In the deepest corners of Steelgate's pleasure district, where the filth of the streets clung to every surface, a newborn cried in his mother's arms. Just minutes old, the infant's cries cut through the night, echoing in the alleys, unnoticed by most—except for her.She held him close, the warmth of her body offering a fleeting comfort, but more than that, it was the hope in her eyes that defined the moment. She whispered to the child in her arms, as if he could understand every word, "My baby...we are saved from the trenches. You are the son of the Welters. You will lead us out of these streets."Her words were filled with longing. The woman, a comfort woman for The young Pierre Welter—A yet rising in power nobleman. But the truth, however, was far from her wish. The child was a mistake, a consequence of a fleeting affair, not the heir to any house.Years passed. Arthur, the boy, grew quickly, showing signs of a brilliance beyond his age. At four, he could solve problems that adults struggled with. His understanding of mathematics was uncanny, and his gift with words made him a wonder in the slums. Despite his mother's constant assurances that his father would come for them someday, Arthur's fate was sealed in the cracks of Steelgate's broken streets.The other neighbouring people in the district wouldn't dare call him "Welter," a name they despised, but they did call him Prometheus—after the god who defied the heavens to give humanity fire. To them, Arthur embodied hope. He wasn't bound by the lowborn lives they led. And his mother, always trying to shield him from the cruelty of their world, would hug him tightly, whispering, "My wish is for you to become a good man, Arthur. You are all I have, my baby." Arthur saw that look in her eyes—the look of a mother whose every hope was pinned on her son, the belief that he could break free from the chains of their past. He carried that hope with him every day.But one day, everything changed. His mother, desperate, ventured into the noble district to confront Pierre Welter. She returned to the crumbling apartment that night, her face streaked with tears. Without a word, she slapped Arthur across the face, her voice trembling with fury."After all I did, you amounted to nothing!" she shouted, her words burning into his soul. Arthur didn't understand, but he felt it—the weight of everything that had been taken from her, from them.The next morning, Arthur woke to find his mother gone. She had taken her life, hanging herself from the rafters, her last act a silent scream of despair. The slums held no compassion for those who fell, but Arthur could not allow anyone to see his grief. He cried in silence, locked behind walls of stoic restraint, because the world had no room for weakness.But Arthur couldn't remain silent for long. His father—Pierre Welter, the man who had never acknowledged him—was the key to understanding his place in this world. So Arthur did what he had to do. Alone, he made his way across Steelgate, riding on the back of large steam-powered carriages, taking the long zip line cable car all the way up to the noble district.He found the grand gates of the Welter estate, guarded and imposing, and snuck through a hole in the garden wall. His heart raced as he approached the castle's towering spires, his voice breaking through the stillness of the estate."Father! Father!" he called out, his words ringing in the night air.A servant caught sight of him, noting the child's dirty clothes and striking resemblance to the welters, his really dark hair and hazel eyes along with his facial features. They alerted the nearest Welter—a man Arthur had hoped to call father.Pierre appeared, his gaze cold and unbothered. When he saw Arthur, he knew the truth. The boy was his son. But the recognition was met not with love, but with fear. Before Arthur could reach him, Pierre threw him to the ground, the force of the impact leaving a scar on his cheek."You're a lunatic!" Pierre shouted, his voice filled with disgust. "Get him out of here. He's not my son."Arthur's world shattered in that moment. His father—his blood—rejected him, cast him aside with nothing but contempt. But Arthur didn't cry out. He didn't plead for anything more than what he had already lost. He simply turned away, dragging himself back through the gates of the estate, wiping away the tears that no one would ever see.Back in the slums, Arthur tried to hide his pain. The people of the district had looked up to him, had called him Prometheus—hope embodied. But now, he was alone in the cold streets, broken by his father's rejection.That was when he met her. A younger girl, perhaps a year or two younger than him, was sitting on the sidewalk crying. She was homeless, lost, abandoned just like he had been. Without thinking, Arthur reached down, offering her a piece of bread and a pat on the head."What's your name?" he asked."Raven," the girl replied, her eyes filled with the same hope he had seen in his mother before she lost it.Arthur forced a smile, something he had never done before, but perhaps a start for a series of forced smiles in his life. "I'm Prometheus. I can take care of you."In Raven's eyes, he saw that glimmer of hope again, the same one his mother had given him before the world took it away. And for the first time in his life, Arthur understood what it meant to carry someone else's hope.Despite all the suffering he's endured—his mother's suicide, his father's rejection—Arthur's resolve remains unbroken. He refuses to let the world break him,to turn to a path of destruction. He wants to ignite the same hope he saw in Raven in others, to restore the spark of hope that he lost when his mother died.Years passed, and Arthur—now known as Prometheus—rose to power within the low districts. He gathered others who shared his vision, forming The Pit and Pendulum. His goal was simple but profound: to see the world that had crushed him brought to its knees, to give hope to the people of Steelgate and Pilturia, to rise against the system and free them all.Standing at the helm of his rebellion, Arthur looked back to the mother who had dreamed of a better life for him, and to the little girl who had reminded him what that hope looked like."O mother," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "If you were here, you would have known that I'm on my way to becoming the good man you always wished for."