the parchment.

"My father was a teacher," he said softly. "He ran a small school in Storm Watch."

Roadie raised a brow. "A schoolteacher's son, huh? Then how'd you end up here?"

Zander's expression darkened.

"He died of sickness," he muttered. "And my mother… sold me off for some money."

A few bandits snorted in amusement, but Roadie didn't laugh.

For the briefest second, something **flashed in his eyes—**something that almost resembled pity.

Then, just as quickly, he smirked.

"You got nowhere to go, then?"

Zander shook his head.

Roadie leaned down, grinning. "Then how 'bout you join us?"

Zander's fingers twitched.

Roadie's grin widened. "You're smart, kid. A bandit crew could use someone who can read and write. Better than rotting away as a slave, yeah?"

Zander looked up, his pale blue eyes dull and unreadable. Then, slowly, he nodded.

"Alright," he murmured. "I'll join."

Roadie clapped him on the back, laughing. "Good choice, kid! Welcome to the winning side."

As the bandits cheered and raised their drinks, Zander simply lowered his head.

His chains remained just as heavy.

But before he could celebrate, Zander spoke again.

"This is a trap, this letter is a trap" the boy said flatly shaking the letter .

The cave fell into silence.

Roadie's expression darkened. His men shifted uneasily.

"Hah?" Roadie scoffed, folding his arms. "And what makes you say that, brat?"

Zander lifted the letter, tilting it slightly. "Look at the writing," he explained. "The strokes aren't smooth. It looks like someone forced him to write it. And the ink… see how it's uneven? Like his hands were shaking."

Roadie's grin faded. He took a step closer, snatching the letter back and squinting at it. Now that the kid mentioned it, the ink did look a little off.

"Well," Roadie muttered, "just 'cause of those two things, we can't say for sure he's lying."

Zander shrugged, his face emotionless. "You're the boss. Do as you like. I'm just your henchman now."

Roadie chuckled, shaking his head. Smart brat.

"Fine," he said, tossing the letter onto the ground. "I'll keep that in mind."

later that night 

The cave was alive with laughter and drunken cheers. The bandits had built a large bonfire in the center, the flames casting flickering shadows along the jagged walls. Meat roasted on a spit, barrels of stolen wine were cracked open, and the stench of sweat and alcohol thickened the air. Tonight, they were celebrating their newest recruit—Zander.

But the boy himself wasn't part of the revelry.

While the others drank and sang, Zander sat in a corner, flipping through the pages of an old, tattered book. His thin fingers traced the faded words, his expression unreadable as he focused on the text, ignoring the chaos around him.

One of the bandits, his breath heavy with alcohol, staggered toward him.

"Oi, kid," he slurred, taking a swig from his cup. "Why ain't ya joinin' us? We're throw in' this whole party for you, y'know?"

Zander didn't look up. "I don't want to drink," he muttered, turning another page.

The bandit snorted, shaking his head. "What a weird little bastard," he mumbled before stumbling away to rejoin the others.

Across the cave, Roadie watched the exchange with amusement. After finishing his own drink, he got up and sauntered over to Zander, stopping just in front of him.

"You," Roadie said, his voice laced with authority. "Drink."

Zander finally looked up, his silver eyes dull under his messy bangs.

"No," he replied flatly.

Roadie smirked. "That wasn't a request, brat. It's an order."

For a moment, Zander remained still, his gaze locked onto Roadie's. Then, with a quiet sigh, he took the cup from his hand, lifted it to his lips, and took a single sip.

His face twisted in disgust.

"Bitter," he muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Roadie chuckled, amused by the boy's reaction. "Come with me," he said, turning toward the cave's entrance.

Zander hesitated but eventually got up and followed.

The night stretched vast and silent, the sky a blanket of stars shimmering above them. A cool breeze carried the distant sounds of insects and rustling leaves, a stark contrast to the rowdy celebration still echoing from inside the cave.

Roadie stretched out on the boulder, hands behind his head, looking relaxed. Zander stood nearby, arms crossed, his silver hair swaying slightly in the wind. His eyes, sharp and unreadable, studied Roadie with mild irritation.

"Why'd you bring me out here?" Zander finally asked.

Roadie smirked. "Relax, kid. Just wanted to talk."

Zander narrowed his eyes. "About what?"

Roadie glanced at him, then at the book in his hands. "You always got your nose buried in those pages." He tapped his temple. "That brain of yours is sharp, no doubt. But don't you think you're missing something?"

Zander scoffed. "Like what?"

Roadie grinned. "Like knowing how to survive." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Book knowledge ain't everything, kid. Sure, it makes you smart, but it won't stop a blade from carving into your gut."

Zander's grip on the book tightened. "So what? You think brute strength is everything?"

Roadie laughed. "Nah, I ain't saying that. But out here, in this world, just knowing stuff won't save your ass. You need to know how to fight, how to defend yourself. You gotta get your hands dirty."

Zander's gaze flickered, unreadable. He looked down at his own thin arms, then back at Roadie. "I know how to survive," he muttered.

Roadie raised a brow. "Oh? Then tell me, what would you do if someone came at you with a dagger right now?"

Zander hesitated.

Roadie smirked. "Exactly. You don't know." He leaned back. "Look, I get it. You're smart. Smarter than most of the dumbasses in that cave. But all that knowledge means jack if you don't have the strength to use it."

Zander frowned, his silver hair shifting in the wind. "Then what do you suggest?"

Roadie grinned. "Simple. I'll teach you how to fight."

Zander blinked, caught off guard.

"You got a sharp mind, kid," Roadie continued. "Now imagine if you had the skills to back it up. You could be dangerous—really dangerous."

Zander was quiet for a moment, staring down at his book. Finally, he closed it and tucked it under his arm.

"...Fine," he muttered. "But if I don't see the point in this, I'm stopping."

Roadie laughed, slapping him on the back. "That's the spirit! Now c'mon, let's start with something simple. Ever thrown a punch before?"

Zander sighed. "This is going to be annoying, isn't it?"

Roadie grinned. "Oh, you have no idea."