Draven forgot how nice the silence was, how nice it was to let his guard down. As he walked through the cramped tunnel, he slowed his breathing and relaxed his tense muscles. With each deep breath, Draven felt like he was blending into the darkness, as if he were one with it.
After walking for a mere five minutes, the floor started tilting upward. Unlike the entrance, stairs didn't mark the exit, nor was there an elaborate structure. Instead, a single large stone column could be seen. A stark, unadorned sign of human presence. Coming out of the tunnel, Draven found himself in a familiar forest, surrounded by towering trees and the eerie noises of the forest. Still, Draven wasn't nervous. Sure, he was worried about the beasts, but the dark could never bother him, even in moments like the one he had found himself in currently where he could barely see his own hands, the moonlight blocked by the canopy of branches way overhead. Turning his gaze to the right of the column, Draven saw a flickering light in the distance, indicating the presence of a possibly intelligent species. He walked towards the light, bringing his guards back up and readying himself for the next interaction.
Finding himself at the bottom of a tree he wouldn't be able to wrap his arms around even if there were four of him, Draven faced what looked like a couple of humanoid furballs with pointy sticks. They were only slightly taller than himself and covered head to toe in thick fur. On the 'face' of this creature, only a mouth that stretched almost as wide as its 'face' was seen, with jagged, sharp teeth lining the inside.
"Pay the toll," they both said, at the same time in a raspy, high-pitched voice.
'No matter how many times I hear it, their voices still send shivers down my spine' Draven thought, a frown forming on his still-hidden face.
He reached into his pocket, grabbed a bronze coin, and placed it in the waiting hand of the creature, commonly known as Peltians. The Peltian shook its head and raised two fingers from its hairy, four-fingered hand.
"You want two bronze coins? Are you trying to rip me off? What do I look like, some noble brat?!" Draven said in outrage.
The monetary system was well known, 10 copper coins make a bronze coin, 50 bronze coins make a silver coin, 100 silver coins make a gold coin, and 1000 gold coins make a platinum coin. For context, in the Valley of the Damned, Draven could live for around a week on two bronze coins, if he did everything legally, which he didn't. Grumbling about making a fur coat, Draven handed over the second bronze coin. Luckily, the Peltians didn't seem to have heard him, considering they had yet to run him through with their spears. Compared to the money he got tonight for a five-finger discount, the toll was a minor expense, especially given that he was paying for a safe trip, but Draven would never let them know that. He learnt the hard way that the less people think you have, the less they will try to take it. If the Peltians were made aware of the cash he was carrying, he did not doubt that the toll would suddenly skyrocket.
After they were paid, the Peltians allowed Draven to pass around them and behind the tree, where a rope ladder was waiting for him. Climbing the ladder, Draven complained in his heart about why the Peltians refused to make a solid, wooded ladder. They were much easier to scale. Reaching the top, Draven pulled himself up to view the unlit network of trees connected via suspension bridges, otherwise known as the Treetop Walkway. Also known to be one of the safest and cheapest paths to and from Serria. As most of the dangerous creatures lived on the ground, walking through the trees was the best path, the only thing you had to look out for were creatures that could fly, like birds, bats, and bugs, or creatures that could climb the stupidly tall trees, like spiders and some rare species of cats or snakes... Draven knew it wasn't the safest option, but it was the only option he had. Walking through the forest alone was a no-go, he wasn't strong enough to fight the animals and he couldn't run and hide from them either. Walking along the actual path was also a no, as it was teeming with nobles, as well as other members of the Valley who had no qualms about tearing him to shreds, that being the same reason that he couldn't work with other people. If he hired others, people would think he had money, and therefore kill him to get it. Also, hiring others would cost a lot of his hard-swiped cash. He couldn't trust anyone from the Valley, and no one in Serria would risk working with a 7-year-old from the slums.
Draven sighed softly as he silently moved along the bridges, his light frame hardly making them sway. With his life constantly hanging on the line, Draven seized every opportunity to train himself, whether that be immersing himself in words whenever he could get his hands on a book, or walking silently, honing the ability to slink away and hide from others' notice. He knew his training was paying off too, he had gotten much better, even evading folks from the Valley. Draven thought of his various escapes with a smug look on his face. You learn to develop quickly when it's your life in the balance.
The trip was smooth sailing, with neither creatures nor humans in sight. The Treetop Walkway had many different paths, if you didn't know where you were going, you could very easily get lost. This caused no problem for Draven, and soon he could once again see a flickering light in the distance, signalling he was close to the end of his journey.
...
Draven tugged his hood to cover more of his face as he navigated the winding dirt paths of the Valley. The streets, lined with dilapidated houses and crumbling buildings, were a maze of grime and decay. The inhabitants, wearing tattered rags, moved through the darkness of the night as if sleep was foreign to them. They say the cities never sleep due to their bustling markets, but the Valley's restlessness stemmed from a far darker reality. As Draven walked, he paid little attention to the multitude of crimes unfolding around him; the sheer frequency made them almost a background noise. Instead, he focused on those standing around silently, the ones who were looking for an opportunity to benefit from others. Silently, he slipped into the shadows of an alleyway and started to climb an old pipe leading up the side of a building. The pipe was rusty and weak, creaking eerily as Draven climbed it. Pipes like these were great escape routes for those on the lighter side, like children, as they would crumble under heavy weight, giving the escapee more time to run. Said pipes also lead to the tops of houses and other buildings, providing hiding places. Most roofs were made of slanted straw, as it was easy and cheap to come by, however, this made running on it difficult, but not impossible. Draven knew that, for someone of his stature, this was the safest way to make it home, if he could even call it that.
Reaching the rooftop, he paused to take a deep breath of the refreshing night air. He was still on the outskirts of the slum so the smell of death, disease and all other horrible attributes had yet to stain the air. Draven peered over the edge of the building, checking for any potential witnesses of his pathway home. While he saw nothing concerning, he did see a couple of figures huddled in an alleyway corner, whispering to each other as their eyes danced around them, as if anticipating an ambush. Draven shrugged his shoulders, thinking that they probably were, this was the Valley of the Damned after all. A place the nobles would avoid at all costs, a place where you could lose your life at any second, no matter your background or how strong you perceived yourself. An inescapable hell hole for the lowest class of society, and one of the most feared places in the entire Zelbaria Empire.
Through the shadows, he caught sight of one of the figures' hands. It was covered in dark green scales, a telltale sign of decent power. While Draven had never been explicitly told the realms of power in this world, he had seen enough to know who was more dangerous. Humans started as weak bags of flesh and would continue to stay this way until they could absorb the mana in the air. These normal humans were the lowest of the food chain with the largest population. However, as they started to absorb mana, they would slowly get stronger, and their physical prowess would increase. In certain cases, some would even take on a limited amount of beastly instincts. Draven once heard that this stage of growth was called the Humane Realm. After reaching the peak of this realm, people would have to go through some sort of trial in their own mind and body. Draven had no clue what that meant, all he knew was that if they succeeded, humans would gain an 'aura'. Draven didn't know what it did, but he did know that in battle, an image of a beast would show up behind them. Draven had almost witnessed a fight between two people in this stage, however, he sensed that it could get dangerous for him if he stuck around so he quickly high-tailed it out of there without witnessing the effect aura. Though, before he left, he did hear the 'aura' referred to as Primal Manifestation. Draven made an educated guess that this stage would be named the Primal Manifestation Stage. After this stage and probably another bottleneck to break through, humans would become less, well, human. Their physical appearance would begin to take on some animal characteristics, specific to their Primal Manifestation of course. Draven didn't know what this stage was called, but he knew that he must avoid these people at all costs. They were much more powerful and deadly than the previous stages and they also had increased senses. Draven wasn't arrogant or stupid. He knew full well that if the city guard in Serria had really tried to get him, and was willing to risk the possibility of offending a noble by 'disturbing the peace', then he wouldn't have escaped.
In this case, Draven considered himself lucky. The reptilian man seemed to be too absorbed in his conversation to pay much attention to his surroundings, there was also the fact that he was a few buildings away from the man. Draven quickly got a move on anyway, not willing to risk gaining the dangerous man's attention. As he turned away to leave, the scaled man cast a glance to where Draven just was, seemingly contemplating. Eventually, he seemed to decide not to give chase, unbothered by the weak, yet slightly intriguing presence of the obviously young boy.
'It's not like he could pose a threat anyway' he thought.
...
As he made his way home, Draven contemplated the 'fate' he was given. His thoughts turned to his mother. A woman who was a source of confusion and pain for Draven. His whole life he listened to his mother's sharp and venomous words as she took her anger out on the son she never wanted.
"What have I done to deserve this?! Nothing! Why did the heavens curse me with such a fate?! All because of my useless son! My stupid, incompetent son who brings back nothing but scraps! I should've killed you!" she'd bark, tears streaming down her face as her blood boiled.
Constantly, she would blame her 'cursed fate' and the 'heavens' for her current status, while also making sure that she never spent a moment sober, whether through alcohol or drugs, Draven didn't bother to keep track anymore. From what he has pieced together from drunken mumblings or outcries, his mother used to be engaged to a man in Serria. However, the engagement fell apart when her husband-to-be discovered that she was cheating on him.
Draven jaw clenched, his teeth grinding in rage. She was at fault for all of their misery, yet she refused to take any responsibility or make changes to herself. It was a miracle that he was even alive right now. For god's sake, he was 7 years old! Yet, no one would guess that. Draven had seen and experienced too much to remain an innocent little boy. Mix that in with his uncanny memory and intelligence, and you receive a cynical child who can out-negotiate most merchants. It was a heavy burden to carry, yet Draven never once flinched. He was driven by his unwavering determination to survive and, if he were being honest with himself, a bit of pettiness too. No one believed he could make it, deeming the task impossible, especially in these rundown slums. But Draven was determined to prove them wrong and live long enough to gloat in their faces.
Draven's thoughts came to a stop as he reached his destination. A tiny shack of a house that barely looked big enough for a single person to live in. The outside wood was warped and weathered, covered in patches of mould and cracks that made Draven wonder how it was still standing. The buildings on either side weren't in good shape either. Using a series of handholds he'd memorised, Draven slowly lowered himself onto the ground while keeping an eye out for any signs of movement. He had lowered himself into the small gap between the back of his 'house' and the adjacent building. The gap was so small that an average adult wouldn't be able to walk normally, making it perfect for a small child. Holding himself up by using his legs to press his back into the building behind him, Draven used his free hands to open the window and slip into the house.
'It's still the dumbest place for a window I've ever seen. Who did this?' Draven thought to himself, still bewildered every time he used his preferred method of entry.
Draven let his eyes adjust to the darkness as he looked around the house. He was in the kitchen, which was also the dining room, and the living room, and the storage space. There were dirty dishes in the sink, stained and ripped clothes thrown about, empty bottles of alcohol, bags and syringes with mysterious substances littered every surface of the place. The place smelt of vomit, rotten food, alcohol, and other heinous things that Draven couldn't name. He made no attempt to clean it up, not wanting to risk touching any of the drugs. Draven shrugged off his dark grey robe, folded it up neatly and hid it under a loose floorboard near the unlit fireplace. It was the nicest piece of clothing he owned, and he didn't want his mother to get her claws on it. Draven looked into the shattered mirror that hung on the wall next to the fireplace. He stared at a childish face with grey eyes and shaggy black hair, a cute button nose, rosy cheeks, and cherry-red lips. Unnatural beauty, especially for a malnourished, dirty child from the slums. His clothes were covered in dirt and stains with rips everywhere. His t-shirt was three sizes too big, and his shorts were held up by a rope he had tied.
Draven opened the door to the only other room in the house, the bedroom. Not his, of course, his mothers. Sure enough, there she was, passed out on the threadbare mat in the middle of the room. She cradled a bottle of alcohol in her arms while remnants of a male companion were scattered around. This was one of the many reasons that Draven didn't sleep in the same room as his mother. Instead, he slept in front of the fireplace, usually on a pile of dirty clothes. It was more comfortable than the cold dirt floor. He closed the door and went back to the fireplace, made himself a bed and fell asleep.