[Mad Hat Island, 1507]
That morning, the air on Mad Hat Island tasted saltier than usual. Bastian had just finished his morning training. His body still ached, though he had started to get used to the routine over the past few weeks. He was assembling a few new rifles that had just arrived when Arthur walked in—his face tired, but his eyes full of energy.
Since their brief encounter, Arthur had started visiting the workshop more often. While Bastian didn't fully trust the boy yet, he was growing accustomed to his presence. With his rough manner, Arthur had offered to help around the workshop. Maybe he just wanted to keep an eye on Bastian, but to Bastian, it looked like someone trying to seize a chance.
"What's today's job?" Arthur asked as he stepped into the workshop, tossing his worn-out hat onto a wooden table cluttered with knives and half-finished weapons.
Bastian gave him a brief glance. Arthur stood at the doorway, eyes filled with curiosity—too much curiosity. There was something burning inside this kid, something Bastian couldn't ignore. As annoying as he was, Arthur had a resilience rarely seen in kids his age.
"Clean the floor. Get the tools for the weapon repairs," Bastian replied casually, not looking up from his work.
Arthur nodded right away, seeming pleased to be given a task. "You won't regret taking me in," he said as he began sweeping the dust off the workshop floor. "I know a lot about this place. I know who to fear and who's worth working with."
Bastian nodded, eyes still fixed on the rifle in his hands. He wasn't one for small talk, but he was beginning to sense that Arthur might be more than just a street kid. There was something in him—something buried beneath the sharp tongue and abrasive demeanor.
As Arthur worked, Bastian kept assembling his weapon, occasionally glancing at the boy. He began to see that Arthur's life might not have been easy. Beneath the bravado and cocky attitude, there were wounds—old ones, still unhealed.
"Have you always lived like this?" Bastian finally asked, breaking the silence that had been filled only with the clicking of metal and Arthur's footsteps.
Arthur turned, eyes narrowing. "What do you mean?" he asked defensively—but Bastian knew he understood the question.
Bastian paused, then looked at him. "You're not like other kids your age. There's something deeper beneath your surface."
Arthur looked away, his face hardening. "I didn't have a choice," he muttered. "I never chose to live like this. My mom was a prostitute—not the fancy kind from the red district—and I grew up on the streets. In Mad Hat, only those who learn to survive... get to live."
Bastian fell silent, absorbing the weight of Arthur's words. Mad Hat Island had its own way of breaking people, and clearly, Arthur had been broken young.
"So, no family?" Bastian asked, trying to understand more.
Arthur shook his head, messy hair falling into his face. "No. My mom... she died a long time ago. Killed by people who don't care whether others live or die. Since then, it's just been me."
Something stirred in Bastian. He wasn't perfect himself, and though he didn't know the full story of Arthur's past, he felt a growing connection between them. Both had endured pain, in different ways—enough to recognize it in each other.
"I'm sorry," Bastian said quietly. Then he looked at Arthur. "You're not alone anymore," he added. "If you want, I can talk to Old Man Lazhar. Maybe he'll let you study here."
Arthur turned to him, eyes narrowing briefly before a thin smile crept onto his face. "I already know that," he replied. "I just need someone who can teach me. You know how it is in Mad Hat—only the strong survive."
Bastian nodded slowly. "True," he said, tapping his temple with a finger. "But strength isn't just in your muscles. It's also up here."
Arthur chuckled softly, the sound tinged with bitterness. "No one ever taught my brain to think—just to survive."
"Maybe now's the time for that to change," Bastian said. "If you want to learn, I'll help however I can."
Arthur looked at Bastian, his smile growing a little wider. "Alright. But don't think I'll be an obedient student."
"I never expected you to be," Bastian replied with a grin of his own.
Bastian's words reminded Arthur of something he had long forgotten—a need for someone to teach him more than just how to fight. Someone who could show him a world beyond blood and street chaos. Bastian wasn't gentle, but there was something about him that made Arthur believe he could learn more than just how to survive.
In the days that followed, Bastian and Arthur began working together in Lazhar's workshop. Although Arthur still carried his rough edges and reckless ways, he gradually showed talent in assembling and repairing weapons. He seemed to enjoy the work, even when it was tough. Bastian noticed small but meaningful changes—Arthur was starting to learn patience, not just in battle, but in daily labor.
In those moments, Bastian found a strange sense of peace. Maybe life in this brutal world wasn't entirely bleak if you had someone by your side you could trust. A friendship began to take root—not perfect, but enough to offer a glimpse of hope to those who had lived too long in the shadows of despair.
And so, their bond began to form. Not the kind born of smiles and laughter, but in a world full of chaos, it was more than enough to survive.