Prologue

He had run away.

She had been kicked out.

Here our story begins. . . .


She wandered around, cold and hungry, waiting for someone to come along. She hated being reduced to this state of helplessness, but it was unavoidable. No one had wanted to hire her, so she couldn't get money for food or rent; as a result, she stole what she needed. She wasn't proud of it, but it was life, and life was shit. The one thing she wanted most was a shower. She needed desperately to wash her curling hair. It was short, though, only down to the bottoms of her ears. And at least her bangs weren't long enough to go in her eyes yet. . . . She sighed and shook her head at her own idle thoughts, pulling her thin sweater closer to her and wandering further into the alley.

"Hey, girl!" a male voice called out behind her. "What are you doing?"

She turned to find a boy standing in the mouth of the alleyway. He looked to be around her age, but taller. His hair was fire-orange, sticking up a few different places, and his eyes, in complete contrast, were dark black. The expression on his face told her he was cocky, little arrogant . . . but there was something else there, too. Regardless, he, unlike her, seemed perfectly warm and well fed – he would be a perfect target.

"Oh, I'm just . . . taking a look around," she called out innocently. A lie. "I'm new to Death City, so I thought I'd wander around and get my bearings." Another lie.

He eyed her critically. "Are you staying with someone, or are you just visiting?"

"Just visiting." A third lie, this one harder to force out. She hated that she was stuck here. She missed her home before the incident, her happy life, her books, her friends. Now all she had were the clothes on her back.

"What's your name?" he asked casually, walking a little toward her.

"Um, I'm Lyra."

"Lyra . . . ?"

"Lyra . . . Frey." She had debated changing her last name, but decided to keep it for the sake of familiarity.

"Well, Lyra Frey, nice to meet you. I'm Alexander Aeir." He flashed a half grin at her. "Just call me Alex."

"Hi . . . Alex."

"If you want, I could show you around . . . help you get used to the layout and all."

Lyra hated it, but still she walked up to him, smiling coyly and allowing a flirtatious tone in her voice. "That would be . . . nice." Alex smiled widely.

"Great," he said, turning away. "We should start with–"

He was cut off as Lyra's hand transformed into a metal blade with edges that seemed to mimic waves.

"Sorry about this," she told him, her demeanor suddenly cold, pressing the blade to his back. "But I need all the money you have."

"And here I thought you were going along with me because of my charm and wit," he said dryly, turning to face her once more. A slight look of shock flickered across his face. It was only there for a second, though, and afterwards he kept his face carefully neutral. "You're a Weapon?"

For some reason, Lyra's heart sank. Not many people these days held contempt for the people who could transform their bodies into fighting machines, but there were enough Weapons to make some people afraid. But why would she care if this stranger was prejudice against Weapons? You care, a small voice whispered to her, because you were hoping he was different from your parents. Maybe that was it, but still, it was a stupid reason for her to feel hurt. Suddenly, her depression turned to anger. Who was he to judge her? After all she had gone through, didn't she deserve a break?

"Yeah, yeah, I am a Weapon," she told him with renewed vigour. "And I'm also hungry, and cold, and very, very annoyed. So please, give me your money – and your sweater, now that I think about it – before I decide to carve you into pieces."

"You're not one of those weapons that eat human souls are you?" he asked her carefully.

"Wha-What? No! Why would you ask that!"

"Just checking." And to her eternal shock, he grinned and stuck his hand out. "Let me reintroduce myself. I'm Alex, a Meister. I'm on my way to join Death Weapon Meister Academy. Would you like to come with me?" He was a Meister – one capable of wielding a Weapon without harm. He didn't really seem like the type to be a Meister, though; it took a strong soul to be one, and this boy looked like a spoiled rich brat.

"You're insane. . . ." she breathed.

He chuckled slightly at the extreme look of shock on her face.

"Come on," he said softly. "It would be a better life for you than the one you have now. Unless you enjoy robbing whoever happens to cross your path in this alley . . . ?"

"I. . . ." She faltered. Why was he being so nice? She was trying to mug him, for goddness sake! So why was he offering. . . ? "I. . . ."

What would it be like, she wondered, to be in a place where Weapons and Meisters were taught by people just like them? To be able to use her weapon form for something other than petty theft? To have a room, a place to call home again? It all seemed a little to good to be true, and yet. . . .

Her hand returned to normal.

"Sure, why the hell not?"

And a year passes.


[A/N]

Thanks so much for even bothering to read~

This will be my first story deemed worthy of actually getting posted. I usually type out chapters in a word document on my computer, so there shouldn't be any misspelled words, and my apologies if there are. Same with any shitty grammar there may be.

I admit, I would like at least one review before I post the next chapter . . . but regardless, I'll post when I end up finishing the next chapter. (Lol) So, yeah, hope you enjoyed it. If you don't like OC's, I don't recommend you continue on with this story at all.

Thanks goes out to my sister, who read this first, and who helped me work out some details. Thanks, Casper!