That morning, the air in Mad Hat Island felt heavier than usual. As always, the relentless noise from the marketplace and the sleepless slums echoed around Gerald Lazhar's weapon shop. Bastian had just finished his morning training. His body still ached, though he had grown somewhat used to the routine after these past few weeks. He was assembling a few newly arrived rifles when Arthur stepped in his face tired, yet brimming with energy.
Arthur had started visiting the shop more frequently ever since their brief skirmish. Though Bastian didn't fully trust the boy, he had grown accustomed to seeing him around. In his own rough manner, Arthur had offered to help at the shop. Perhaps he just wanted to keep an eye on Bastian, but to Bastian, it looked more like someone trying to seize an opportunity.
"What's the job today?" Arthur asked as he entered the shop, tossing his worn-out cap onto a wooden table cluttered with blades and half-assembled guns.
Bastian gave him a glance. Arthur stood by the doorway, eyes curious too curious. There was something burning within this kid, something Bastian couldn't quite ignore. As irritating as he could be, Arthur possessed a resilience rarely seen in children his age.
"Clean the floor. Get the tools for weapon repairs," Bastian replied casually, not looking up from his work.
Arthur nodded quickly, seemingly pleased to be given a task. "You won't regret taking me in," he said as he began sweeping the dust from the shop floor. "I know things about this place. I know who to fear, and who you can work with."
Bastian nodded, eyes still locked on the rifle in his hands. He wasn't one for words, but he was beginning to sense that Arthur might be more than just a street brat. There was something about him something buried under his sharp tongue and rough demeanor.
As Arthur worked, Bastian continued assembling the weapon, occasionally glancing at him. He was starting to see that Arthur's life hadn't been easy. Beneath the courage and bravado was a weight old wounds that hadn't healed.
"Have you always lived like this?" Bastian asked finally, breaking the silence filled only by the click of metal and Arthur's footsteps.
Arthur looked over, his sharp eyes narrowing. "What do you mean?" he asked, defensive but Bastian could tell he understood the question.
Bastian paused, then met his gaze. "You're not like other kids your age. There's something deeper beneath the surface."
Arthur turned away, his face hardening. "I didn't have a choice," he muttered. "I never chose to live like this. My mother was a whore, and I grew up on the streets. In Mad Hat, only the ones who learn to survive... get to live."
Bastian fell silent, absorbing the weight of Arthur's words. Mad Hat Island had a way of breaking people, and it was clear Arthur had been among those who had been shattered young.
"So, no family?" Bastian asked, trying to understand him more.
Arthur shook his head, his messy hair falling over his face. "No. My mother… she died a long time ago. Killed by people who didn't care if others lived or died. Since then, it's just been me."
Something inside Bastian stirred. He wasn't perfect himself, and while he didn't know the full story of Arthur's past, he felt a certain connection growing between them. Both had walked through pain, in different ways enough to recognize it in one another.
"I'm sorry," Bastian said softly. "You're not alone now. You can learn here. If you want to."
Arthur looked at him and offered a faint smile. "I know that already. I just need someone who can teach me. You know how it is in Mad Hat only the strong survive."
"True," Bastian nodded. "But strength isn't just muscle. It's also up here," he said, tapping his temple.
Bastian's words reminded Arthur of something he'd long forgotten the need for someone who could teach him more than how to fight. Someone who could show him a world beyond the blood and chaos of the streets. Bastian might not be gentle, but there was something in him that made Arthur believe he could learn more than just survival.
In the days that followed, Bastian and Arthur began working together in Lazhar's shop. Though Arthur still carried his rough edges and reckless streak, he slowly revealed an aptitude for assembling and repairing weapons. He seemed to enjoy the work, even when it was hard. Bastian saw subtle changes in him small but meaningful. Arthur was learning patience, not just in battle, but in the quiet grind of everyday work.
It was in these moments that Bastian found a strange calm. Maybe life in this cruel world wasn't completely bleak if you had someone beside you that you could trust. A friendship was forming not a perfect one, but enough to offer a glimmer of hope to those who'd spent too long in the shadows of despair.
And so, their bond began to take shape. Perhaps not the kind born from smiles and laughter, but in a world of chaos, it was more than enough to survive.