Hey Everyone! I haven’t posted in about a billion years, but i thought i might as well upload this story, since it’s been hanging around in my hard drive for a while. Hope you like it! If i get a bit of good feedback, i’ll try finish and upload chapter 2…Enjoy xD!

When Jonathan Meyers was six years old, he laboured for three hours over a birthday card for his father. On ther day, he presented it to his dad, who was sitting in an armchair – bloated, lethargic – and stood shyly while his dad inspected it. “Thanks, Johnny!” he said earnestly, then cast it into the fire blazing in front of him. Jonathan watched it burn. But he did not learn from this event, or from others – and still blindly adored his father.

Andrew Meyers had once been a great warrior – a proud commander of the Guards of Orbis – but was disgraced over some event Jonathan had never learnt of. He became bitter – until he started to drink. Then he laughed more, smiled more – but his laugh was drunken and his smile lopsided. He didn’t care for his child or his wife. He didn’t earn an income. He just sat at home, no longer the proud warrior, while his son looked up to him, ever loyal – until he was ten.

“Why don’t you ever listen to me, Andrew!?” Jonathan’s mother said to his dad. They were arguing, again. And, as always, Andrew sat in his armchair, unshaven and smelling of cheap alchohol.
“You don’t pay attention to me, you don’t pay attention to Jonathan – he loves you! Look at this house! You do nothing for me, nothing for anyone ever since-“
But Jonathan’s mother didn’t get to finish her sentence- she was knocked unconscious by the tremendous force of her husband’s hand – while untrained, he still possessed enormous strength.
“This was YOUR fault, boy,” he said, rounding on Jonathan. He was kneeling by his fallen mother. Hot tears sprang to his eyes, as his father prodded him, his words slurred slightly and his eyes unfocused. His breath stank. Jonathan tried to stand, but his father knocked him down, swaying slightly. Jonathan scrambled backwards, turned and ran to his room. Shutting the door, he closed his eyes and tried to hold his tears in. But he could not. He looked around at his room through watery eyes. It was bare and unadorned. This was not a child’s room. It should have been bright, colourful with a soft bed and toys. He picked up his only real toy, a wooden sword which had slain many imaginary enemies as he imagined he was alongside his father – both elite members of the Orbis Guards – fighting the rebel thieves from Victoria. How could he have been so stupid. He swore to kill his father when he was older – for trapping him in this empty life, with no opportunity and no way out – unless he made one for himself. He could not take his mother – he loved her and she had cared for him but she was not strong enough to escape now. Years of being downtrodden and infected with the viral attitude of hopelessness her husband had had left her with no initiative, no spark which both Jonathan’s parents must have once shared. He would have to tread the path of escape alone – with no help
And from that day on, Jonathan despised his father Andrew.

Four years had passed, and Jonathan had used them well. He had been plotting, planning, and careful. And that was what had brought him to where he was now.
Looking at the Orbis station on a Saturday the 14th of July would not yield more exciting results than any other day. Commuters sat around looking bored waiting for their ship to come. A gaggle of youths stood in brightly coloured clothes casting bright spells in a huddled group. And one raven-haired boy stood alone. It was Jonathan. He looked scared but hopeful, with a sharpness about his eyes that suggested he had never been knocked down again since that day four years ago. The way he held himself hinted at hard muscle. And he was making a silent escape from his father’s drunken grasp.
His mother had passed on a year ago, the lifestyle of forever working taking its toll on her life. The house had been cold ever since. Jonathan hated it. The frail embrace of his mother was gone, and so too was the little warmth she brought to the house. Every day, arriving home from school, Jonathan would eat from cold cans of tuna, or baked beans. More often than not, his father was in a drunken stupor. He would never have to experience that cold sadness again.
Presently, the ship arrived, and the bored commuters, and youths boarded. Last was Jonathan, his eyes to the sky. He had plans – big plans. Plans that would take him away from Orbis, to Victoria. Away from the Orbis Guard. And away from his father.