Year 1507
A thin drizzle blanketed the sky over Mad Hat Island that night. Raindrops fell gently onto tin rooftops and blackened puddles of mud, creating a symphony of solitude. In a narrow alley near the Eastern Market, an eight-year-old boy sat in front of an abandoned house. Clutched tightly in his hand was a broken string of beads.
Arthur.
His face was pale, his body dirty, his eyes swollen. Three years had passed since that night, yet the memory remained, alive and raw like it had only happened yesterday.
And whenever the rain fell like this… it came back to him.
---
Year 1504
Their small home stood at the edge of the market, near the alleys filled with trash and nesting rats. Arthur was only seven years old then. He still believed his mother would come home every night, bringing stale bread or weary stories from the auction house.
That night was no different. She returned as usual tired, her eyes hollow. Her hair was a tangled mess, and her thin clothes were soaked through.
"Mom," Arthur called softly from the corner of the kitchen. "Can I ask you something?"
The woman stayed silent. She hung her worn coat and stared at her son for a moment. Deep exhaustion lined her gaze, yet she sat down on the creaking wooden stool.
"Dad," Arthur said. "Who is he?"
The question cut like a blade. She lowered her head, let out a long sigh, and wiped her face with one trembling hand.
"Your father... wasn't an ordinary man," she said quietly. "He was someone important. Strong. But also... dangerous."
Arthur looked at her, eyes wide with curiosity. "Was he a pirate?"
"No," she replied. "He was more than that. He once changed the world. And if you knew who he was, the world would come after you."
The boy fell silent, then gathered the courage to speak again. "But I want to know. I just... want to know who I am."
A faint, bitter smile crossed her face. Her cold hand gently cupped his cheek.
"You were born of powerful blood, but that blood could draw killers to your door. If you knew now... you wouldn't be ready."
Arthur looked down. "Then when will I be ready?"
"When you're strong. When you can stand and face the world then you can seek the truth."
She removed the beaded necklace from around her neck and handed it to Arthur.
"This is the only thing he left behind. Keep it. And guard it well."
Arthur took the necklace with a heart that barely understood, yet he felt the weight of something immense pass into his hands.
---
Three days later, the night arrived.
Arthur awoke to the sound of the door being kicked in. Three masked men burst in, dragging his mother away. He crawled under the floorboards, biting down on his shirt to keep from screaming.
He heard muffled cries, the thud of blunt force, and footsteps fading into the night.
When silence returned, he emerged.
His mother lay on the ground. Motionless. Her eyes half open, the beads gone from her neck now shattered in Arthur's trembling hand.
That night, Arthur's world ended.
---
Year 1507
The memory faded. The rain still fell. Arthur looked down at the beads dry now, but their cracks had never healed. Just like him.
"I'll find out who he was," he whispered. "And I'll become strong... strong enough to face whatever I discover."
In a city drenched in blood and mud, an orphan sat alone in silence. But within that silence, something had begun to grow—a quiet flame of resolve, waiting for its time to burn.