Fireheart | Raven Reyes [O.H.]

2 | anarchy

┏ ━━┅━━━┅━━ ┓
chapter two!
ANARCHY
┗ ━━┅━━━┅━━ ┛

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

ARES DOESN'T STOP WALKING until the dropship is out of sight. The sound of twigs snapping and leaves crunching underneath his boots drowns out the distant shouts from the freed delinquents, keeping him tethered to a strange sense of calm. He inhales deeply through his nose and exhales through his mouth. Will he ever get used to the feeling of this new oxygen? All of the scents are so strong. The pine needles have to be his favorite, but he detects an undertone of soil that he doesn't mind.

He hopes he never starts to take this planet for granted. Looking around at the large trees that tower over him, stretching their branches above so he's half-hidden under the cool shade, he regains that same awestruck feeling from before. His life has been a seemingly endless cycle of the same washed-out walls and bleak colors. These ones are so vibrant that they almost hurt his eyes. He welcomes the pain with open arms.

If anyone was around, they'd probably mistake him for a lunatic. Ares is standing utterly alone, staring into space with a small grin pulling up his lips at the corners. He wants to drink in the muted sounds of the forest before something inevitably fucks it up.

Moving to the right, he extends a cautious hand toward one of the towering beasts as if it's an animal and he's afraid it will run away. The touch he places on the bark is gentle. It's rough under his calloused fingertips, caused by years of picking fights. Practically everything on the Ark was smooth and polished. He's never felt something so unabashedly rugged before.

Ares catches the sound of enraged shouts from the direction of their landing site, then puffs a sigh. He could keep walking and never return to that place. He'd be alone for the rest of his life, just how he'd prefer it. But as he brushes his fingertips along the metal wristband clamped on his left wrist, he realizes that it was probably put there for a reason. They might be able to track him. And, besides, he hadn't paid enough attention in Earth Skills to make it on his own. For now, he needs those other people to survive.

So he stalks back to the camp and pushes his way through a ring of onlookers to discover a brawl occurring between Wells and John Murphy, one hell of a spitfire and not the kind of person you'd want to get in a fight with. He'd gotten beaten by their Earth Skills teacher a month ago. It's made him harder, quicker to attack than before. His mousey brown hair is hanging in his eyes, a cruel smirk pulling up his lips as he wipes a drop of blood from his hooked nose. In doing so, he reveals the knife in his hand.

How the hell did Murphy manage to get a knife already? Wells definitely isn't Ares' favorite person, but this isn't even a fair battle. He wouldn't care if the Chancellor's son also had a weapon to defend himself with. This is more than just playing dirty— it's attempted murder.