Riven paced back and forth in his cramped, dimly lit room. The golden monocle lay on the thin, worn blanket of his bed, catching stray beams of moonlight that filtered through the cracked window. Each glint off its polished surface seemed to call to him, a silent whisper that grew louder with every passing moment.
He tried to fight it. He had made it back sooner than his "brothers," who would stay out until the festival's final embers burned out. For now, he had time. Time to gather his thoughts, to steady the tremor in his hands. But the monocle's pull was relentless, almost alive—its gleaming eye demanding to be worn.
At last, the impulse overpowered the fragile strength of an eight-year-old's will. With trembling fingers, Riven picked it up and placed it over his eye. A shiver ran down his spine as the world snapped into crystal clarity. The fog that had always blurred his sight was gone, replaced by a sharp, vivid panorama that filled him with a sense of wonder—and dread.
The moon outside his window no longer looked like a distant smudge of light. It shone with an ethereal brilliance, bathing the rooftops in silvery light that rippled like water. He remembered catching only glimpses of it in the alleyway, but then fear had stolen the moment. Now, in the quiet of his room, he could marvel at its beauty without the green-skinned monster's laughter echoing in his ears.
The stars above, once just tiny points of light in an endless sea of darkness, now burst forth like jewels, woven into the black tapestry of night. They reminded him of the monastery paintings he'd been forced to stare at when he was sick—holy images of angels and saints, captured in impossible detail. And in the spaces between the stars, tiny lights flitted about: flickering shapes like fireflies, but with the delicate outlines of miniature people. They danced around the slow-moving carriages on the cobbled streets below, trailing the fireworks that turned night to day.
For the first time in as long as he could remember, Riven smiled. A true smile, free of the mocking laughter of the other boys or the director's cold voice. But the warmth of that smile died the moment he heard footsteps outside his door, heavy and sure, moving with purpose.
"They're back," he whispered, heart racing. "I've got to hide this."
He lunged for the edge of his bed, fingers scrabbling at a loose floorboard. The gap was so small only he knew of it, a secret he kept even from the director. He found the tiny hole where he'd hidden a needle, pulling it free and using its point to pry the board up just enough to slip the monocle beneath.
As he worked, he could feel the monocle's weight in his palm, its golden curve warm from the heat of his skin. The footsteps drew closer. With one last glance at the monocle, he slipped it under the floorboards and pressed them back into place, hiding the object that showed him a world he could never have imagined.
The sound of stumbling came up from the staircase, the creaking sound of the house settling was overtaken by the sound of half drunk men and teenagers. The loudest by far would be the director, coming to collect his 'tax' for taking care of the forgotten urchins in the world.
"By the God above, where is Riven? That boy still hasn't brought me his taxes!" The voice thundered through the creaking house, each word dripping with anger and alcohol. Riven could hear the slurred menace behind the words, the same drunken fury that had haunted him every night. 'Just as drunk as yesterday,' he thought bitterly. A familiar sting flared in his forearm, a phantom ache that always came with the Director's voice.
"I swear to the God Almighty, that boy won't be here come next year! If he can't bring in money, then what's the point of feeding him?" The words were a venomous promise, each one sinking deep. But Riven clenched his jaw, his thoughts steeling him against the bile. 'I won't be here anyway, you drunken bastard.'
His gaze flickered to the place where he had stashed the monocle. It wasn't the only treasure hidden there—coins he had managed to keep from the Director's greedy hands rested alongside it. Enough, he hoped, to get him to the other side of the city, where the docks beckoned with the promise of freedom. There, at the bustling harbor, he could make an honest living—meager, perhaps, but his own. And he knew a "brother" there, one who despised the Director just as much as he did. No risk of betrayal. No chance of being dragged back.
"Brother, oh brother, where art thou?" sang Kae, the Director's right-hand man, his voice dripping with theatrical flair. He was so enamored with the stage and its grand speeches that he wove lines from plays into his daily speech, every word a performance. He followed the Director like a shadow, always echoing his cruelty with a foppish, mocking lilt.
'That swine doesn't deserve to call me "brother,"' Riven thought, his knuckles whitening as he clenched his fists. The word was nothing but a lie on Kae's lips—a title he used like a joke, but one Riven refused to let define him.
The others were behind him. Their slow, stumbling footsteps gave away the stench of alcohol Riven had caught the moment he'd opened the back door. His forearm throbbed again—an old, familiar pain that he instinctively soothed. It was oddly comforting now, more bearable than the dread of those so-called 'brothers' dragging themselves up the stairs toward him.
Their drunken breathing soon reached his door, hanging thick in the air, making it heavy—almost suffocating. It was always the same choice: the door, or the belt.
He always chose the belt. He wouldn't last a day out there, not when they were given nothing. As the doorknob began to turn, Riven's thoughts drifted to the fate of those who had chosen the door. The boys vanished into gangs, most dead within a week. The girls, well, they ended up in pleasure houses, serving the twisted desires of nobles, young and old.
He remembered his mother, and the truth she had never spoken, but he had long since realised. The Director made sure every girl became a lady of the night, regardless of her age. Pregnancy was inevitable. And when the child came, it was taken, and the cycle began anew.
The belt lashed toward his face, but as always, Riven raised his forearm. It was his only defence against a force so much larger, so much more powerful than he was. The Director's face wobbled grotesquely with every swing, fat rolls jiggling on his neck as he howled in rage. The man's shirt was fine silk, clean, expensive, shining under the flickering light. Riven, and the children who watched from the hallway, wore nothing but thin rags that didn't even keep out the cold.
A bitter wind blew in through the broken window behind them. The belt came down onto Riven's skin like a hammer to an anvil, with each strike a new pain was forged in his body. Riven bit his tongue afraid of letting out a single bleat. The Director relished in their misery, with a smile of pure ecstacy creeping upon his face. The alcohol reeking from his breath with each laugh, plunging the room with the smell of hedonistic lifestyle that the Director made the orphans crowded outside the door frame pay for.
Riven saw them cowering, some laughing although these laughs were always half-hearted, people were always to scared to stand up to the Director. 'Cowards', Riven mouthed towards them. He however understood. They had to laugh as anyone who didn't was a 'bad audience' by Kae's standards and he would place them on the belt's waiting list.
Many gave up any form of resistance after that Kae was thrown away by the Actor's Guild near the cultural centre, so this was his personal stage. One in which he scripted who would get beat next, the script never involved him or his 'assistants'. The ones who always laughed sincerly at other's misfortunes, they always gave him entertainment.
As they laughed the misfortune only continued for Riven. The belt had rung his skin raw, the colour of his forearm was now a mixture of red and purple, it's original flesh colour only remained on small portions only visible from close up. Old wounds that were originally closed have now been reopened with blood now filling the floor.
'It's quite cold tonight.' This was the only thought that had filled Riven's head, as the beating continued. The dripping of his own blood overtaking the sound of the laughing or the sound of leather meeting flesh. The only move he learnt from his brother who had left was, 'Never let the director hurt you how he wants, and protect what is important to you.'
Riven always remembered the final words he heard from his only 'true' brother before he left the docks, away from the oppressive thumb of the Director and the cycle that he was a part of through his own birth.
The world around him started to turn to black, he eventually lost control of his hand, the Director already tired from a minute of beating a child, walked his fat rolls through the door and said to Kae, "Clean that mess up, and get the children to clean my coat, the brat spilt his blood on it." He started to enter his room, however he paused mid-way through the door.
Turning once more to Kae and stating, "Bring Elosie and Clara to my room, the soon will come of age, and I'll started having to pay." He then closed his door, the two girls who were called out were dragged by Kae's 'assistants' to the dressing room.
Riven then heard Kae shout towards them, "You were such bad audience members for the Director performance during Riven's last beating, so you'll have to make it up to the director. Remember perform well tonight or you'll be sent to the Noble's Delight."
Riven saw the girls terrified. He felt bad for them but there was little he could do. This was due to once sent there, they'll be dead within the week, 'Like my mother'. Riven saw the girls leave and as the swelling numbed his entire arm, he looked out towards the window. Towards the palace, it's light shinging down from atop its hill. But what lit up his eyes was the sign of the a little red light figure that fluttered in the night sky.
"Beautiful." Riven shot out of his mouth as he passed out. His head collapsing towards the floor, his body going numb. His world turned black, and the light's went dim.