"Ilvenie Dest, Rebelli Neur."
The Atlas was just a myth. A ship that sails on its own compass. They said you don't need a map to get to your destination, just by whispering a wish it'll sail to where your heart desires.
Two siblings - A brother and...
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PROLOGUE
THE STORY STARTED when a young boy, barely 14, came running out of the small rundown house at the outskirts of town. With his father yelling after him, spits flying everywhere, cursing every second, wishing him to be rid of any existence, and his mother, weakly reaching out for him at the back of the house as she cradled the newborn baby in her bony arms.
The boy struggled to breath, his limbs were so tired but he pushed himself further and further until he created a major distance between him and the house. He couldn't go back. He couldn't — he wouldn't! He'd be beaten to death if he were to ever step foot into that house he once called home. He would have to endure the bottles being thrown in his way by his drunken father. Starved to sacrifice till he's drained to the bones. His eyes had sunken from the sleepless night and his mind was always in a hammering dizziness while he tried to keep both his mother and brother alive.
But his mother was determined that she's not going to survive long until the second wave of the crimson plague hit. Though he should've taken his brother with him, his mother had a death grip on the baby, knowing that she's not going to let the monster take care of the baby after both she and him are gone.
He only remembered one last thing that she told him before he left. " Run." She'd told him. "Run away from here. Forget the past. Destroy it. Start a new one – a new story."
And he listened.
He was going to do the exact thing. He just needed to get to the city and find his uncle, then begged him to not tell his father.
The sound of the market was getting louder. He's almost there. He could taste the freedom on the tip of his tongue. He easily ducked through heavy objects being carried, and swiftly passed from the eyes of the crowd. His scrawny, beat up figure made him easy to hide and blend in as a beggar on the streets. When men dressed in the royal colors thrown over their shiny, heavy, armor came running by him, he pulled a dirty cloak over him and sat by the wall, and he watched them from beneath his hood until they disappeared then resumed his escape.
Even though the King's men were not after him, every person who lived in the lower ring of Port Leandre knows not to stand in their path. Be it the King or his family, or his army of powerful, merciless soldiers. Always know your part unless you want to end up with a sword to your throat.
The old rundown was just a few feet in front of him when he felt his body collide with another and made him lose his footing. The two children thumped against the ground. "Ow... Watch where you're going, minette..." His voice faltered when he heard the small whimper from her. He looked down to see her, rubbing her fingers against the smudge of dirt, though he could tell that it wasn't the dirt that pained her but the fresh bruise on her cheek.
He stood up, helping her along the way. Carefully, the boy brushed his fingers against it. Pulling away in an instant when the girl winced. "Who hurt you, minette?" He whispered.
