Chapter 1 A Broken Gear
He awoke to the smell of fresh sausage and hashbrowns. Slate opened his silver eyes as he tried to rub the drowsiness out of them. As he got out of his bed, his feet hit the cold wood floor, making them recoil away. Once he was used to the new temperature, he made his way to the door. Slate made his way down the stairs of his home to find his mother in the kitchen making breakfast. She was a medium-statured woman. She had curly blonde hair, along with a pair of bright blue eyes. She turned to see him and gave him a warm and loving smile: "Good morning, sweetie. How did you sleep?" she said.
"I slept okay, Mom; still tired from the party yesterday." Slate slurred in response.
His mother giggled a little bit at his response. As he got to the table, she put some food on a plate for Slate. They both sat at the table and ate breakfast in comfortable silence. She was the first to break it: "Slate, your father, should be out back by the time you finish breakfast. He said he wanted to start your huntsman training today." When she finished, Slate gained a bright glimmer in his eyes as he hurried to finish breakfast.
Once Slate finished, he put his plate in the kitchen, thanked his mom quickly, and quickly made his way to his room to change. When he got there, he quickly put on his clothes and looked in the mirror. He first saw his piercing silver eyes staring right back at him. Next was the short and unkempt dirty blonde hair on his head. Finally, he had put on a simple green shirt and black cargo shorts. Once satisfied with his appearance, he made his way toward the back door.
As he made his way to his backyard, he quickly took in the atmosphere around him. He lived in a small village outside the kingdom of Mistral. About 200 people were living here. He could see many people passing by his house on their way to work, whether in the fields, the tailors, or elsewhere. He turned to see his father waiting for him, sword in each hand, next to a straw dummy. Slate approached his father and saw his long brown hair flowing in the wind. Slate could see a glint of excitement, and a dull glow of worry, in his father's silver eyes as he approached. His father was a man of above-average height, around 5'9, and had well-defined muscles that spoke of years of experience as a huntsman. His father was wearing a pair of gray combat boots, black pants with pieces of metal attached for added protection, and a simple white shirt.
Once Slate had reached him, his father put a hand on his head, saying with a smile: "How's it feel being a six-year-old mister?"
"I'm ready to take on whatever you give me, dad!" Slate responded with excitement and conviction in his voice. His father responded with a laugh and handed him the smaller of the two blades.
"Let's slow down there, kiddo; we gotta go through the basics first. Take this sword, and I'll help you get the form right." His father said as he knelt next to him to help Slate fix his horrendous form.
Once Slate's form was adequate, his father had him take a few practice swings at the dummy. Not being used to the weight, Slate nearly dropped the sword on his first swing but managed to regrip the blade before it was let loose. Then, getting back into a comfortable stance, Slate made a few more swings at the dummy before his father stopped him.
"Slate, are you sure you want to become a huntsman? If not, that is fine, but I want to know if you are committed to this before we go any further."
Slate lowered the blade to his side and looked at his father. He looked down in contemplation at the question. He had always thought his father was excellent but was he truly ready to commit his life to this profession? His thoughts moved a mile a second, going around his head like the fiercest tornado. However, that all stopped when he thought about making his father proud. When he thought of how happy his dad would be to see him follow in his footsteps in protecting people, with his mind made up, he looked at his father with no amount of doubt hidden in his silver eyes and said, "I am ready to be a huntsman dad; please teach me."
Looking fondly at his son, he smiled and stood up: "Then I need to show you something. We'll need to go into the woods, though." He started to head out further away from the house towards the woods, and Slate followed him. Father and son walked together as they went deeper and deeper into the forest. Slate looked back and could not see his home anymore, nor could he see the village. When he turned back around, he saw that his father had stopped in a clearing with his back toward him. It was about 30 yards wide, and there was a boulder about the size of a car near the middle of it. The grass was lush and green, like a sea of forestry.
"What I am about to show you, Slate is something you must keep secret. You cannot tell anyone under any circumstances, for both your safety and mine. Do you understand?" his father had said with a firmness that only a father could have. However, the way he asked the question was less of that and more of a statement.
"Yes, of course, Dad. This will stay between us." he said, a bit intimidated by the sudden change in disposition.
Slate saw his father take a breath before suddenly he could see a faint light coming from the other side of him. When his father turned around, he saw his eyes glowing bright, like two silver stars shining even through the morning sun. Slate couldn't take his eyes off his father's eyes. He stared in awe at the sheer power held in the two glowing orbs.
"This is the power of our eyes, son, of your eyes. We are what are called silver-eyed warriors; some of the very few left on Remnant. However, there are forces out there that would hunt us for this power and to wipe it out. I will teach you how to unlock and use this power, but not now." his father stated as he shut his eyes, and the power faded away from them.
"That was amazing, Dad! You opened your eyes, and they were like 'whoosh' and 'bam,' they were glowing super bright! I wanna learn how to do that! Please, Dad, teach me how. Please, please, please." Slate begged his father like a child on Christmas, wanting to open presents.
"I would love to be able to, son, but you simply can't handle it yet. If I were to teach you how to unlock this power now, you very well could go blind. Furthermore, even after you have unlocked it, you can still face harsh repercussions if you do not learn how to use them properly." As he said this, he could see the excitement die in his son's eyes, but then a look of understanding and acceptance came to him as he nodded his head in agreement. Slate's father looked down on him somberly before he spoke again: "There is one other thing I wanted to do while we were out here."
He then knelt before Slate and placed both hands on his shoulders. Closing his eyes, he began to speak: "For it is through vigilance we keep each other safe. Through this, we live to see another day and, by doing so, keep others safe. I release your soul, and by my hand, watch over thee." As he finished, Slate's aura glowed around his body a dull gray before fading back into him.
"Wow, this feels amazing, Dad! Oh, when will I get to use my semblance?" he asked with excitement at the prospect of new training.
"I don't know when you'll get your semblance, son, but I'm sure it will be something great."
As they started to walk back, they saw smoke begin to rise. The smoke was coming from the direction of their village. Quickly they began to run as fast as they could to see if their home was okay. But, instead, they saw their home and town in flames when they reached the tree line. There were men with large guns and weapons charged with lightning dust. Slate could see them running through the village, killing the men and knocking out and chaining the women and children.
"Slate, I need you to listen to me. I'm going to find your mother, and I need you to stay in the tree line for me. I'll come to find you once I've found her." Then Slate's father ran ahead toward the ongoing battle. Slate stood just behind the tree line for what felt like an hour before, foolishly going toward the chaos to find his parents.
11 years later
Slate awoke to the smell of stiff alcohol filtering into his nose. He knew because of that that his mentor had come by while he was asleep. Slate supposed that would make sense; his niece would be taking the Beacon entrance exam soon. He slowly got out of his bed. A couch would be a better description. He looked around and saw the familiar home he'd been living in for the past eight years. In front of him, he could see the holo-television; it was playing some old movie about pre-Great War Vacuo, and to the left was a second, smaller couch. He turned his head around, seeing the corner of the kitchen from around the small wall—the entire room smelt of a night of drinking. The drywall was peeling in some places as he looked to the seams. He'd need to get that fixed. He got up from the couch and made his way toward the kitchen. He saw the coffee pot had some leftover coffee from earlier this morning. There was a four-stove stove top with an oven. Across from the oven were a sink and a dishwasher next to it. There were cupboards above the sink that went across the length of the counter.
"Guess the old drunk was here more recently than I thought," he said to himself as he got a mug from the cupboard and poured himself a cup of coffee. Then, looking at the fridge next to the oven, he opened it and found an apple to eat as he drank his coffee. Once done with his makeshift breakfast, he made his way down the hall toward the bathroom. He saw three doors going down the hall. The first to the right being his destination, but the two at the end of the hall across from each other were his and his mentor's bedrooms.
Once he got to the bathroom, he turned on the shower to start getting ready for the day. He turned his head toward the mirror and took in his appearance. His dull silver eyes still had a bit of drowsiness in them. His dirty blonde hair had grown slightly to reach his eyebrows, still just as messy and unkempt, but it had been trimmed a bit on the sides. He had the start of a 5 o'clock shadow starting to grow. He'd have to shave that after his shower. His face had lost the baby fat that was there as a child. Now having a defined jawline and medium-high cheekbones, he had started to grow into a man resembling his father more than his mother. He had a medium yet very defined build and stood at 5'10. Across his left pectoral was a black tattoo of the number nine, and across his torso, there were several scars from what looked like blades or whips. On his back were many scars from lacerations, many marks unseen due to aura healing the less severe wounds. Hung around his neck was a necklace with a silver chain and an upside-down silver horseshoe hanging from it. He stepped into the shower and let the hot water roll over him as he thought about his dream.
"Been a while since I dreamt of that day. I should stop by the library today and see if I can find more information about what Dad showed me. Unfortunately, the old bastard is still annoyingly tight-lipped about it."
Slate soon finished his shower and left for his room to get dressed. He found a pair of blue jeans to put on as well as a form-fitting white t-shirt. He then put on a pair of black combat boots, grabbed his wallet and scroll, and went towards the door. To the right of the door, he grabbed his black denim jacket and headed out the door.
As he stepped out the door, he took in the fresh air of the island of Patch. It was a peaceful place, with hardly any Grimm due to the huntsmen population. The gentle breeze tickled against his face as a reminder that summer was coming to a close, and soon he would be off to Beacon. He walked over to the side of his home where there was a small shed, about the size of a single-car garage. He looked at his pride and joy when he unlocked the hinged gate with a key from his coat pocket. Inside the shed was a sleek, black carbon fiber and neon green sport bike. It had a 998cc four-cylinder supercharged engine, a lightweight trellis frame, and a fully adjustable high-performance race suspension. With help from Yang and many jobs with the old drunk, Slate managed to build his motorcycle about six months ago. It was one of the few things he could look upon with a sense of overwhelming pride.
As Slate got onto the bike and started it, he could hear the engine's roar as he got ready to speed off. As he tore through the dirt-paved trails, he had one destination in mind, the library. So Slate was once again off to investigate the mystery of his silver eyes and then to Beacon. "Hopefully, there is something new to find this time."
Author's note: Hello dear reader and thank you for reading the first chapter of 'A Broken Cadence'. I do not intend to have many author's notes, as I find them to just pad the word count. I did want to mention in this first one that this is my first time publishing a story and I welcome all constructive criticism as a way for me to improve. I also wanted to specify that the bike is designed after the Kawasaki Ninja H2R. I'm hoping that can help with future imagery. Once again thank you for reading and I hope you have a great day. Stay safe!
