A little over 10 years ago, there was a young, 13-year-old boy who sat at the edge of a pier in London, overlooking the river. While it wasn't as great as the view of the ocean he was used to, he made do with what he had. After all, he was just happy that he could read his fantasy book by the water.

This book was his great escape—it had been for many years. Every day before and after school, he would come to this pier, since it was near his house, and read. It was the only place where he wouldn’t hear screams of rage, followed by the sounds of physicality, or feel the pain of his classmates’ fists. And every day he did this, he would wish more and more that he was in the world he read about. And he had read that book nearly a hundred times.

However, the one thing about the book that caught his attention most of all was not the epic storyline, nor the grandiose villains and adventures, but rather a simple creature. No matter how many times he read it, he found that he would resonate with the terragong more than anything. It was a common beast that roamed the southern planes of the continent that the book took place in. It was something that would strike fear into the hearts of anyone who did not know what it was. But those who did know would not even bat an eye. For as impressively large, tough, and intimidating it was—for as loud as its gong-like roar sounded—it was one of the most passive creatures in the world. By nature, it was a peaceful being that only feasted on grass and other greenery. It would never attack another creature and it would never dare think of randomly impaling a living being with its twisted horns. In fact, the only time it would ever use its god-given monstrous strength would be to protect itself or others around it from aggressors. It would only use its power for the protection of the innocent and the weak.

Even though the terragong was just a creature mentioned in passing by the book, used just to world-build, the young boy didn’t care. There was something about that creature’s nobility that the boy couldn’t help but adore. He wished that he could be as powerful as a terragong, that way he could finally be a hero…that way he could finally protect something.

On one particular day, although he didn't know it, that admiration would be what changed his life forever.

It was a calmer day. The twilight sky was darkening as the seagulls above started to quiet down. Only a few ships passed by, which was unusual for a day such as today. In fact, the hustle and bustle of the city was idly lax. Honestly, it was a nice change of pace for the boy—it was one of the most peaceful reads he’d ever had. As he flipped the page, finishing another chapter, he heard a voice call out his name.

“Silo!” the voice called out. It was a familiar, woman’s voice, and it was a bit distant. “Silo! It’s time to come home, dear!”

Silo sighed and closed his book. “Coming, mom,” he responded, disheartened.

He slowly got up, looked at the glistening, yet slightly polluted river, and turned around. He walked towards the woman at the other end of the pier who was waving towards him. She was a Mexican woman, with deep, beautifully tanned skin and an even prettier heart. She had a well-covered-up bruise under her eye and a smile that could warm even the most frigid of people.

“How was your book?” his mother asked with joyful curiosity.

“Oh, good,” Silo simply replied. “It was fun.”

His mother reached a hand out and he grabbed it, like always. They both began to walk towards the alley and through the usual route back to their house.

Just as they turned a corner, his mother asked, “Soooooo what kind of adventures did Harry and them go on?”

“It’s Hargahld, mom,” Silo replied, rolling his eyes. He laughed a bit. “I keep telling you this.”

“Oh, my bad,” she said with a sly look. “So what did you read about? What new trouble did those guys get into?”

“Well,” Silo started to say, looking down at the ground in a contemplative way, “it’s the part of the story when they go into the White Willow Woods. You remember, right, mom?”

“Of course,” she said.

“Well, I was reading it again, and I realized that I think I missed something until now.”

“What?” she gasped in an exaggerated manner. “Something that even you missed?”

“I know,” Silo continued in a serious manner. “I was surprised too, but I think there’s some hidden m-m-meaning in Hargahld’s fight with the demon. I-I think there’s something with the color of their eyes or something...um…and then the trees. Sometimes…th-the…and then the moon.”

His mother then began to stroke his hair in a loving way. “Calm down, sweety. Slow down and gather your thoughts. You’re a very smart boy and you just need to let your mouth catch up with your mind.”

Silo took a deep breath and smiled, leaning his head against his mother’s side. With a chuckle, he said, “I know, mom, I know.”

After a couple more minutes of strolling down the usual path, they arrived in front of their house. It was a bit of a ramshackle place, cobbled together with some older wood and cracked stone. It was situated deep into a back alley, smashed in between two abandoned houses. Most of the windows were bordered up and the front door was at a slightly odd angle, making it so that it creaked whenever opened. However, to Silo, it was home…nothing less.

As he and his mother approached the front door, smiling and talking about small, simple things, she began to pull out her keys. Fumbling with them for a bit, she eventually grabbed the one that unlocked the front door. However, the moment she placed the key inside the lock, she paused and didn’t turn it. Her face went slack for a moment and grew instantly more serious. This was something that even Silo noticed.

She then pulled the key out without ever using it and placed her hand on the doorknob. Turning it, the door opened. It was already unlocked.

The interior of the house was compact, but in a cozy way. There was a single couch in the middle of the living room, with only a rug and two empty bookshelves beside it. To the left was a small corridor that led into the kitchen and the back door. On the direct other side of the room was a closed door that led to the master bedroom and the only bathroom in the house, which had a functional shower and bathtub. On the right side of the room was a steep stairway that ran up to the second floor. The only room on that floor was a small storage attic that got converted into Silo’s room.

Even though the house normally felt warm and inviting, there were days when it was significantly colder. Based on how his mother was acting right now, Silo knew this to be one of those days.

As if on cue, stepping out from behind the master bedroom door, was him. He was a shorter man with the most ghoulish skin one could imagine. His visage would give ghosts a run for their money. His hair was blondish-grey and obviously balding, but he had a comb-over that attempted to cover up his insecurities. The most noticeable thing about him was his full, bushy mustache that covered up most of his upper lip.

The moment he stepped into the dim light of the living room, Silo looked up at his mother, who looked down at him,

“Honey,” his mother said with forced positivity, “go upstairs to your room.”

For a moment, Silo continued to stare at the man. There were so many thoughts and vivid, horrid memories that ran through his head. After a few seconds, he clutched his book tight within his hands and responded to his mom, saying, “I know.”

He walked up to the stairs and to his room, never losing sight of him, even though the man never once looked in his direction. Which, honestly, he figured was for the best. He knows what kind of icky, lustful eyes the man has when looking at his mother, and he would probably die from shock if they ever landed on him.

Once he arrived at the top of the stairs, he quickly opened and slammed his door shut. He flopped onto his bed and started flailing his arms around, angrily punching his ancient mattress. As he did, he started to imagine scenarios, like always. He would imagine a world where he was big and buff. He fantasized about speaking up and calling the man out for what he does to his mom. After all, he would then have strength to back it up.

He can see the scene so vividly in his head. The man would get angry and laugh at him, saying that he’s “just a wimpy, peaceful, kid.” Silo would then laugh back and say that he’s as strong as a terragong. The man would then try to punch him, but he would punch right back and beat him up! He would scare the man so badly that he would never bother them again, and he and his mother would be able to live in their home happily ever after.

But that fantasy was rudely interrupted by the sounds of reality. As muffled as they were, he could still pick out each individual word that was being slung back and forth downstairs. His anger turned to sadness, and his imagination faded from his head, turning into the tears that flowed down his face.

“It hasn't even been that long,” he heard his mother protest. “Can you please just give us a break?”

“It ain’t my decision,” he heard the slimy voice of the man say. “The little man downstairs calls all the shots.”

It was already more than Silo could bear to hear. In a quick attempt for temporary peace, he moved his bed to the side, revealing a wooden sheet that was colored slightly different from the rest that were affixed to the wall. He swiftly pulled it away, revealing a crawlspace that was just big enough for him to move through.

He shimmied through that passage for a few feet before arriving at another room. This space was cramped, to say the least. It was only 4 feet tall at most, and only about 10 feet long and wide. In it was a pillow, a couple of blankets, some half-drunk bottles of juice, and a plethora of snacks. The place was otherwise empty, dusty, and decorated with a couple of spiderwebs.

He quickly wrapped himself up with his favorite blanket, cuddled his book next to him, and laid his head on his pillow. It was his own little getaway. It was a place for him to escape it all and be himself. It was his own little corner of heaven. Unfortunately, however, it was also the closest seat to hell.

Even from this location, he continued to hear his mother argue with the man.

“Why do my son and I have to live in this place,” she said, “while you have a mansion to yourself?” Her Hispanic accent grew thicker the more forceful she got.

“You ungrateful bitch,” the man retorted, somewhat matching her energy. “Look at what I did for you. I spent my own money and time to move you and your sniveling son out of that shithole-of-a country you called home. Not only that, but I pay for everything you need—you don’t have to do a damn thing but shut up and come to me when I need you.”

“I don’t care. I’m tired of this and I want you to leave us alone. Go ahead and call the authorities. I don’t care anymore.

“Don’t talk back to me, woman!” the man screamed.

“Don’t yell! I don’t want my Silo to—”

WHACK. The sound of a fleshy slap reverberated throughout the entire house. The silence that filled the air afterwards was deafening. It was hard to tell how long that awkward emptiness lasted for, but it was far too long.

Silo couldn't bear to sit in the unknown any longer—he resigned himself to his fate once again, unable to find peace. Unable to ignore the pain, he reached down and pulled up one of the loose, wooden two-by-fours on the ground.

With it removed, he had a direct line of sight to the living room couch. There, he saw his mother sitting on it, clutching at her cheek. The man was standing in front of her, pointing his finger directly at her face.

“Never tell me what to do,” the man said, the words seething between his teeth. “You are my secret—don’t you forget that.”

Silo’s mother didn’t respond.

The man began to put his coat on and walk towards the front door. “Great, now I’m not even in the mood anymore,” he said. Without another word, he slammed the door behind him and left.

Silo’s mother collapsed onto the couch and began to weep. It was a somewhat quiet cry, forced to be as silent as possible so that her son would not hear. Unfortunately, he not only heard her, but saw her miserable state. What’s even more tragic, however, was that this was not the first time he had seen this sight. No, it was something he had almost grown numb to…and he knew that it wouldn’t be the last time he saw it either.

However, this time was a bit different. He looked behind him at his book and then back to his mother. Something inside of him began to unravel. Something started to finally click into place. Grabbing his book, he shook his head in a resolute manner.

Enough is enough, he told himself. Enough is enough.

***

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Throughout the next week, Silo spent the time he had between walking to and from school rummaging through various trash bins. He was desperately looking for something. He didn’t care how he looked or if anyone was even watching him. Finally, towards the end of the week, he found it.

In a bin outside of the butcher’s store, he pulled out a rusted kitchen knife. His hands shook as he held it. Every part of his being hated the mere existence of this weapon. Every fiber of his body begged him to let it go, but the image of the terragong kept his resolve alive. After taking a few, deep breaths, he put the knife in his backpack and wandered off.

For the next few days, he would carry that knife with him wherever he went. Even when he went to school he would bury it deep within his backpack so nobody would see it when opened it up. When he was with his mom getting lunch, he would bring it with him, hiding it in the same bag that he always kept his book in. He always kept it close, knowing that one day he would need to use it, but always hoping that the day would never come.

But fantasies never last, do they?

One day, on his way back from school, Silo saw him casually walking down the main thoroughfare of the town. However, he wasn’t alone. Next to the man was another, much larger man. This man had broad shoulders and was multiple feet taller than him. This tall man wore a crimson, velvet suit that hugged his body well, showing how well-defined his muscles were. He had a black goatee that was just starting to grey around the edges. That being said, the most noticeable thing about this man was the metal, prosthetic arm that limply hung to his side.

Silo thought about doing it right there and then, but something about the tall man’s man aura was too much for even him to bear. The resolve that was built up within him was overshadowed, albeit temporarily, by this man’s presence. Silo’s body locked up and all he could do was watch as those two continued to walk by him, casually conversing amongst themselves.

Disappointed in himself, he sighed and made his way back to his favorite pier. From there, he continued to read his book. While reading, he found himself constantly flipping back to the beginning of the book—to the small section where the terragong was briefly mentioned. He was engrossed in it, and continued to reread it over and over again.

He would’ve continued to do so for many more hours if it wasn’t for the fact that the dimming light of the sun broke his concentration. When he looked up at the sky, he saw that it was almost night—he had been sitting out there longer than he ever had before. His mother never called out for him.

Oh crap, he thought to himself, mom is gonna kill me.

He quickly packed up his book and rushed home. He dashed through the alleys, dodging any obstacle that got in his way. He was surprisingly athletic at such a young age. It only took a couple of minutes, but he did eventually find his way home. He stopped for a few seconds to catch his breath before opening the door.

Once he was able to breathe at a normal rate again, bent down and lifted up the mat that was in front of the door. When he did, however, he was surprised to see that the spare key was not there. The moment that realization hit him, his eyes went wide, and he instantly stood up. His shaking hands then reached for the doorknob.

Don’t be unlocked, don’t be unlocked, don’t be unlocked, don’t be—

The knob twisted over and the door swung open. A shiver ran down his spine, almost paralyzing him on the spot. His arms grew weak. His palms grew sweaty. And his breathing accelerated again.

As he stepped inside, his eyes were met with a sight that wouldn't leave his mind for the rest of his life. Lying curled up on the couch was his mother, naked and bruised. She was shivering and crying. However, the only thing he saw trickle down her face was a couple drops of blood.

An anger welled up inside of him. Before he even knew it, he looked down and saw that he was already holding his knife—he had no recollection of ever pulling it out of his bag.

Just then, he heard whistling and footsteps coming out of the master bedroom. As the door opened, he saw him step out with only unzipped pants on. He was casually putting on the rest of his business attire as he sighed with relief. The moment the man’s eyes met his, there was something that snapped inside of Silo’s brain.

“Oh, kid, I would get up to your room if I were—” the man started to say, before pausing. His eyes wandered down to where Silo’s hands were and gave a curious look. “What do you—”

But before he could finish that question, Silo screamed as he charged at the man. The stunned man simply stood in place as Silo plunged his blade into the man’s side. The man then kicked Silo, forcing him back a couple yards and knocking the air out of him. The man then pulled the knife out and started to walk toward the immobilized kid. There was murder in his eyes.

Suddenly the man was tackled by Silo’s mother. Limbs flailed as screams of pain and fury continually rang out like a discordant choir. Sprays of blood splattered against the wall…and Silo was forced to watch it all—his body was frozen and in pain. Even with the resolve to fight back, he could do nothing but watch.

The struggle only lasted for a few more seconds before the man stood up, covered in blood. Silo’s mother, however, remained unmoving. The man then looked down at his victim with widened eyes and a ghostly expression. He screamed out in horror, dropping the knife and frantically backing up until he hit the front door.

“What have I done?” the man yelled. “What have I done!?”

He then looked around for a few more seconds, clutching his hands to his head. He calmed down a little bit and started to ramble out loud.

“I…I…I…” he stuttered. “Archard. Yes, Archard will take care of this. I need him. I need his help. Yes, he can get me out of this.”

The man then hastily wiped his face with his coat, threw it on the ground, and left in a hurry. Silo continued to stare. His breath still escaped him and his mind was frozen still. He couldn’t tell if there were no thoughts or too many thoughts going through his head. Either way, he felt nothing. For someone who constantly immersed themselves in fantasy, this moment felt the most unreal out of anything he had ever experienced in his life.

Slowly, he crawled over to his mother’s corpse. He saw the lifeless eyes that were filled with desperate love and anger. He gritted his teeth and simply cried. His voice went course from the constant moaning and yelling that his sadness brought out of him. He continued to lay over top of her like some kind of a shield.

“I’ll protect you, mom,” he cried, “I’ll protect you.”

And he stayed there for an unknown amount of time. Rather, time did not have any meaning to him anymore. He did not want the passing of time, but rather for it to go backwards. He continued to weep and lay there until a new sound snapped him out of his depressed trance. He heard the sound of multiple car doors shutting and a couple of hushed voices just outside the front door.

They’re back to kill me, he thought. I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die. He then looked down at his mom and clenched his teeth together. I don’t wanna die.

In the hardest decision he had ever made in his life, he ran from his mother’s corpse and up to his room. He ran as fast as he could. Once inside, he shut his door and quickly made his way into his secret hideout, closing the entrance behind him.

From there, he watched a number of people enter the living room. The first of which was the tall man with the metallic arm. The rest were either unfamiliar people with black suits on or police officers.

Oh, thank goodness the police are here. At least mom is going to get—

And then he watched the tall man hand the chief of police a stack of cash. “It’s so sad that such a crazy woman had to take her own life like that,” the tall man said.

Looking down at the cash, the chief took it, placed it in his pockets, and replied, “It sure is, Archard, it sure is. It’s a shame that your friend was in the house when it happened. Must have been traumatizing.”

Archard looked at the man with a smile. “No, no, you misunderstand. He was walking by when he saw it happen through the window, remember? He was not inside this building.”

As he said that, he held out a blank, black business card. The police chief laughed for a bit before saying, “That’s right! My bad, old friend. How careless of me to forget.” He then turned towards the rest of the officers. “Whelp, about time we pack it up! Seems like a pretty open and shut case.”

And with that, everyone soon departed. The body was left there and the house was once again empty. Any immediate threat seemed to be gone and silence returned to the abode. However, unlike most nights, where the silence would be warm and comforting, this one was haunting and eerie.

Even still, Silo remained in that space for over a week, subsisting purely on his snacks and juice. He was afraid that someone would be looking for him. His paranoia was at an all-time high and he didn't want to die. He didn’t want to die. He didn't want to die. He didn’t want to die.

For a week straight, he stared at his mother’s corpse from above. For a week straight, he thought of nothing but what happened there. For a week straight, only one word continued to play inside of his head: Archard.

Eventually, the goons that came with Archard returned to the house and cleaned it up, completely. They removed the mother’s body and made it look like nothing ever happened there. The moment they touched the body, Silo considered leaping down and fighting them, but he was too afraid. He knew what happened the last time he tried to fight someone. And so, he resigned himself to his ever-watching fate…for now.

I just need to be strong, he thought to himself. I just need to be as strong as a terragong.

***

[3 years later]

It was a murky day. The rain was drizzling downwards and the sky was grey. A storm had just blown through London, washing away any stains that were left on the street—in theory, at least. Nothing seemed any greater nor lesser than it was prior to the rain.

A teenage boy, bordering on the line of adulthood, was walking through a back alley on the east side of the city. His long, stringy, black hair was matted to his tanned, angular face. His eyes were looking down at the puddles that he stepped in, making sure that there was nothing being harmed by his passing.

After a little while, he paused. A figure just ahead and to his right caught his attention. Calmly, he sauntered over to it. He found a grown man, maybe in his mid-twenties, slumped against the brick, alley wall. He was sitting in a giant puddle, underneath a crappy, cardboard canopy. He was shivering in the misty rain, only covered by his dirty, sopping clothes, and a stained blanket. He was a tall man with broad shoulders and an unshaven face. There was a wet cigarette in his mouth that seemed like it was once lit but quickly extinguished by the world.

The teenage boy bent down so that he was on the same level as the man. “Are you alright?” he asked. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before.”

With an uneven exhale, the man said, “Piss off.”

“I see. You were betrayed pretty badly, huh?”

The large man’s muscles flexed. “What do you want? Are you here to take more from me? Well too damn bad, I ain’t got nothin’ left.”

“Amen to that,” the teenager replied, sitting down in the puddle next to the man. “No one in this area has got a damn thing. It’s all because those elite assholes over there keep taking from us.”

The rugged man relaxed a bit and looked over at the teenager. His eyes were sunken in and dead, but that one comment from the teen gave just a little bit of life to them.

“Who are you?” the man asked.

“Ah, my bad,” the teen whimsically said, “I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Silo. And yours?”

“Iro.”

“So what happened to you? What can I do for you?”

“Prolly not much,” Iro said, laughing with his raspy, basslike voice. “‘Cause my problem comes from those same fucks that you just mentioned. They took everything from me. From ME.” He slammed his hand to the ground, causing a big splash in the puddle.

“I’m sorry that happened to you.” Silo’s eyes were soft and endearing, and he had a smile that could warm even the most frigid of people. “So they took everything, huh?”

“Oh yeah. My job, my money, my reputation, and even my future. They took it all.” He then tried to light his cigarette with no success. “Ya know, I was the best damn smith in the whole fuckin’ factory—you could ask anyone and they’d say the same thing. I worked day in and day out. Never complained and always did my work. And it was top-tier work, I tell you what.

“I believe it,” Silo softly said. “Those are the hands of a hard-working and dedicated man. I know them when I see them.”

Iro looked at Silo with a slightly tilted head. His expression was more relaxed and his guard was down even more. “Thanks. Anyways, I never made no enemies and I tried to get along with all of my coworkers. I had the respect of everyone in that factory…well everyone that wasn’t at the top.”

“I see.”

“Yeah. Those hoity-toity pissants don't know hard work is if cracked them upside the head. They don’t know what us common-folk go through. They don't know what it’s like to actually work for a livin’. I used to think they at least understood us. I used to think that.”

“What changed that?” Silo asked.

Iro’s expression grew sadder and more reflective. “I saw my boss deny my coworker sick leave to be with his pregnant wife. She was about to give birth, ya know? The boys and I thought that the whole situation was wrong, and so we confronted the boss about this. And ya know what he did? He threatened to fire every last one of us. Ain’t that somethin’?”

Silo said nothing. He simply nodded his head and kept listening.

“Well, so every one of us then decided to go on strike. We weren't gonna put up with the disrespect. I led the charge and used my reputation at the plant to rally all the other laborers to strike with us. And we had a lot of the plant on our side.”

“So how’d it go?” Silo asked.

“Great at first. We had the whole media on our side and a bunch of support. I thought for sure it was gonna work.”

“What happened?”

Iro’s face contorted with old anger and his bundled fists shook with rage. “Archard happened. Partway into our strike—maybe the third day or so—I saw the famous billionaire himself walk around near us. Now, you prolly know who he is, like most people around here do. So you understand why I was curious as to what some charity softy like him was doing out there with the police chief and the factory owner. Turns out everyone is this fuckin’ town in his pockets. The police work for him and protect him, the factory is secretly owned by him, and he had a vested interest in makin’ sure we didn’t protest no more. To make it worse, the moment his name was in opposition to us, the whole country was suddenly on his side. Everyone loved him because of who they thought he was. If that ain’t fucked, I don’t know what is.”

Silo’s face remained open and welcoming, but beneath that visage was an old hatred that almost broke through to his positive demeanor.

Iro continued his story, saying, “Soon enough, they was locking us all up for going on strike. They made striking illegal from that point on. Can you believe that? Just with a simple word and some cash, that dickbag made the politicians act faster than they had since the world wars. With my name smeared and my reputation ruined, I lost everything. My wife left me, no jobs would hire me, and I was forced to sell everything I had left in my name.” He then looked at Silo with a broken expression. “It ain’t fair, man. I ain’t fair.”

Silo slowly stood up and let go of his positive expression. Replacing it was a hard, determined, yet still caring one. He looked down at the broken man and made his declaration. “I’m going to do something about all of this. We’ve been hurt too much and for too long by those elites and the corrupted powers that protect them. No one truly looks out for the little man, but that’s going to change.”

Iro gave him an inquisitive look. “What do you mean?”

“I’m trying to form a gang around here—one that will rise up and be strong enough to take on this tyranny. We can’t play their game any longer. We have to fight using our own means. We will be the ones who set this country free.” He then reached his hand down towards Iro. “I already got one member by the name of John—they're a friend of mine. It may be small now, but one day it will be the largest threat those assholes have ever seen. So what do you say? Are you in, Iro?”

The large man grabbed Silo’s hand and shook it. He made his way onto his feet and said, “I’m in.”

“Welcome, Iro,” Silo said with a smile. “Welcome to Aries.”