‘Off-Shore’
That was what they had called the settlement Hugo lived in.
He assumed it was named after the beaches that were regularly covered in metals and trinkets, washing up from god knows where.
It was an average-sized settlement, nothing too grand or alluring.
This did mean that travellers from other settlements were sadly few and far between. He lived in a bubble, isolated but protected.
Because of this Hugo’s knowledge of the outside world was minimal at best. He knew of the grand cliffs that littered the nearby beaches, of the forest and all its creatures, and the deadly wastes just beyond.  
He knew of the Mutts and the wandering tribe that had always kept its distance.
He knew of the Shade and the dangers of misbehaving.
He knew only what he needed to survive.
Things were boring, to say the least.
The Kingsman kids had gone missing just a week ago which would have been worrying if it weren’t a regular occurrence for them. They were more restless than Hugo had ever been and often adventured further than they should.
They would turn up soon enough, they always did.
 
“I think your mum wanted to speak to ya” Spoke Gavin as he sped up to a jog.
The brunette quickly disappeared through the metal gates that acted as the only entrance.
The walls that surrounded the town were large, probably the largest thing in the village. They stood almost four times his height and were mostly wooden with several sheets of metal used to plug holes.
Hugo often marvelled at the craftsmanship; he imagined a giant behemoth reaching up to fix the last log to the wall, the cheers of the Convoy echoing throughout as they celebrated their newfound safety deep into the night.
He could stand and think all day.
He could also think all night when he was inevitably locked outside to be eaten.
The boy quickly stepped forward and moved through the gates while he still could. He hurried through the settlement streets.
It wasn’t smart to keep his mother waiting.
As he walked he would notice the many houses and structures that seemed to sprout up at random. Order was something that most didn’t need. Some houses were more metal than wood and Hugo knew that as a sign of wealth.
Most buildings were built entirely of wood and wore water damage like battle scars. Wood rot and splintering boards were abundant in these houses and yet dwellers saw it as nothing more than a fact of life. Something that they couldn’t fix and instead had to live with.
The people had no room to complain. No one kept them poor against their will. If you were too weak to fight for a better life then you deserved the one you had, it was simple.
As Hugo walked, houses began to lessen. He lived on the outskirts of town, near the wall.
The walls were not absolute.  
They couldn’t keep out everything.
This was why most desired the safety of others, flocking to the centre of town where the beasts that could scale the walls wouldn’t dare dwell.
Those that dwelled near the walls were either brave or poor. unable to afford a home deeper in the village or simply unwilling.
His house finally came into view
The building was more of a shack than anything else. Its rotten walls and poorly built foundations caused it to slant to the left slightly, a wooden board was propped up to make sure it didn’t fall completely.
He could recall the freezing winters that had left him shivering and shaking on the floor. There was no insulation and so temperatures inside were almost always the same as out. His mother couldn’t afford a coat large enough to cover him and so he was often sick throughout the colder months.
 Thwap.
He stumbled forward and shielded his skull with his hands.
Something had hit him in the back of the head.
Walking past him was a strong, pale woman with dark hair that matched his own. A worn grey dress clung tightly to her body. It fell just past her knees before it had been torn, now only reaching halfway down her thigh. Hugo could hear the sound of fabric tearing replay in his head.
“And where the blimey hell have you been?” The woman hissed as she entered the shack.
Hugo was quick to follow her inside.
The shack was just as rundown inside as it looked from the street, with only a bench on the far wall remaining mostly intact. It was small inside too, maybe four metres wide and twelve long. Against the left wall was the small piece of sewn fur that acted as the teen's blanket and had done so since he was six, to say he had outgrown it would be an understatement.
“I... I got lost. Chasing a rat.” Recounted the boy, fear building within him.
Even though he had told the same lie to Gavin, saying it a second time seemed more difficult. The calm tone that he had spoken with the first time was now nowhere to be found. Where the fuck did the sudden courage come from?
“Did you catch it?” She asked without skipping a beat.
“No mum..”  
The woman turned around to reveal a face of disappointment. She closed the distance Hugo had left between them in a single step before locking eyes with the boy. The fear that had been building was now at its boiling point.
It was painful.
It always was.
A yelp left the teen's throat as he clutched his face.  
It only lasted a second and yet Hugo could swear it was an eternity.  
That was what it did to you though. Time seemed to slow down, as it always did. He could only watch as she raised her hand. He could only watch as it sailed through the air and collided with his face.
His head throbbed again and he couldn’t think. He couldn’t speak.
“If you ever leave for that long again AND come back empty-handed.”
“You’ll be the next one that goes missing, alright?”
Her words were like a knife dipped in poison, the way they could hurt him long after the wound itself had healed. Her yelling was in some ways worse than any pain she could inflict.  
After all, bruises and cuts healed over time. But the words would stay with him.
 
She handed him a crudely crafted knife and turned away, muttering something that he couldn’t understand.
He turned and left the hut quickly, his grip on the knife tight enough that his hands began to ache. His eyes were red and swelling with tears. Yet he did not cry.
Crying was for children who had not gotten their way.
Crying was for the weak.
His headache seemed to worsen with every step away from the hut, the world somehow began to spin around him.  
He was so angry.
So tired
He leaned against a home he did not recognise as his free hand moved to press against his temple. Slowly he massaged his head in hopes it could relieve some of the pain.
“Ugh..” Groaned the boy as he forced himself to continue.
Every step worked only to worsen the pain until he could no longer move, the gates just ahead of him.  
He knew something was seriously wrong when his vision began to blur and it felt like he was underwater, clawing helplessly for a surface that only grew further away. He fought as hard as he could against the thick blanket of nausea that covered him.
He fought against the calm that strangled him to sleep.
“Hey! stop standing around.” Shouted Gavin as he emerged from behind.
The brunette held a machete in his right arm, obviously sent out to gather food just as he was.
It seemed Gavin had once again saved Hugo from whatever had been plaguing him, the shroud of emptiness fleeing back into the deepest parts of him. Hugo glanced up as his headache cleared, avoiding the brunette’s eyes completely.
He knew how he looked.
Pathetic. Disgusting.
Weak.
Hugo didn’t say a word to the other boy as he fled through the gates and deep into the woods. Deep enough that Gavin wouldn’t dare follow him.
It was getting dark now, darker than usual. Even without the trees to block the light, the brightest days were always shaded. As if some unseen creature was blocking the sun from shining down.
When night fell, that darkness only escalated. By the time the sun had sunk below the horizon, the world was blinded. Some tell stories of a brother that the sun had who would illuminate the nights, but he had been killed in the hour of light.
They were just rumors to him.
Hugo didn’t have much time to find something, if he was left outside at night he would surely be devoured. He was easy prey.
Running deeper and deeper into the forest, the teen found himself upon a set of rat tracks.
They were small and easy to miss, yet his keen eyes and fearful demeanor allowed him to spot the tracks with ease. He needed this kill, he couldn’t let himself lose the creature.
He sprinted wildly through the trees, his eyes transfixed on the path of footprints that would lead him to his prey.
He ran.
And ran.
Things were a blur around him, nothing ever in his line of sight long enough to earn its detail.
He kept running even as his legs began to growl and demand rest.
Eventually, he found himself rolling across the dirt, tumbling forward until he was keeled over against a tree.
His eyes shot up to look at what he had tripped on, only having caught a glimpse of orange hair as he ran.
There, only a mere metre or two, sat Elijah Kingsman.
The boy's long, thin arms held the prey Hugo had desperately needed to catch. His plump body resembled that of a bloated corpse. His sickly grey skin could easily assist him in pretending to be dead.
He was a distorted mirror of what Hugo had known the boy to look like.
However, what caught Hugo’s attention was the boy's eyes.
Glassy and unmoving as his head turned in a way that could almost be mistaken for searching.
Hugo didn’t dare move. Didn’t even breathe.
The creature once known as Elijah was silent, even as its head scanned the area around it.
Its nose twitched as it sniffed the air while turning its head from side to side.
Even as its eyes finally landed on him, Hugo didn’t move.
He was blind. They all were.
If he didn’t make a sound, he would be safe. That was what he was taught.
Hugo closed his eyes as he finally sucked in a breath of fresh air, the effort being controlled and filled with fear.
Waiting was agony as he heard the creature shift slightly.