Crowe!
Run CROWE!
Crowe, a young teen with dark brown hair, clutches his brother's hands as he escapes the burning banquet.
Screams could be heard right across the walls of the door as imperial knights methodically approach them, swiftly silencing the screams.
The boys knew it was their mother's voice, replying only by deluding themselves that it was the cries of another woman.
Crowe forcefully shuts his eyes, focusing on bringing his brother, Archie, to safety. They had now become the last of the Messmers. A prestigious family that controlled the planet's transportation.
Mommy HELP!
Daddy Help!
Archie screamed those words but was met with silence. Crowe could not bring himself to relieve his brother's cry. He too wanted to wallow in pain.
The brothers filled their eyes with tears as they ran for miles with no end searching for refuge. They witnessed the underbellies of the city in which they weren't accustomed to, the city was riddled with broken bones of animatronics and giant electronic billboards laced with sprouting sparks of electricity.
They had then stumbled upon a group of young disheveled men, queued up in one straight line. A giant board had wrote out:
"FORGE YOUR PATH WITH THE BEAUCLAIRE CORP, YOUR FUTURE AS A WIELDER STARTS HERE!"
Archie wiped the snot off his nose and sniffed. He pulled Crowe's hand.
"Aren't wielders magical people who protect this planet, can I become one too Crowe?"
Crowe hesitated, searching for other answers as it would tear him apart to see his brother go through such ordeals.
His eyes darted.
Rot. Decay. Neon signs flickered above heaps of trash, Drones buzzed above - their lens cracked and some blind. Above him, the
skylight barely pierced the smog enveloping the slums.
Archie's eyes drooped, he knew his foolish dream would put Crowe and himself in needless danger.
Crowe sighs
Crowe tightened his grip and pulled little Archie towards the queue
To become wielders.