Chapter 4 – A Piece of Junk

My name is Reiji, and the world is made of walls.

Some are brick, like the ones in this alley that smelled of old garbage and bad decisions. They closed in on either side, their grimy surfaces slick with things I didn’t want to think about. An overflowing dumpster blocked the far end, a mountain of rotting vegetables and buzzing flies. The only other exit was currently filled by Kael. That was the worst kind of wall. A wall that could smile.

His two shadows, Goran and Pip, fanned out beside him. They were big, dumb lumps of muscle who followed Kael around like lost puppies. Kael was the one with the ideas. Bad ones, usually. And they were usually directed at me.

I clutched the strap of my satchel, my knuckles white.

“Well, well. Look what we have here.”

Kael’s voice was a low drawl, dripping with the fake friendliness he always used before things got bad. He took a slow step forward, his boots crunching on loose gravel.

“It’s little Reiji. Out for a stroll?”

I tried to make myself smaller, to shrink into the brick wall behind me. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic, trapped bird. I didn’t answer. Answering was always a mistake. It just gave him more to work with.

“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”

Pip let out a stupid little giggle. Goran just cracked his knuckles, a sound like popping cartilage that made my stomach clench.

“I was just… going home.”

The words came out as a pathetic squeak. I stared at a crack in the pavement, tracing its path with my eyes. Anything to avoid looking at him.

“Going home?” Kael said, feigning surprise. “But you haven’t paid the toll yet. This is our alley, Reiji. You know the rules.”

I knew the rules. The rules were that Kael made them up as he went along. I didn’t have any money. I never had any money. He knew that. That wasn’t what this was about. This was about the look on my face. It was about the way I trembled. This was his favorite kind of entertainment.

“I don’t have anything.”

“Oh, I think you do.”

He gestured to my satchel with his chin. Inside was a half-eaten apple and my sketchbook. The sketchbook was the only thing in the world that was truly mine. It was filled with drawings of impossible creatures, soaring castles, and heroes with swords that shone like starlight. It was my only escape.

“Let’s see what you’ve got in the bag, little artist.”

He lunged forward. My reaction was pure instinct. I spun away, pressing my satchel against my chest like a shield. It was a useless, clumsy move. Goran’s beefy hand clamped down on my shoulder, spinning me back around.

Kael’s smile widened. He loved it when I fought back.

He ripped the satchel from my grasp. The worn leather strap snapped with a sad little pop. The bag fell to the ground, its contents spilling across the grimy pavement. My apple rolled under the dumpster. And my sketchbook lay open, its pages exposed.

Kael bent down and picked it up. He flipped through the pages, a look of mocking curiosity on his face.

“Wow. Look at this, guys. Dragons. Knights. What a little baby.”

Pip and Goran crowded around him, laughing. Each laugh was a physical blow. I could feel my face burning with shame. He was holding my whole world in his hands, and he was treating it like garbage. He stopped on a drawing of a knight in silver armor, his sword held high.

“Who’s this supposed to be? You?”

He snorted, a wet, pig-like sound.

“You’re no hero, Reiji. You’re a coward. You’re nothing.”

He held the book in one hand, his fingers creasing the delicate paper. For a terrifying second, I thought he was going to rip it. Instead, he just tossed it into a shallow, murky puddle next to the dumpster. The pages darkened as they soaked up the filthy water.

He gave me one last shove, sending me stumbling backward against the brick wall. My head connected with a dull thud.

“See you tomorrow, Reiji.”

They walked away, their laughter echoing in the narrow alley. It bounced off the walls long after they were gone, a soundtrack to my humiliation.

I waited until the sound faded completely before I moved. My cheek stung where it had hit the wall. I slid down to the ground, my legs refusing to hold me. I just sat there for a long time, surrounded by the smell of trash.

Eventually, I pushed myself up. My hands shook as I rescued my sketchbook from the puddle. The cover was ruined, and the ink on the pages had bled, turning my heroes into blurry, distorted ghosts. I gathered my things and decided not to go home. Not yet. I couldn’t face my mother with a bruised cheek and a broken spirit.

I walked toward the edge of the city, toward the place where all the broken things went. The scrap heap. It was a vast, ugly field of refuse, a graveyard of rusted metal, splintered wood, and forgotten junk. It was the only place that felt right. A broken boy in a field of broken things.

I wandered through the heaps of trash, kicking at piles of scrap. A dented bucket here, a shattered wagon wheel there. It was all useless. Just like me. I kicked at a larger pile, a jumble of discarded tools and household junk. Something long and thin slid out from the rubbish with a metallic scrape.

I stopped.

It was a glint of steel in the fading afternoon light. It wasn’t the dull gray of common iron. This was different. It caught the sun in a way that seemed almost alive.

Curiosity pulled me forward. I knelt down, my knees sinking into the soft dirt. I brushed away the grime and the rust-colored dust. It was a sword. Or, what was left of one. The blade was snapped clean in half, the tip missing entirely. It was a piece of junk, destined to rust away into nothing.

But the steel itself was beautiful. Strange, wave-like patterns were folded into the metal, swirling like water. The hilt was simple, wrapped in what looked like blackened, cracked leather. It wasn’t a city guard’s sword. It wasn’t like anything I had ever seen, not even in my drawings.

I reached out and wrapped my hand around the hilt.

A strange warmth spread from the metal into my palm. It was heavy, far heavier than I expected, but the weight felt… right. It felt balanced. It settled in my hand like it was made for me. My fingers, so used to holding a pencil, closed around the grip. For the first time all day, they weren’t trembling.