Fy cariad

chapter one

Darius Karian shivered in the cold embrace of the early morning Brecon fog. His eyes searched the deserted streets, looking for a sign of life amidst the trash-littered cobblestones. The dampness of the orphanage walls had seeped into his bones, leaving him perpetually chilled, but today was different. He had a plan, a way out of the endless cycle of despair that had become his existence at Cwmwl y Mynydd.
Rosier, a young man with a crooked smile and eyes that held secrets, sauntered into Darius's line of sight. Twenty years old and already a veteran of the streets, he had a certain allure that drew Darius in like a moth to a flame. Rosier had visited the orphanage several times, always with a glint in his eye that hinted at a life beyond the confines of their bleak world. The air around him seemed to crackle with promise and danger, and Darius felt the pull of it like gravity.
One evening, after a particularly gruelling day of work at the local factory, Darius approached Rosier. He'd heard whispers of opportunities, of a way to make real money and escape the grind. "What do you know?" he asked, trying to sound casual despite his racing heart.
Rosier looked him up and down, a sly smile playing on his lips. "You're not one of those scared little rabbits, are you?"
Darius swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his decision. "I'm not scared," he lied, his voice barely above a whisper.
Rosier's smile grew wider, revealing a set of crooked teeth that somehow added to his charm. "Good," he said, clapping Darius on the shoulder. "You've got the look of someone who's seen enough to know that this place isn't for them."
Darius nodded, his curiosity piqued. "What do you do?"

Rosier leaned in closer, his breath warm against Darius's ear. "This and that," he said mysteriously. "But if you've got the guts for it, I can show you the ropes. We could be a team, you and me."
It had been so long since he'd had anyone to rely on, anyone who saw him as more than just another forgotten soul at the orphanage. The prospect of partnership, of belonging, was tantalising. "What do I have to do?"
Rosier's grin grew even more mischievous. "Just follow my lead," he said, his hand wrapping around Darius's arm like a vice. "And remember, the streets of Brecon are a jungle. You either survive or become someone else's meal."
And with that, Darius's life took a sharp turn down an unfamiliar path. He was thrown into a world of petty thefts and scams, of dodging the coppers and rival gangs, his heart racing with every shadow that flickered in the dim streetlights. The thrill of it all was intoxicating, a stark contrast to the monotony of his days at the factory. He quickly learned the art of the hustle, his sharp mind and quick reflexes serving him well in their nightly escapades.
Rosier introduced him to the sweet embrace of alcohol and the numbing grip of drugs, a temporary escape from the cold, hard world around them. Darius took to them eagerly, hoping to dull the pain of his past and the fear of his future. His roommates at the orphanage began to notice the changes in him – the glazed look in his eyes, the tremor in his hand when he held his pen, the way his poetry grew darker and more desperate.
The nights grew longer and more violent as they ventured deeper into the underbelly of Brecon. Fights with rival gangs grew frequent, and Darius felt the sting of fists and the bite of knives more times than he cared to count. Yet, through it all, he remained loyal to Rosier, who seemed to navigate the chaos with an eerie grace. It was as if he thrived on the danger, feeding off the fear that radiated from the people they encountered.
Darius's roommates grew increasingly distant. They could see the path he was on, the one that led to ruin, and they didn't want to follow. The once-cosy room they shared now felt like a prison cell, the walls closing in with every passing day. The camaraderie they'd once shared was replaced by tension and accusation, their friendship strained to the breaking point.
One evening, as the fog rolled in thick and heavy, the tension reached a crescendo. One of the roommates, a burly lad named Gareth, confronted Darius about his newfound habits. "You're not the same, Darius," he said, his voice thick with disappointment. "You're slipping away from us, from who you are."

Darius felt a pang of guilt, but the anger that had become his constant companion was quick to rise. "You don't know what you're talking about," he snarled, his eyes flashing. "This is the real world, Romulus. This is how you survive."
Romulus’s eyes narrowed. "Is this what you call living?" He gestured to the bruises marring Darius's face and the shakiness in his hands. "You're throwing your life away for what? A few extra quid?"
Darius clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms. "You wouldn't understand," he spat, his voice echoing in the damp room. "You've got no idea what it's like out there."
Romulus stepped closer, his own anger rising. "I know what it's like to have hope," he countered. "I know what it's like to believe in something more than just surviving."
Darius scoffed, the bitterness in his voice palpable. "What hope do we have here?" He gestured to the sparse room, the peeling wallpaper, and the few collections of personal items scattered across the floor. "This is our life, Romulus. We're orphans in a world that doesn't give a damn about us."

The room grew quiet, the tension thick as the fog outside. The words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the truth they both knew too well. Romulu's eyes searched Darius's, looking for a glimmer of the boy he used to know, the one who whispered poetry in the dead of night when the rest of the orphanage was asleep. But all he saw was a hardened shell, a young man who had been chewed up and spat out by the streets.
Romulus sighed, his shoulders slumping. "You're right," he conceded. "But that doesn't mean we can't find something better."
Darius laughed, a harsh, humourless sound that sent shivers down romulus’s spine. "You're still so naive," he said, his voice laced with sadness. "You think there's a pot of gold waiting for us if we just play by the rules?"
Rosier sailed into the room, a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a bag of pilfered goods in the other. His eyes darted between the two, sensing the tension. "What's the matter, boys?" he asked, his voice light and teasing. "Missing out on the fun?"
Darius turned to him, the anger in his eyes now replaced with desperation. "Take me with you tonight," he begged. "I need to get out of here."
Rosier winked, tossing the bag onto the bed. "Always happy to oblige," he said, pulling out a crumpled map. "We've got a job to do."
The job was a simple one, or so Rosier made it seem. They were to lift a few valuables from an unguarded flat while the owners were out. Darius felt his heart race as they approached the building, the excitement of the hunt pulsing through his veins. But as they climbed the stairs, the smell of mold and despair grew stronger, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he was stepping into a trap

Here it is hope yall enjoy it yes I am welsh-it's my first language and this is unedited so correct me if somethings wrong anyways dwi'n caru chi gyd hwyl👋