The streets of Almes, in the Principality Santinte were grimy and wet with water from sailors and fishermen, who tracked it deep into the city as they came home from the open seas. The air was humid and the sun beat down upon the ground without a single cloud to stop it. Despite this awfully hot weather, life in the city of Almes never stopped. People never ceased to stop moving, because the movement was life.

I have to get there, and do this, and then that . . . and maybe this

Such a train of thought was ever constant in the average civilian of Almes, to such a degree that no one noticed Lazerus, a poor orphan child only 14 years of age. He wore no shorts, only raggedy underwear, and a torn tunic. His skin was tanned a grim black from the dirty streets, and his eyes bore no inner light, only a vacant stare. His body had many scars, as well as his feet and hands, which seemed to grow calluses like they were mushrooms after rain. If any of the civilians were to notice him, no matter how nice they are, they would not be able to resist the tingle of fear which trickled down their back at eye contact. 

To summarize, Lazerus looked extremely worse for wear. 

However, none could blame Lazerus for his look if only they knew his pain. It was not the kind of pain you get from a paper cut, it was a deep, mental wound. Just only a few months ago, this orphan had been a happy child with loving parents, however, that period of his life was cut short by the blade of a thief, who only spared Lazerus on a whim. 

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As soon as Lazerus recalled that night, his brow titled down in anger, and his eyes became alight with life once more. Images of his bloody mother and father fed fire to the flame, forging a new personality within Lazerus. The heat from his anger and strife formed something much harder and tougher than what he had been before. Lazerus felt his soul seemingly reawaken to the world as a purpose-filled his being.

It was a simple purpose, not a just or right purpose, but it was something that gave Lazerus life, and thus, gave him the energy to move. For the first time in days, Lazerus moved his body up from the streets and thought to himself with such strong tenacity ill-suited to a child.

I´ll kill that bastard thief . . . I´ll kill him . . . I´ll kill him . . . Revenge . . . I´ll get my Revenge. 

If one were to look at the soul of Lazerus at this moment, the heat of his anger was so intense, that this newly forged spirit, upon close inspection, had cracks within it. It was hard and tough, but fundamentally flawed, like building a castle upon a soft foundation. He wouldn´t come to realize this anytime soon, however. 

Many walking by blew him off as if he was throwing a temper tantrum, a deadly mistake to say the least.