Sparks in the Ruins

HE had watched it all unfold. There are things no child, especially one who's only 12, should ever witness. Growing up somewhere as daunting as Grayspire tests your happiness. Limits it. His had been torn from him when Tobin, the sole father figure he'd ever had, died right before his eyes. Then again, when he lost his friends in the warehouse explosion, forced to watch it all from the shadows of a nearby rooftop. Kellan had lost them all. Tobin, Marek, Rue, Brann, Joss... Pip. He'd seen the way she clung to Corvin, a name only ever spoken with pure resentment, and he watched them vanish into the night together. He wanted to chase after them, to pull Pip away and comfort her, to prove that even after all of it, he would still be there for her. But they'd vanished so fast and left no trace behind. He climbed down from the rooftop carefully, then ran to the one place that felt safest - a stupid attempt, when the person who made it feel safe and full of life was gone. Still, it was the one place left to him. Tears streamed down his face. No matter how often he swiped them away, no matter how hard he blinked, they kept pouring down like waterfalls. The salty taste, the dense polluted air, the flashes of their deaths looping like a broken film reel, the way he couldn't breathe right from the running and muffled sobs - it was far too much. He was only a kid. After stumbling a few times and nearly walking into poles, he finally reached the pawn shop. Then he stopped short the second he saw it. As if the universe hated the idea of sparing him anything, the place had already been broken into. For a pawn shop, that wasn't surprising. The round window had been smashed, the door hung busted open, and different items were strewn across the ground. Kellan pulled out his bat ( which was really just a medium sized pole ) from where he'd kept it tucked into his belt and held it up defensively. No one stood nearby; only a handful of people dotted the far distance. He edged toward the shop slowly, eyes narrowed, both hands locked tight around the makeshift weapon. The moment he stepped inside, his heart dropped even lower. The whole place had been wrecked and picked through. He walked in, and for the first time ever, there was no sense of warmth or belonging waiting for him. He headed straight for the back door that led to the place where he and Tobin stayed. He owned almost nothing. His 'room' was only a hammock tucked into one corner, framed with wood and closed off by a makeshift curtain for privacy. He gathered the few necessities into a satchel: clothing, personal items, his tools, gadgets, and other bits he had been tinkering with that could fit. Just when he was shrugging on his black hooded jacket, a noise burst out in the shop beyond.