Growing up in the slums of society, the Monte family had never known the comfort of a steady income, proper education, or access to health care. Such things belonged to other people—distant, untouchable lives that Luke and Damien could only imagine. To them, it had always felt as though the world itself had turned its back.
Now, at just thirteen and fourteen, with no caregivers to guide them, the brothers survived the only way they knew how—by taking what they needed and borrowing what they couldn't. Loans, petty theft, half-kept promises—it was a dangerous rhythm, but it kept them alive.
Over the years, Damien had carved out a reputation in their small town. They called him the "little gremlin"—a boy with an innocent face who could coax a loan out of anyone, only to repay it late… or not at all. He slipped through fences and stole from local farms. The name had stuck, whispered with irritation.
The morning following Damien's encounter with the villages "Rugrats," Damien was in his tiny room, which he shared with Luke. Together, the siblings were discussing their plan to "improve their lives," and it started with travelling to a new city. Damien crouched over a worn, creased map spread across the floor, the dim light casting faint shadows along the walls.
"We should go to Ashenvale," he said, tapping a spot on the map—the kingdom of Valaria's main trading district. "It's our best shot."
Luke frowned, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall. "That's what… fifteen days by carriage? Two months on foot?" His eyes narrowed. "We barely have anything."
"Seventy-four copper," Luke continued after a pause. "We need three gold coins for travel. So… what's the plan?
"Damien didn't hesitate.
"First, we sell the house. We might get a piece of gold for it—if we're lucky." He traced a path along the map with his finger. "Then we hunt along the way. There's a village here—Crisl. About seven days on foot. We sell whatever we get there, then join a caravan heading to Ashenvale."
Luke blinked, surprised. For a moment, he said nothing."…You actually thought this through," he admitted, a grin slowly breaking across his face. "That's… honestly not bad." He pushed himself off the wall, energy sparking in his voice. "Alright. Let's do it."
They wasted no time. The boys pulled on their worn-out shirts and ragged pants, clothes that had seen more patches than fabric. In a proper city, they would have stood out instantly—but here, in the rural outskirts, everyone looked the same. The only real difference between people was whether hunger had made them thin… or fortune had made them fat.
With nothing but a fragile plan and stubborn determination, the two brothers prepared to leave behind the only life they had ever known.
With quick, purposeful steps, the brothers moved along the dirt-packed road, slipping through narrow alleys and weaving between crooked fences as if the village itself were a maze they knew by heart. Their pace was brisk, boots kicking up faint clouds of dust as the sounds of the waking market grew louder ahead.
They soon emerged into the village's common square, where life had already begun to stir. Merchants called out to passersby, arranging their wares—rough-spun clothes, sacks of grain, bundles of corn and wheat—while the scent of soil and livestock mingled with the sharper tang of heated metal.
As they approached a stall lined with iron tools and weapons, the seller looked up and immediately scoffed.
"Huh, you two trouble makers aren't getting any deal out of me, matter in fact, scram, you don't have the coins to buy my quality craftsmanship.
"Damien rolled his eyes. "We are not here for your choppy metal, Adrian. I injure more people with a stick than your iron swords," Damien responded.
Adrian burst into laughter. "Ahahaha, you know that isn't true, so what do you want?"
Luke stepped forward. "Damien and I are planning to leave this village, but we need to sell our house. I know there are a few craftsmen who need a warehouse or a place they can risk burning, and all I'm asking for is one gold," Luke replied.
"Hmm, one gold, huh?" Adrian responded, scratching his chin. "I don't need an extra trash can, but try asking Wuther; he's my apprentice over there, and he needs his own start-up facility."
"Thanks," Luke said with a nod.
They made their way past scattered piles of scrap and dented tools until the heat of the forge wrapped around them like a heavy blanket. The air shimmered, thick with smoke and the scent of burning coal.
Wuther stood at the anvil, hammer raised high.
Clang.
Clang.
The sound rang through the square as metal met metal.
Clang.
Sparks scattered in bursts of orange light.
Clang.
The glowing blade bent beneath his steady rhythm, each strike precise and controlled. Sweat traced down his arms as he worked, fully absorbed in the craft.
With one final blow, he plunged the blade into a barrel of water.
Hissss—
Steam erupted upward, curling into the air.
Wuther set the hammer aside and glanced up at the two boys.
"What is it?" he asked."
Our house," Damien said plainly.
"We're selling it. One gold."
Wuther snorted.
"Too much. I'll give you sixty-two silver."
Luke shook his head. "Not enough."
"Sixty-five," Wuther replied.
"Eighty," Damien countered without hesitation.
Wuther exhaled, glancing back at the forge before returning his gaze to them. "Seventy-two. Final."
Damien paused, then added, "And four pairs of shoes."
Wuther narrowed his eyes slightly, then let out a quiet chuckle. "Fine. Fewer troublemakers in the village is a good thing. I'll be moving a furnace and a stone table over there in a few hours. Empty your belongings and hand me the keys now."
"Okay, here you go. Don't miss us too much," Damien replied.