Bitter Sweets

Chapter 1: Starting at Zero

Sweetwater wore the night like a shroud. Its cobblestone streets, twisting and narrow, wound through forgotten alleys and old stone facades, the gas lamps casting pale, restless light over a city that thrived on secrets. Somewhere in that labyrinthine city, I made my way home, weaving through dim streets well past midnight, my mind still tangled with the day's work.

I was a lawyer—only 18 years old—but already running my own practice, perhaps due to my noble bloodline or the old money my parents left behind. My academic career had been accelerated; I passed all of the general courses before most students even began. The rest of my education was spent building my career as a lawyer. After passing the bar exam just a few weeks ago, my practice was ready for business. With my mother in prison and my father no longer in the picture, it was up to me to make my own way.

I made my way back to my office, a modest setup in a small corner space on one of Sweetwater's older streets. The building was a weathered, three-story brownstone, sturdy but marked by time. My office took up the second floor—nothing extravagant, but enough room for what I needed: a desk, a few shelves for case files, and a small cot tucked by the window.

The faint hum of distant voices and clattering carts from the main street barely reached my ears as I climbed the creaky stairs. I unlocked the door, the brass handle cold against my palm. Inside, the faint smell of old paper, leather, and rainwater lingered in the air. It wasn't much, but it was mine. The walls were lined with shelves, some neat and others haphazardly stacked with books, legal texts, and various papers in various stages of completion. One wall was dominated by a large map of Sweetwater, old pins marking significant places in my growing network. I'd only just begun to build my reputation, but I kept careful records of every case, every lead, and every contact. The map was a quiet reminder of what I was working toward, though tonight, it only seemed to mock me.

I moved to my desk, an old oak piece that had seen better days but still stood solid. A few stray papers littered the surface—mostly case notes and half-finished arguments for my next defense—but I had little energy for those tonight. The lamp at my desk flickered weakly, casting shadows across the room. The small cot in the corner served as my bed, just big enough to stretch out after a long day, though I rarely slept for more than a few hours. The walls of my office felt too close sometimes, and the constant ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway only made it worse.

I sighed, pulling my jacket off and slinging it over the back of the chair. My tie came off next, followed by my shoes. As I looked around the room, I let the stillness wash over me, the weight of the day finally sinking in. No clients left to see, no courtrooms to navigate. Just me and the quiet hum of Sweetwater in the distance.

My apartment, on the third floor of the building, was no more spacious. The small, modest kitchen sat just off the living area, a few mismatched chairs surrounding a simple table. The floorboards creaked beneath me as I moved toward the small bathroom, flicking on the light. The mirror reflected a young man with long white hair falling just past his shoulders, and red eyes that looked almost too bright for the soft light. I didn't have the same inherited abilities that the noble families with their "sweets" held—no power to sway the fates, no influence to call upon in the courts. But I had my wits, my tenacity, and the quiet resolve to make something of myself in this city that was all too happy to forget me.

I returned to my office, grabbing a case file I'd been meaning to go over, but as my eyes skimmed the text, the exhaustion from the day took hold. I set the file down, shut off the lamp, and crawled into bed.

The room was dark, save for the faint glow of the city through the window. The distant sounds of Sweetwater's nightlife echoed, but they felt as though they came from another world. I closed my eyes, the day's work still lingering in my mind, but for once, I didn't think about my family's legacy or the looming pressure of being a young lawyer in a city where power was everything. I simply let the quiet wash over me, and as sleep slowly pulled me under, I found solace in the knowledge that, for now, I was alone with my thoughts.