Chapter 1: Focus (Edited)

Morning came. The light of the rising sun crept through the sky. It struck the ground between the structures that were barely considered buildings, with the color of red like blood.

As his eyes fluttered open, Franswift rose from the leathers he laid upon. As usual, hunger gnawed at his stomach, but he wasn’t fazed. This predicament was the usual for him as well as the other residents living in this godforsaken place. Most of the people who lived here were no strangers to hunger.

He crouched inside of what could benevolently be called the bare minimum of a roof over his head. A simple small tent made of grey cloth. Held up from the middle by a crude cut beam of wood, and its ends hammered down to the ground by wooden stakes. The inside of the tent was littered with junk that he had thrown around himself and some of his hunting tools. He knew from experience that if food or tools were left out in the open overnight he wouldn’t find them the next morning. The thieves might even try to kill him, to prevent the trouble of him looking for them.

He rummaged through the small tent, pushing aside the tools and junk. After he found the spot he wanted, he cleared the junk around, then dug through the dirt with his hands. When he hit a hard surface, he cleared the remaining dirt around it, then lifted out a box. Inside the box was some food he had buried.

After he took out a small piece of bread and meat from the box, he brought them to his mouth. He nibbled his food, afraid he would drop a single bite of food. Then he followed with small sips of water from a leathered flask.

It was common knowledge to ration food to be able to work. By rationing, the hunger would remain unfulfilled, but you would be able to survive. The foolish who immediately ate all their food, either died of starvation, or were too weak to do any kind of work.

When Franswift stepped out of the tent, he was greeted by the familiar warming stench intensified by the heat of the sun. He stood in his place, looking at the usual scenery outside his tent. Surrounded by chaotic scattered “houses” either made of metal scraps and cracked stones. Or like his case, the worst kind, the shabby made tents. What filled this scenery with more hopelessness, were the ragged people that either sat down, or slowly came and went.

The youth, Franswift, was only twelve years old. He has lived in this slum all of his life, Abandoned at birth on the streets, picked up by a few beggars that found him. Needless to say, they did not take him in for charity, they got extra coin when the passersby sympathized with him, the baby. Naturally after growing up, they did not care whether he lived or died much less whether he continued with them. His value was lost when he grew up.

Franswift was Just as dirty and ragged as the others. He was lean with a fair complexion, and dark rough hair dangled in front of his youthful face. His hair color matched his dark black eyes. His skin was filled with calluses, and some parts of his body were riddled with scars. Yet, his eyes were filled with a patient and strong-willed determination, ever watchful for an opportunity.

Life in the slums was always hard, but what entailed differed from one person to another. Some survived by going through scrap heaps. Others by hunting outside the city. And a few lived by selling their bodies. The lucky few were the ones able to get labor jobs, who after accumulating some money left the slums.

Franswift walked toward the north as he passed through more similar scenery. Filth and trash covering the crooked streets, traces of blood smeared on most of the surfaces. Haggard people with lifeless eyes. Starved children laying on the ground as they waited for death. If one scanned the area, they would even notice corpses littered around some corners.

His senses screamed in disgust, assaulted by the familiar stench of piss, mixed with the smell of decaying corpses and blood. Which accompanied the frequent sounds of groaning, begging, and faint echoing screams. Every time he walked these streets, his resolve to leave this abomination intensified.

Ignoring the “casual” conditions, Franswift continued until he arrived at the northern gate. When he reached it he made sure the blade in his pocket was hidden and was not within sight. He felt it was stupid that the guards stopped those with visible weapons. Everyone knew that no one ever re-checked after them. He had once thought to ask them about it, but he had neither the time nor the curiosity to go with it. He knew curiosity always killed the cat, especially in a place like this.

As he passed through the - 10 meter long and 5 meters wide - gates and walked by the guards. Franswift had not one indication, he was hiding a weapon. His face masked by an indifferent cold expression, sending deep chills to who might see.

When Fransift stepped outside the city what awaited was not some flowery field. But a similar, if not a more depressing scenery. A vast barren brown land as far as the normal eye could see with not a strand of civilization to see. The only signs of life were the ragged beggars walking around the wall and the few hunters and who walked in straight directions.

As Franswift kept Walking further north fewer people appeared and traces of greenery began to emerge.

Following the traces of greenery north, a mesmerizing verdant lush forest appeared. It was seated at the horizon, with no clear end neither left nor right.

After he left the desolate land behind and stepped into the forest, Franswift breathed in the smell of green earth as it washed over his body. Whatever stench that had lingered in his nose was now gone.

Franswift always perceived the forest even more boundless from the inside. Towering trees concealed the smaller ones and all types of plants intertwined together, made the forest seem like a great web of greenery. But that was the extent of its peacefulness. The vibrant colors of the forest on top of the fresh air were the perfect cover for the ferocious beast.

Franswift knew how deadly this forest could be just from the sheer number of the lives lost in it. Hence, he never hunted or collected anything beyond the outer perimeter.

Before he advanced beyond the periphery of the forest, Franswift started preparing. He collected some grass and squeezed some liquid from it. He then mixed the liquid with some dirt from the ground and smeared himself with the mix.