Prologue I: Roman
"Honey, why do you always eat like that, sitting all alone on the sidewalk? You're welcome to come in if you want to."
It was raining, and the contents of the boys' tiny ice-cream cup were quickly being melted and deformed under the droplets of water. The child however was unfazed and continued enjoying his meal with a surprising air of dignity, bringing small spoonful after small spoonful of diluted sweetness into his mouth with the puny plastic spoon, visibly savoring each one. The dirt on his clothes was only partially being washed away and his skin was adorned by bruises and scars; the black cloth tightly wrapped around his head protected him somewhat from the foul weather. It didn't take long for the young man to finish up and, as he stood up to leave, he addressed the kind old lady who ran the shop:
"Mighty kind of you miss, but I'm afraid I can't take you up on the offer."
The boy let out a soft, resigned giggle before walking away.
"A rat must know his place."
-xx-
From its very foundation, the world had always been organized in hierarchies. At the top stood the strong; those capable of harnessing their power, skills and talent to impose their will onto reality and carve out their stories: the roots of legends. The mighty huntsmen and huntresses, those trained in the great academies, were the ones responsible for maintaining order and therefore also the ones that inevitably perpetuated the status quo. They were hailed as heroes for the simple virtue of being powerful, of being able to slay Grimm, of being lucky enough to have been born ready to turn into vicious, bloodthirsty Lions.
On the opposite end of the spectrum, were the rats: the ones born with no talent, born with no wealth and certainly born with no luck; the ones with little choice but to be subjugated by the strong. Feeble, filthy rodents were destined to crawl around through the cracks of society, cursing their own weakness as they claimed the garbage of others as precious food and shelter. Hence, rats must often live by their own code in order to survive, embracing an existence of bitter acceptance and tainting their heads, hands and stomach with filth as they march onward despite the world around them.
In his short years of life, Roman had come to understand these basic principles.
The young man had only vague memories of his past: there were notions of rotten wood and dirty sheets, of a weeping woman beneath the shadow of a man holding a glass, of unbearable pain suddenly broken by deafening silence. But the boy did not bear such things in mind, or perhaps he just couldn't afford to, as he focused only on the pockets of the people unfortunate enough to walk past him. In this regard, Roman had developed an ability that was hardly commendable: he could very accurately gauge the bounty to be obtained from robbing a given target, as well as the chances of being caught in the act, just from looking at their appearance and mannerisms. However, the child's aptitudes went even beyond that, turning into a sort of passion. At some point, Roman was able to appreciate the style, texture and material of other people's attires, though he had decided to keep his sensitivity for costumes as a complete secret from anyone else.
Like many others in situations similar to his, Roman had to keep up appearances as he became well acquainted with the underbelly of the city and allied himself, often reluctantly, with tiny factions usually comprised of other lost children and outcasts. Unfortunately, Roman was keenly aware of the fact that he was not strong: he had never been good at fighting and he had never developed a semblance on top of that, which meant he was at a disadvantage against most people by default. Thanks to his abilities as a pickpocket though, the boy had managed to secure himself a good spot with a group of older thugs that kept him safe and provided him with as good a shelter as he could hope to attain. Though, he understood how dangerous it would have been for someone in his position to confuse his relationship with the group with anything even resembling camaraderie: rats knew no honor, and even among each other they avoided recognition to prevent resentment and jealousy.
-xx-
On one particularly rainy day, Roman had a skip to his step as he leisurely wandered the corners and alleyways that had become familiar to him. The young thief had managed to snatch a plentiful bounty from an Atlas official that would likely secure him a long time of protection, or perhaps some good favors, or, most likely, plenty of delicious sweets. As he walked along, Roman allowed himself a rare moment of relaxation, taking in the scenery around him. Naturally, the architecture in his immediate vicinity was not endowed with a pleasant aesthetic style, but still, there was something undeniably romantic about the city under the rain, even from the perspective of the slums. The light mist around him almost made the outline of far off objects undistinguishable from each other, creating a sort of dreamlike effect. Furthermore, he found the constant noise of the raindrops tapping on all different kinds of surfaces to be quite soothing. For the first time in what felt like ages, the young man allowed himself to indulge in his innocence and his sense of beauty.
Then he turned a corner, and there she was.
A young girl, crying, yet not making any noise. It was a surreal image: the child sat on the floor with her face contorted by sorrow, her minute hands rubbing her eyes and covering her face, but the only part of her that wasn't soundless was the relentless trickling crushing her from above. The scene appeared all too suddenly to Roman, prompting his body to react on instinct before his mind could process anything: he immediately turned back and began walking away. Before he could take one too many steps however, the young man felt a weak yank on the back of his shirt. Dismayed, the boy turned around and was met with those big, mismatched, beautiful… desperate eyes that looked at him and only him, begging to be found. Her stare disarmed the poor thief. No one had ever gaped at him that way.
Awkwardly, Roman took hold of the girl's trembling hand and tried to distance it from him, but that approach instantly backfired, causing the girl to hold the young man's arm firmly with both of her hands. Finally, Roman was flustered enough to voice his indignation:
"Hey, stop!" – The girl pushed her head against Roman's arm – "I'm telling you! I'm not..." – In spite of the rain, Roman felt the girl's tears running down his hand – "I- I can't…"
For a moment, silence settled between the two, as the girl continued to cling to the young thief. Despite all the pain, despite everything he had learned about cruelty and violence and sorrow, despite thinking that he had accepted his life as an undesirable, as unneeded waste, Roman's gut couldn't bear the sight of this girl. Betraying everything that had come to define him, he extended his other arm toward the pitiful figure. Suddenly, he was overcome with the urge to reach up and dissipate the clouds with his bare hands… if that was what the girl needed. Then, he realized something and cracked a little smile: maybe, it wasn't necessary to resort to such drastic measures. Roman patted the child's head as he stood up:
"Alright, alright you twerp. If you're going to cling to me like that and leave your snot all over my shirt, I guess I have no choice but to do something about it."
In a swift motion, Roman took off the cloth that was tied around his head, revealing a mane of bright red hair that stood out even under the dim sky. The young man then extended the cloth above both of them to shield them from the rain. However, Roman was once again a bit flustered when he saw the young girl gazing intently at his hair:
"What? You like it or something? I don't enjoy having this hair color at all. It doesn't help much when you're trying to sneak around and…"
Roman's sentence was abruptly interrupted by a dainty hand reaching toward his head and lightly rubbing his hair.
"Oh, well, I guess you do like it."
At last, the young lady smiled and Roman's breath was taken by her innocent charm. Deep down, something changed in him and he understood that it would likely never change back. A Rat that comes to understand that he is capable of making a girl genuinely smile, will find it infinitely more difficult to consider himself "a rat". Then, the moment between the two was unceremoniously interrupted by a single droplet falling on the girl's forehead, making her flinch, frown and close her eyes. For a change, Roman laughed sincerely.
"Well, sorry twerp. You can't really expect a weakling like me to completely stop the rain for you. I only have a rag after all, but, in the future…"
Roman then kneeled down to be closer to the girl.
"Soon I'll be able to give you a big umbrella, and since now you owe me, you're going to have to use it to protect us both from the rain, alright?"
Once again, the young lady smiled, making the young man's heart skip yet another beat.
"Though, if we're going to stick together for a while, I'm going to need your name."
The girl then looked distraught for a moment, before locking eyes with Roman and shaking her head.
"No name huh? In that case I guess I'll go ahead and give you one."
It was too late, as far before Roman had uttered that sentence he had already come up with a name for his newfound companion; a perfect way to mix his old treasure with his new one. As the clouds finally began to part and a ray of sunlight shone through and into the eyes of the girl, Roman stood up, took a few steps and reached back, extending his arm.
"Alright, let's go, Neo."