After running for what seemed like an hour, Rhys pushed through the back alleys toward an abandoned building that lay boarded up. He ripped off several of the boards and entered into it at ease. He walked through the lobby and up the stairway. 'This place is still the same.' Rhys thought as he went into one room and flattened on a couch.

  The adrenaline calmed, and his body became one with the couch as he drifted to a much-needed sleep.

  There was a time long ago when the two boys would flee their home whenever they could get away. They would wander the streets and search for adventures in the world, anything to escape what awaited them at home. The boys' father and mother were terrible people, a not-so-uncommon fact for the impoverished parts of Cadwyn. Violence and abuse became like air in the lungs, a familiar trickle one could not live a day without.

  On the day their mother pushed their father off the balcony down to his death, the boys didn't feel the sadness one might feel when losing a parent, but only relief. They laughed as they walked through the city's streets, scurrying around like animals and searching for new hiding holes to play in.

  Then, later, their mother died as well. The foolish woman fought with her dealer, an arrogant act of entitlement. She thought she could get whatever she wanted, but the men wanted neither her insignificant coin nor her worthless body. The only thing they found useful was her life.

  Aeron was young, too young to fend for himself. All of the tragedies caused him to be more reclusive, to hide away in a shell of his making. Only when he was with Rhys would the boy brighten up and show some of the emotions a child should have. But as the months passed, both boys' bond grew stronger, and they could see the light in their lives shine for once.

  It wasn't until one mid-winter night that the boys found this abandoned building nestled deep into the backstreets. Despite the danger lurking in every corner of the outskirt district, it still became the boys' safe haven—a place where they could escape and be at peace.

  Rhys would lie on the couch and relax while Aeron scuffled through the different rooms like an adventurer on the prowl. There never was much to find in an abandoned building, but as they always used to say, one man's junk was another boy's treasure.

  A lot of their time was spent in that building after their parents died. 'Home' was foreign to them. Even before they died, it was more like a prison cell than anything else. After they were gone, it was merely a reminder of the bad times, so the boys adapted and found a way to survive.

  It was great—until it wasn't.

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  One rainy night, the boys were cuddled up asleep on the couch. But the sound of shattered glass awoke them. Aeron trembled, and Rhys reassured him with shaky hands.

  A man's grunts echoed through the building, ricocheting off the cold brick walls. He cursed like mad, slamming objects in the room he entered as if they meant nothing. His methods reminded the boys of their father, the loud and obnoxious anger fueled by a hatred for the world and everything in it. Life wasn't unfair; only one's decisions put them further away from the finish line.

  The boys rushed off and attempted to hide, but in their haste, they made a little too much noise, and the man heard it. He rushed out from the room he was destressing in and spotted the two young boys scurrying away. The man's face brightened like a late-night bar in the brothel district. He licked his lips and quickly gave chase, causing the two boys to run away frantically.

  To the boys, the man was a big, mean, powerful brute. He may not have been the tallest or largest man by far, but to two children, he was a monster no less scary. As they ran up a flight of stairs, they felt the man's presence breathing down their necks.

  The man reached out and grabbed Aeron by the back of his shirt with a smug grin. Aeron screamed and flailed, his feet still on the staircase. Rhys trembled and shook. He was terrified, but he would not let anyone harm his brother.

  Rhys screamed and jumped off the top of the staircase. With red and teary eyes, the boy's body flung down, slamming into the man, who reflexively let go of Aeron to protect himself. The man's efforts proved meaningless. The reckless charge caught him enough off guard that his body tilted and slipped off the steps, tumbling down until a loud thud crackled through the abandoned building like thunder.

  ...

  Thunder crackled outside the building, lacing Cadwyn's backstreets with a familiar tinge of stillness as most retreated into their holes. Rhys' eyes opened as he lay on the couch, body drenched in sweat. Pangs of guilt still slammed against his heart as he sat up and curled his body inward with his hands against his face. He knew coming here would reawaken the memories of those long-passed days, but part of him wanted that—wanted to feel the surging waves of memories flooding into his mind.

  Rhys' breaths came in tight bursts, causing his body to feel as if ants were crawling all across it. Thunder slammed again, echoing like an angered God spewing hellfire. Rhys began laughing as he slicked his hair back. His eyes glimmered like the unbridled fury of the heavens storming outside.

  "Even the heavens have pity for a grieving brother," Rhys mused as he focused his gaze out through the boarded windows. "Pitter-patter against the window pane; all the bad guys hate the rain. Here comes a storm, nice and strong; with it, bad guys know they won't live long."

  Rhys stood up, re-energized, and rested. His body may have healed, but one would find it hard to prove from the ache in his heart. He walked through the building, reaching a far back room blanketed in dust and darkness. There was a thick desk in the middle of the room that he pushed away, revealing a small latched door on the floor. "Soon, there'll only be ninety-eight eyes in Ouroboros' twisted little group," Rhys said as his hand caressed the wooden frame.