Kere awoke to the sound of screeching metal. He cracked open his eye at the carrier passing his door, metal tires scraping against immovable earth beneath it. He yawned and stretched his aching muscles. Sighing, he got up and peeked out the door. The sun was just peeking above the dim horizon. He was going to be late.

He shrugged. In the corner of the small stone hut were his tools. Aside from the pile of filthy clothes he slept on, there was only a nearly invisible slat in the ground where he kept his savings. Kere heaved the pickaxe onto his shoulder and attached the large bag to his waist before walking into the street.

A few stragglers like him raced through the streets for the mines. Carriers shrieked by, carrying their precious load off to the Edge for delivery. Their rugged tires left hideous marks in the blue stone.

Everything seemed almost as tired as Kere was. The pickaxe handle dug into his shoulder as he made his way back to work. The stone beneath him gave no headway, but his feet had quit their aching years ago. Just like Old Man Junk said they would.

Kere’s lips turned up slightly. Junk had said a lot of things to him that had become almost prophetic. Which made getting out of here all the more important. Junk had instilled in him from a young age the need to escape this place. Porthobo was no place for a child, Junk always said. No place for anyone, really. Most of the people here were old enough to leave, but they couldn’t afford it. They spent their earnings quickly, usually on the local brothel or the bar.

Just three more years. He didn’t know what the price was to shuttle out, but when he was eighteen, he was going to be able to afford it. He made that promise to himself when he was ten years old. He supposedly could try just swimming through the Edge, but he had heard terrible things about the dark ocean. Without a shuttle, that was the only way to get out of here. He figured he’d take his chances with the shuttle.

So he saved and saved. He was betting the shuttle cost a pretty fair bit of scarps, otherwise a lot of people would leave. He’d rather save too much than not enough. Besides, a little extra money couldn’t hurt in the outside world.

Which reminded him. He needed to ask the magistrate about the transfer rate of scarps to reds. The Republic didn’t use their local currency, and from what he had heard, that’s where he’d be going. He had seen reds in the hands of strangers during their visits to this place, but he didn’t really know their value.

Come to think of it, they didn’t get many visitors besides Republic citizens. Rumor was that the Republic had already won the war and it was just a matter of time before the treaty protecting Porthobo was broken. Kere didn’t really care one way or the other. Maybe with the Republic in charge, things could get a little better.

He made his way down the mining cave as the sun finished rising behind him. By now, most of the workers would have taken all of the more fortunate mining places. That’s what he was counting on.

Sure enough, when he arrived in the side tunnel where the mining team was, the silent battle for position was finished. A few new bruises and black eyes were present, even among some of the larger men. Small as he was, Kere preferred to not even be present when the fight started.

Glancing around with his one good eye, Kere pondered on where to mine. He waited for the gentle nudge from his intuition and went to the wall. With a grunt, he swung the pickaxe into the wall. It bit in a few inches. Kere yanked it back out and struck again. And again.

He whipped his head around to look behind him. He could have sworn someone had been watching him, but everyone was fully occupied. It seemed as though their manager was absent today. Crumb had been leaving more and more frequently since their profits had steadily increased. Lately, no one had needed the extra “motivation” offered by the surly man.

He continued his slow dismemberment of the wall in front of him. Like the rest of Porthobo, it was a light shade of tough blue stone called korri. Hidden inside of the korri were small veins of a rare ore called lim. It was soft, almost like clay, but it seemed to sell. Kere couldn’t fathom what such a soft metal could be used for. Maybe for currency? Or decoration? It was a dark, deep blue, nearly black at the center of each vein. It didn’t strike him as very beautiful at all.

The freezing cold made his fingers numb, but he didn’t really need to feel them anyway. The cold helped with his still aching muscles and he was used to it enough by now. As an hour ticked away, he focused on the clouds of vapor that were summoned with each breath. He allowed his mind to wander, thinking of anything.

His mind turned to Junk. The man had passed away more than seven years ago. At least, that was Kere’s guess. He hadn’t started really keeping track of time until a few years ago, so he didn’t really know.  Junk had taught him about the mines, where to look, what to avoid. He insisted that since Kere started young, he would just know where to find lim. Another theory that proved to be correct.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Kere smiled as his pick suddenly dug deep into the wall. He pulled, and out fell some lim. He glanced around to make sure no one had noticed before loading the precious ore into his bag. He began scooping the metal out from the wall and depositing in the bag. This had to be thirty or fourty scarps worth. Maybe it was time to start buying some extra meals and hope for a growth spurt soon.

He jumped, spilling some lim onto the ground as a strong hand clamped on his shoulder. “Kere! I was wondering where I would find you.”

Kere whipped around to face the man. He stood at what must have been seven feet, with thick, dark hair covering his face and head. He stood more than a head taller than the tallest of the other men, with arms thicker around than Kere’s waist.  “Do I… know you?”

The man guffawed in amusment. “You think you’d miss me? No you don’t know me! Can we talk?

“Um… I’m kind of bus-”

Kere winced as the man grabbed his arm firmly and pulled him along, out of earshot of the other workers. None of them paid the pair any mind as the man yanked him into another tunnel.

“Drop the weak guy act. I know who you are.”

Kere blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Kere Aniped. Son of Tirrak and Melay Aniped.” The man narrowed his eyes and leaned down. “Titan? Any of this ringing a bell?”

Kere shook his head, confused.

The man sighed.  “Junk told me about you. You’re exactly what we’re looking for!”

Kere held up his hand. “You know Junk? What do you mean I’m what you’re looking for? Who even are you?”

The man winced “Whoops, sorry. I’m Grodo of Miltek. You may have heard of me…” He looked at Kere’s blank expression. “If you didn’t live here, that is. Okay, I guess I should start from the beginning.” He pondered for a moment, his massive hand stroking his beard.

“So, there’s a war going on. The Republic versus the free territories.”

“I thought it was over.”

“Hah! Republic propaganda, no doubt. No, it’s not over yet. But it’s getting pretty close. Aside from the independent provinces and the Draen union, Miltek and Ambern are the only territories undefeated by the republic.”

Kere sighed. “I still have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Then shut up and listen. You’re from Miltek, like me. That’s why you don’t look like you’re from around here. Ever notice that? Your dark hair and paled skin is completely unique in a place like this.”

“I guess I never thought about it before.” In truth, Kere had never really looked at himself in a mirror. The only places they had one were in the two places he wouldn’t go.

Grodo was still going. “…we’ve been allied with Ambern for centuries – we help them in war, they help us in peace. It’s really nice – most of the time. But with the Republic, things have been getting difficult.”

“What does this have to do with me, exactly? I’m not really part of your country,” Kere stated drily.

Grodo huffed. “Fair enough. Well, long story short, you’re pretty much our only shot at this.” At Kere’s skeptical look, he quickly added, “Your father made you into a Titan. I’m sure you’ve heard of those.”

Of course he had heard of Titans. Stories of men facing armies, destroying mountains, and slaying monsters were told everywhere. Junk had told him many of these tales himself. “A Titan? But those are just in myths.”

Grodo grinned. “That’s what we all thought, but not your dad. He was convinced the myths were true. And that he could make them reality once again. He found some old ruins, did his homework. He was one of the most brilliant scientists of our time – brilliant enough that the Republic neutralized him. They thought he hadn’t finished making his Titan yet, but he did.”

Kere scoffed. “And you think I’m the Titan? Me?”

Grodo gave a nod. “No, your sister. Of course you!”

Kere laughed bitterly.  “I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m no Titan. I can barely stay alive as it is. I stayed behind so I wouldn’t be near the other guys fighting.”

Grodo eyed him up and down. “Trust me, I wouldn’t think so either. But I knew your father personally. He had a few failed theories, but he was positive that his final project worked.”

Kere crossed his arms. “And how do you know it’s me? Assuming you’re telling the truth, maybe you’ve just got the wrong guy.” He spun on his heel to leave. He’d wasted enough time.

Grodo sighed. “His sons both had defects. One was missing his right hand, and the other… was missing his right eye.”

Kere halted in his steps, lifting one hand to his closed eyelid.

Grodo rushed on. “Then I get intel that says a male Miltek in the right age range that’s missing one eye just happens to be here? Kid, the odds are beyond astronomical.”

Kere hesitated. “Junk told me my name. He probably just got it from you.”

Grodo grunted. “No, he told me your name. I wasn’t sure until then. Please, listen to me. Trust me, every sense in my body says you’re a just a kid who can hardly pick up a shovel. But I trust Tirrak.”

Kere shook his head and kept walking. “I don’t. I’m going back to work.”

He was almost out of the tunnel when Grodo spoke up again. “We could get you out of here.”

Kere paused again. “Sure, to go fight in a war that I don’t want anything to do with. Get away from me.”

Grodo chuckled. “You wouldn’t have to fight. Even if the people just think we have a Titan, it could do a whole lot.”

Kere sighed and turned around. “You could get me out?”

“On my word.”

Kere sighed. It could just be a scam of some sort, a trick, but his gut said that wasn’t the case. It was too elaborate, too insane. Grodo was being sincere. And from what is sounded like, he didn’t need to be a Titan. People just had to think he was a Titan. It was either that or three more years of mining. “Fine.”

“Good. The Ambern ambassador will be here in the next few weeks. If we can just convince him that you’re-”

Kere held up a hand. “Wait, what ambassador? Why can’t you just take me?”

Grodo winced. “Not everyone believed your father. Some of them think he turned and started working for the Republic. I kept chasing after his project, so I kind of got banished here.”

“So you lied.”

“I didn’t lie. I sent word as a Miltek to the Ambern that there was a Titan here. If I can prove you’re a Titan, we can both get out of here. Easy peasy.

Kere’s eyes widened. “Prove it? How? Like I said, I’m pretty sure I’m not a Titan.”

Grodo smiled. “We’ll just have to find out what makes you tick.”