3 Riftborn

"Imyat, go home," Botyoc snapped. The pesky little girl refused to leave him alone, and the last thing he needed was a dim-witted youngling to slow him down. He was already running late for his shift at the factory, and the overseer wouldn't be thrilled to see him bring someone who likely needed babysitting.

"No," the tiny girl protested. "I can push button, too."

Botyoc's mouth snapped open as he readied a retort, and then quickly closed. She had a point. Although the hours were long at his job, the labor wasn't really complicated. Pushing buttons quite aptly summed up his entire workload. Unless the Techs failed, even the five-year-old would probably be able to handle herself.

"Nonsense." Botyoc waved a finger at her. "The machines are dangerous. If you are not careful, your hand can get caught in the gears, and you'll get pulled in." He leaned his face in close to hers for emphasis. "And get ground up into little bits so that no one will be able to identify your body." He rotated the knuckles of a closed fist into an open palm for emphasis.

Little Imyat didn't even flinch at first, and for a few seconds, Botyoc was impressed by her fortitude. Then, with watery eyes, she clamped her arms around his legs and sobbed uncontrollably. "You are kid too," she let out between fits of tears.

"Imyat." Botyoc coughed uncomfortably, as people passing by shot him amused looks. "Imyat," he repeated, gentler this time. The little girl looked up at him, the sides of her mouth turned down almost comically, tears leaking from her eyes . "If I take you with me, you're going to be there for hours."

The girl simply returned a very blank look.

"And you can't touch anything, or I will get in a lot of trouble."

Once again, no response.

"You will be so bored. It's really boring there, I promise!" Botyoc exclaimed, hoping to deter the girl. Despite his best efforts, Imyat's eyes now brimmed with hope, and Botyoc knew he had lost the battle. "Fine," he conceded, and was rewarded with a gleeful squeal. He bent down and, with a grunt, lifted Imyat over his head.

Little Imyat cheered as her legs dangled over Botyoc's shoulders. Despite his young age, Botyoc had a sturdy frame, a benefit of the tussles he often found himself in. As he walked, Imyat held on to his long black hair.

Anjat always wanted him to cut it short, claiming that leaving it long could only give his enemies the edge in a fight. Botyoc knew she was right, of course, but the extra length kept his neck warm.

Zone 1407 was a contested territory in the North that lay between the Industrial Zone 1404 and Residential Zone 1409, where the Sigben Gang hideout resided. Whenever Botyoc felt adventurous or simply itched for a fight, he'd make a beeline straight to the other side. But on this day, his good judgment prevailed, and he took a detour through Bacunawa territory. With a certain stubborn bag of joy on his shoulders, it made sense to travel safely.

The Bacunawa and Sigben Gangs had been on good terms for as long as Botyoc could remember. At the very least, the alliance pre-dated the oldest surviving member of either gang. Although Zone 1406 was a marketing district, the merchants there always had an amendable understanding with the Bacunawa. Although a few of the newer members got caught stealing every so often, most of the orphans served as messengers and delivery boys.

The buildings in this zone were often taller than two stories. Being the commercial hub for the nine surrounding population centers, the trades brought with it wealth as well as access to material called "cement." Without any room to expand outward, the people naturally built toward the sky. Aside from several large open areas littered with stores, most of the zone was lined with tall buildings, creating dark alleyways.

"Is that your girlfriend?" a voice asked, creeping up behind Botyoc as he walked down one of the many deserted alleyways the merchants used to store merchandise they found impossible to sell.

"You are always so original," Botyoc mused with a smirk as a lean-looking boy appeared from behind a trash pile. "Bocboc." He acknowledged the Bacunawa Gang enforcer with a polite nod. It wasn't that he was afraid, of course; Botyoc could easily take the newcomer on should a fight break out, but it never hurt to be political. Besides, his older sister had told him to "play nice."

The Bacunawa circled around slowly, carefully examining Botyoc's body. After a few silent moments, the enforcer's face tightened in thought, which, considering his brutish looks, made his face look extremely amusing. While Botyoc had the good sense to choke back his reaction, Imyat simply did what any small child would. She pointed directly at Bocboc's face, and laughed.

Botyoc felt himself about to follow Imyat's example, so he quickly broke the tension. "Well now, Bocboc, aren't you getting a little too close and personal right in front of my girlfriend?" he joked.

"Ewwwww," Imyat responded, prompting Botyoc to slap her little arm playfully.

Bocboc took a large step forward, and ended up inches from Botyoc. The two boys sized each other up in continued silence that slowly became painful. This awkward standoff continued for moments, until Imyat got bored, and kicked the Bacunawa in the chin.

Instead of getting angry, Bocboc's face lit up with a smile. "I heard you got totally fucked up by two of the Bacucang boys," he teased while giving Imyat's small yet chubby legs a playful squeeze. "That their handiwork?" he asked, pointing to the long mark on Botyoc's face.

"Anjat." Botyoc shrugged.

Bocboc grinned. "Your sis is so—"

Botyoc interrupted his friend, knowing perfectly well the kind of generic joke Bocboc would crack. "Don't, my friend; you know I am obligated to fight you to defend her honor. I'm sure Imyat here would make a great bludgeon," he joked, ignoring Imyat's protests. "I'm late for work."

Without another word, Bocboc gestured for the pair to follow.

The rest of the journey through the zone proved to be much less eventful, thanks to the presence of one of the Bacunawas' own. Several times, passing orphans exchanged nods of acknowledgment with the enforcer but made no attempt to approach. At the edge of the zone, Bocboc waved the party to a halt.

"Don't worry about the Bacucangs, they are a bunch of spineless little shits." Bocboc attempted to poke Botyoc in the ribs, causing the Sigben to take a step back. "Wow, you probably got some serious bruises under that shirt, huh?" The enforcer chuckled.

"All right, what do you want, man?" Botyoc asked. His friend was acting rather strangely.

Bocboc cast a look around before asking in a lowered voice, "Are you going to the Tryout?"

Botyoc shook his head. He hadn't really considered it. The only Tryout he could attend, given his lack of alchemical talents and dearth of education, was the martial contest. It all just sounded like a lot of unnecessary blood, sweat, and tears. And even if he succeeded against all odds, and by some miracle survived the gruesome twelve years in the Academy, he would just become another Elite. Last time he checked, they were the enemy.

"Don't bullshit me, B. I'll see you when the big day comes. Money and power is always a good thing." Bocboc waved goodbye to Imyat, and disappeared behind a corner.

"He ugly," Imyat complained.

Bocboc's voice came echoing out from other end of the alley. "I heard that."

Botyoc smiled and continued on his way. Maybe his friend was right, perhaps the secret to his dreams lay in the West. But there wasn't any point thinking about it right now, with the Tryouts for The Academy still months away. As the boy walked, he spared a glance toward the capital briefly before factories blocked his view.

***

The Imperial City stood in the center of the Northern Kingdoms, and in the heart of this vibrant capital, the Palace of Light never seemed to dim. Encompassed within looming, unscalable walls, the Imperial Palace was over six hundred acres of prime real estate that housed the royal family and the legions of servants and soldiers such nobility demanded.

Marius strode down the long carpeted halls of the audience room, face red with anger. Six flustered advisors followed closely behind, yet none dared to overtake the riled-up young prince. Months prior, a foolish guard made the decision to get in Marius's way, and experienced firsthand the alchemical prowess of the royal bloodline.

Emperor Zus sat with regal posture atop his golden throne, and smiled with amusement. Two dozen layers of marble stacked upon one another propped up the seat of power, and added to the aura of control that came with the crown. All who came for audience with the emperor were forced to gaze upward to avoid disrespect, and it was just as the first founder had intended when building this grand palace. "How goes the trip—" he began but was promptly interrupted.

"I'm almost ten years old, Father, way too old for childish playdates," Marius snapped as he slowly came to a stop before the marble steps. "Also, don't make me talk to Lukreng ever again; she's impossible!" the prince screamed, his voice shaking with frustration.

A tense silence carpeted the whole room as the emperor slowly stood up off the throne and descended the steps. With each step the footfall echoed around the chamber. Such was his presence, even young Marius kept still, until father and son stood right next to one another. Reaching out with his right hand, Zus ruffled the prince's well-groomed blond hair. "Is that the proper way to address your father?"

Marius stomped his feet in anger, and chose to ignore the question. "She doesn't respect my authority. Her whole family picks on me, the future ruler."

Zus reached down and gently lifted Marius's chin, until their eyes met. "You can talk like a man and act with authority after you earn this," the emperor assured him, pointing to a golden pin in the shape of the Ivy Leaf that rested on his right sleeve.

"It's not like I would fail the stupid Academy," Marius protested.

"Fail?" Zus's eyebrows perked up in disapproval. "You must not settle for anything short of perfection."

"Lukreng never studies or practices."

"That's obviously not true. It's no surprise you have never managed to defeat her in a single duel," Zus returned with displeasure.

Marius whipped his head around to stare at his entourage, eager to find the person who reported such an unsavory fact to his father. Finding no one willing to meet his eyes, he turned back to the emperor and frowned. "She's a girl, of course she wins. Mother always used to protect you."

That comment drew a burst of laughter from the emperor as he picked his son up to cradle him in one arm with little effort. Deep inside, a sense of pain and loss crept up on Zus, but he quickly suppressed it. Not here, not in front of my son, he decided.

Being lifted up only served to embarrass the prince further. Luckily, everyone in the throne room was wise enough to avert their gazes, lest they draw Marius's ire later on. "True enough, that she did," Zus admitted as the prince wiggled himself loose and hopped back onto the ground.

Marius wasn't about to just let go of his frustration, as he planned on guilt tripping his father. "I will be Academy age soon," he stated casually, leaning against the emperor's legs.

"And what would you like?" the emperor humored.

"I want my own Riftborn," Marius tested hopefully.

"I have none to spare," the emperor said. Those cursed creatures were extremely rare, and highly sought after by all who possessed power in the realm. Stronger than most humans, and immune to alchemy, they made the most ideal bodyguards. Or for those with greater ambitions, assassins.

"Fine then, I want my own Shadow."

As if summoned, a man bearing resemblance to the emperor appeared behind Marius with uncanny dexterity. The newcomer sported full military attire, and multiple sigils lined the well-maintained sleeves, among them also the symbol of the Ivy Leaf. Unlike the nobles cowering behind the prince, he had no reservations about approaching the throne.

"Speaking of the man, there you are, Zep," Zus greeted.

Zep stared at the prince with amusement. "You can have your own, once you inherit the throne."

"I will pick my own, don't you worry," Marius retorted. "Since I wasn't lucky enough to have a younger brother."

"Believe me, having to deal with a younger sibling is not worth the pain. You have to listen to them blabber about all their victories in battle and troubles with women," Zus teased, and was rewarded with a narrow-eyed stare from Zep.

"Might as well get me nothing then, if you are going to be so unreasonable about it!" Marius declared, and stormed out of the throne room with his entourage following close behind.

Zep watched with amusement as his nephew disappeared from view. "Reminds me of someone I know."

Zus smiled. "He did bring up a good point, though; we are running low on Riftborns. If possible, I would like one to protect my boy. It's been years since we looked in the South; there should be several to be found should we search hard enough." The Emperor rubbed his chin. "And if I had to guess, I'd say Lukreng just got one."

"That would explain his mood."

"Fair is fair, though, the prince shouldn't lose out to anyone."

Zep simply nodded. "As your brother, I am going to tell you to stop coddling the boy; it will only make him soft."

Zus patted his brother on the shoulder affectionately. "And as my Shadow?"

Zep lowered his head in a graceful bow. "Consider it done."