Five years later*
The morning sun had barely risen when Sevastian woke to the familiar sound of his mother shouting. Her sharp voice cut through the thin walls of their cottage like a blade, dragging him from the restless slumber he had managed to get. His back ached from sleeping on the hard floor—his mattress had been sold long ago to pay off one of Rosanna's countless debts.
"Get up, V!" Rosanna's voice carried an edge that promised consequences if he did not hurry. "You think food's going to walk in here on its own?"
Sevastian groaned quietly, rubbing his eyes as he pulled himself upright. His body was sore from the previous day's work, but there was no time to rest. Rest, after all, was a luxury he could not afford. He threw on his worn-out boots and stepped outside into the cool morning air.
---
The lumberyard was his first stop. For hours, he chopped firewood, the repetitive motion numbing his arms. Sweat dripped from his brow as he stacked the heavy logs, his muscles screaming for relief. When the foreman finally handed him his payment, handful of coins, Sevastian bit back the urge to ask for more. He knew what the answer would be.
By midday, he had moved on to the bakery. The air inside was warm and sweet, a stark contrast to the harsh cold of the lumberyard. Sevastian scrubbed trays and swept flour from the floor while the baker barked orders at him. Occasionally, the baker's wife would toss him a piece of stale bread, which he ate quickly, savoring the rare taste of food.
The afternoon found him running errands for the townsfolk, delivering letters and carrying heavy sacks of grain. Each task earned him only a few coins, but Sevastian did not complain. He couldn't.
As the sun began to set, Sevastian finally made his way back home. His hands were raw and blistered, his legs trembling from exhaustion. He hesitated at the door, dread pooling in his stomach. He had earned only a small handful of coins that day—not nearly enough to satisfy his mother.
When he stepped inside, Rosanna was waiting for him. Her piercing gaze immediately fell to the coins in his hand.
"Is that all?" she demanded, her voice dripping with contempt.
Sevastian nodded, too tired to respond.
Rosanna snatched the coins from him, counting them with a sneer. "This? This is what you bring home after being out all day?"
"I did my best," Sevastian said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Your best?" Rosanna's laugh was bitter and sharp. "Your best is not good enough, V! It never is."
Sevastian flinched at her words but said nothing. He had learned long ago that arguing with his mother only made things worse.
"You are useless," she continued, her words like daggers. "Just like your father. No, worse than your father. At least he had some ambition before he left us. But you? You are nothing. A burden."
Sevastian's jaw tightened, but he kept his gaze fixed on the floor.
"I wish I have never had you," Rosanna said, her voice low, but venomous. "Maybe then I could have had a real life. A husband who stayed. A house that didn't fall apart. But no, I am stuck with you. A pathetic excuse for a son."
Her words hit harder than any physical blow ever could. Sevastian clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms as he fought to keep his emotions in check.
That night, Sevastian lay on the cold, hard floor of the cottage, staring up at the ceiling. His mother's words echoed in his mind, each one a reminder of how little she thought of him.
He thought about leaving—running away and never looking back. But where would he go? He had no friends, no family to turn to. And as much as he resented Rosanna, a part of him could not bear the thought of abandoning her completely.
But the resentment was growing. Each insult, each slap, each day spent working himself to the bone only to be met with scorn—it all added fuel to the fire burning inside him.
The next morning, Sevastian was up before dawn, ready to repeat the cycle. He would chop wood, scrub trays, carry sacks, and endure his mother's wrath.
Because no matter how much he hated it, no matter how much it hurt, he could not bring himself leave his mother.
After he was sure his mother had gone to sleep, he pulled a shirt over his torso and headed out of the house making sure he was as quiet as possible. Sevastian headed to a local tavern to take a couple of drinks and clear his head.
Sevastian crashed on a stool in front of the bar and rested his hands on the table.
"Gentleman, you look awfully tired. What do I serve you tonight?" A barkeep who was a middle aged woman said to Sevastian with a wide smile.
"It is because I am awfully tired. A cup of posset will be fine." Sevastian replied in a calm voice.
"Alright, I will be back in a minute." The woman said before moving to the back room.
Sevastian waited in silence thinking of all the work he was going to be doing tomorrow, it was mentally and physically exhausting for him, but that was the only way he could survive with his mother.
"Good evening gentlemen!" A young man greeted as he walked into the tavern, his heavy boots clicking with the wooden floor. A few men replied to his greetings while other looked away.
The young man walked towards where Sevastian was seated and sat down on the stool beside him, the barkeep returned with Sevastian's drink, placed it on the table and slid it towards him.
"Thank you for the last time sire, I am grateful." The woman said to the man beside Sevastian.
"Not a problem, I was just putting that bastard Barry in his place," the man replied with the wave of his hand
Sevastian suddenly turned to look between the barkeep and the man, "Barry the fighter? That same Barry." Everyone in Lakewood knew who Barry was, the man had money and power which he did not hesitate take advantage of. The man did a lot of bad things and got away with only a slap to the wrist quite unfortunately.
"Yes that same Barry, this good sir gave him a good beating. I was very pleased by that," the woman giggled.
Sevastian narrowed his eyes looking at the man beside him, his soulless black orbs and dark hair falling down his shoulders, "Who are you?" Sevastian could not help but ask.
"The name is Azreal, and who are you?" Azreal smiled at him, stretching his right hand.
"Sevastian," he replied hesitantly, before placing his hand into the man's strong grip.