Chapter 1
Long ago, Obsidian had asked Tig why he had beaten up the Cobalt kid.
“Damn rock thought he could tell me about my magic. ’Thinks blues so bloody smart…” He spat down on some people walking on the sidewalk below. His long brown hair got caught on his lip, and he started spluttering. Obsidian nervously fingered the paste in the crevices of the roof shingle.
“But… I’m a rock too… And, I like the-”
Tig threw an arm, unstudded by crystals, around Obsidian’s shoulders, “Nah Smudge Shimak, you’re different from ‘em, an’ ’sides, you don’t tell me how to use my magic.”
Obsidian opened his mouth to say something that, looking back, would have been a very poor idea. Fortunately for him, Scrappy and Shik, at that very moment, scrambled up the piping to join them on the roof.
Shik, without a pause, pulled out the piece of shingle Obsidian had been picking at, and chucked it down at an otherwise happy family, glinting in the light, passing on below.
What followed was an explosion of oddly polite exclamations below, as typical of lighter shades. Shik grabbed Obsidian’s arm and the group fled in a desperate scramble across the roofs of the city.
“SHIK WHAT THE VOID-” Scrappy yelled into the wind,
“SHUDDUP OR THEY’LL GET US.” Shik screamed back in glee.
“Swea’ to the stars you’ll be the death o’ us.” Tig grumbled.
“MY LEGS ARE GOING TO CRAMP-” Obsidian cried out.
Tig dutifully threw Obsidian over his shoulder, grumbling more under his breath. Obsidian shamefully bounced around on Tig’s shoulder, like a sack of gems.
It was a cold clear day in the mountainous city of Irisia, the sun glittered on Shik, Scrappy and Obsidian’s crystals, casting refractions of purple, red, and black.
But that was nothing compared to the glittering beauty of the Upper City, crystal shingle roofs all over topping painted stone walls and stained glass windows. Vines of sharded fruits climbed and tumbled all over, creating a feel of liveliness that matched the bustling, bright-eyed tourists and light-shaded Prismatics on the streets and markets and parks below.
Of course that now included the red Vermillion Guards that were now chasing down four street rats living on the edges of society.
The yelling and bustling soon came up onto the roof, the moment the Vermillion Guards found a ladder. But as Shik always said, “Them sin-stained crackers won’t ever know this city as well as we do.”
Tig dropped Obsidian back onto his feet and one after another they slid down a pipe and into a window that was always open. Obsidian closed it after sliding in, and together they crouched out of sight, waiting with baited breath.
Frustrated shouts came from above, accompanied by heavy footprints. Shik sniggered, Scrappy shoved a hand on their mouth.
A moment later Scrappy made a disgusted sound much louder than Shik’s previous sniggering as she swiped her hand away, revealing a thin sheen of saliva, and Shik grinning around their tongue, which was poking out, dark purple in colour.
“Shik that’s disgusting!”
Tig silenced both of them with a finger to his lips and a faint glowing of his icy eyes. After a few painstakingly long breaths, the footsteps grew more distant, and the group collectively sighed in relief. Until
“Eme-rald? Why are there people in my bedroom?” A child stood in the doorway, their trasc-coloured crystals sitting shallow in pits in their head, barely grown, and arms and legs still shelled.
A tall green burst in through a different door.
The moment they locked eyes, Shik sprinted past the child, shoving them against the door frame. Scrappy ran past after, Tig paused to move the child out of the way before sprinting out after them.
Obsidian locked eyes with the green, the certainty he could be grabbed any moment freezing his legs. But the green saw his crystals and was… scared.
“Leave my house, Blackheart. Leave before you curse my family with your presence.”
Obsidian’s heart crinkled, but he ran.
They burst out the front door. Everyone in the vicinity looked at them. After a moment they were in an alleyway. Without pausing, Shik rattled off a string of gestures that basically meant “Go out there and act casual, like we’re a bunch of friends chilling out after our various apprentice programmes, eating food or something. Ready? Go!”
Of course, though, having a Witch and the Blackheart meant that they didn’t blend in particularly well, and after some shouts they were running again, dodging past colourful citizens, crying children, and aggravated shopkeepers. Shik snatched a sharded melon from a specially surly-looking shopkeeper. He yelled some particularly choice insults after them, Shik only laughed into the wind.
Finally, after flying across the roofs of their world, they reached Home. Deep inside the mountain, through the dark caverns of the Colourless Slums, a crater of junk on the fringe of the city.
After Obsidian had finished catching his breath, he turned to Shik, “Shik, what was the purpose-”
He was then tackled to the ground, Shik tapping the jet-black crystals growing from his head.
“Shik-”
They then pushed his head into the ground, crystal points digging up old, flattened dust. Obsidian started coughing, “sh- shik-”
Tig rolled his eyes, “dulled rocks, ’swear to the stars…” He muttered as he watched the events unfold. “Oi, remember he’s a twig ay?” He called to Shik.
Suddenly their weight lifted up off of Obsidian. He coughed heavily, waving away lingering floating dust particles. Then a new weight fell onto his stomach, “erk-” Obsidian grunted, “Shik what by Alabaster-”
He then saw the thick, gleaming, deep blue weave-bound tome sitting now, peacefully, on his stomach. He was immediately on his feet, gasping despite the dust-ridden air. He coughed again.
“Hehe, told you,” Shik jammed their elbow into Scrappy’s ribs.
“Ow! I said I wanted to give it to him!” Scrappy glared at Shik, anyone paying attention might think a fight might break out, Obsidian, however, was not, and Tig was smirking at Obsidian’s reaction.
“But then I wouldn’t get to give ya this.” Shik then held out a spool of deep red twine. Scrappy took it breathlessly. She then proceeded to punch Shik in the gut.
“JERK.” Scrappy said, tears in her deep red eyes. She scampered off, twine clutched tightly to her chest, afternoon sun glinting off the red crystals on her head and arms.
“What in Blackheart’s name is her problem?” Said Shik, rubbing their stomach.
Tig rolled his eyes, “Arcanous protect us, you thought she’d like that?”
Shik turned on him, gesturing wildly to where Scrappy had run off to, “You've seen that dreamy look in her eyes whenever she talked about the Verms’ uniform! I never even complained that she idolised the enemy, and now look how she treated me!”
“Stars, I’m not even Prismatic and I know more than you.”
Shik bared pointed pale purple teeth at him, “You gemless, ’fected son of a-”
It was at that moment that Obsidian came to his senses from his overwhelm to tackle Shik to the ground in a hug. “Thankyouthankyouthankyou! How did you even get this? It’s Qua’s work, do you know how hard it is to get stuff by her?” His eyes were wide with awe as he talked, cradling the book lovingly in his arms.
Shik cackled, “Let’s just say I pulled a few favours, ay, Smudge? Glad ya like it, unlike the ungrateful brat.”
Tig rolled his eyes again and wandered off to his bunk, muttering about “stars damned rocks.” He curled up into his sheets, wedged into an old crate from Iris dyes.
But Obsidian’s mind was already somewhere else, and he, too, scampered off to his little corner of the junkyard.
His cosy cubbies were filled with stolen books and paper he had spent hours poring over. A few half-built gadgets were laying around, as well as peices of machine that had been pulled apart. He had one or two finished projects, but he hadn't had a chance to use them yet, as the others tended to keep him away from conflict when it broke out on the street. But he still carried them on his person, should the opportunity arise.
Pots of homemade black ink were cluttered everywhere. This place was a nightmare for the superstitious, but a haven for the Blackheart.
He hummed happily on his pile of scrap newspaper, flipping the pages on his brand new book, scribbling down notes and thoughts and scholarly questions. His handwriting had been improving lately, he thought. He imagined impressed smiles from high scholars, astounded at the twiggish street kid who could read and write as well as a full-fledged scribe.
He pressed his forehead against the pages, careful to not let his crystals rip the paper, “one day,” he whispered to himself, “one day I won’t have to live off scraps. All the world’s knowledge will be available to me, and I can write and read about it as much as I like. I just need to become reaaaaally good now, and it won’t even matter that I’m not blue. Void, they might even overlook my shade.” He fingered the black crystals on his knuckles and wrist. He remembered a time when he was younger, after reading a Prismatic religion book, he tried to paint his crystals a light cerulean. He made the paint using a toxic blue flower known to leave blemishes on crystals. Tig found him later, covered in rashes and mottled skin. He burned the book and taught him some Witch prayers instead. Scrappy had been tentative about the whole thing but had chosen not to intervene.
Obsidian reached into his mouth with a particularly sharp knuckle, dug it into his cheek, and drew it down to his lip. He whimpered at the pain, but breathed out, slowly, imagining his wish in his mind.
Tig would be delighted he had remembered, but it wasn’t like Obsidian to forget things taught to him.
He crept outside his tent library and glanced up at the rainbow of stars. He hadn’t always understood why Tig swore by the stars, he knew it was a Witch thing, but Tig never really explained, and threatened to bury his head in a hole whenever he asked a lot of questions.
Blood was now dripping down Obsidian’s chin. He wiped some onto his thumb, breathed in, smudged a star onto his forehead, and breathed out.
He knew some Witchish words that could go along with it, but magic was a vile, evil thing; an infection. As long as he forwent the words, then, well, it wasn’t really magic, was it? It was just praying, the same thing Prismatics do with reconciliation. Well, supposedly.
Any church he had been near had thrown bricks at him. So he couldn’t really know for sure.
He turned to go back to his paper bed, but realised voices were coming from behind Scrappy’s tent. They sounded sharp. Obsidian inched closer.
“You’re always the one to give him junk, Shik, and you’re always the one getting us into trouble! That family was light! They could have gone to the Verms for Void’s sake.”
“Let ’em come, Scrappy, you worry too much. No one actually cares about street rats like us, they’ll come, we’ll run, and we’ll get off smudge-free! Again!”
“By Blackheart’s wile you are so thick sometimes Shik!” Obsidian gasped quietly as Scrappy slapped Shik’s face, “Look at us! Me and you, sure, they’ll forget about us, we’ll be shrugged off as just another pair of urchins on the streets, runaways from a strict apprenticeship somewhere, but Smudge? Tig? You do realise how rare it is to have a witch child just wandering the streets in Irisia right? Oh and, I’m sorry, have you realised Smudge is the literal. Blackheart. People don’t just shrug that off, Shik!”
It was then, that Obsidian’s eyes met with Shik’s.
“Srappy-”
“I know you’ve seen the looks, the double takes even from other urchins, surely you’ve figured out by now why the other groups don’t do jobs with us anymore right? Or are you really that thick?”
“Scrappy-”
“No, Shik, the Verms will be on our gems and the moment they see we have the Blackheart, the church will get involved, and you know the moment the church gets involved we’re d-”
Shik smothered whatever Scrappy was about to say next with a grubby hand, Scrappy struggled for a moment, before she saw Obsidian. She stilled. Shik took their hand off Scrappy’s mouth.
“Heeey, Smudge, what are you doing out this late?” Scrappy said, awkwardly itching at the gem-line on her forehead.
Obsidian had to push down irritation. “Don’t look at me like that, I’m not a baby. I- I know I’m… People don’t actually care that much.” He walked over to them both, “Pompous people make a fuss about the whole shade thing, sure, but they don’t kill Bla- Umbrums anymore. They’ll be fine with me as long as I attend a reconciliation.” He nodded, to affirm his point, pushing down doubt worming inside him.
“Yeah?” Said Shik, eyebrow raised, glancing at the smudge of blood on his head, “and how d’ya plan to do that, buddy?”
“I’ll figure out a way,” Obsidian said briskly, waving a hand to dismiss Shik’s scepticism.
Scrappy sighed, “Smudge, look, you’re the smartest one out of all of us, but you know absolutely nothin’ about the real world.”
“I do! I know the political structure of half a dozen civilizations, the major historical events of those and three others, and the anatomical details of every creature I've seen!” Obsidian objected.
“That just proves my point, Smudge.”
Obsidian bristled, “No it doesn't! You just don't understand it, you don't understand the dedication required to really understand things. Not like me, I know about all of it!” He sniffed, then straightened his posture and puffed out his chest.
"Navy Square will understand me. They'll accept me as their own once they see what I'm capable of! Not like you guys, they'll accept me and take me in and I'll never have to see you again!"
Scrappy stepped back, almost involunteerily, "Smudge, you- you'd really leave us?"
Obsidian sniffed, guilt slowly trickling into his heart cavity.
"Well duh, I don't wanna stay here forever, I don't want-"
Obsidian couldn’t finish his sentence over Shik’s fist, tearing across his soft cheeks, “BLOODY TRAITOR KNOBWEED” Shik yelled. The pale purple crystals that grew from their knuckles were darkened with streaks of blood.
“AFTER EVERYTHIN’ WE DO AN’ YOU YAP ‘BOUT LEAVIN US LIKE THAT? YOU DON’ EVEN KNOW HALF THE JUNK WE’ PUT UP WITH FOR YA.”
Obsidian felt at his cheeks, and his fingers came away wet.
Scrappy leaped at Shik, “SCRAPPY WHAT IN BLACKHEART’S NAME-”
“NO, NOT IN, CURSE.” They wrestled with Scrappy, grunting. Scrappy pushed Shik’s pale gem-crown into the dirt, same as what Shik had done to Obsidian that very afternoon. “HAVE SOME SENSE, SHIK. HE DIDN’T MEAN IT, HE DOESN’T KNOW-”
“’EN ’AYB-sh SHOMM OHN SHUSHD TELM ’IM!”
Obsidian, again, felt at the ragged gash on his face, “Shik you… You hurt me. You actually hurt me.”
For a moment Shik’s head burst from the tangle of dust and Scrappy’s thrashing limbs, “WHY DIDN’T YA STOP ME SMUDGE? YA DIDN’T EVEN RAISE A HAND, YA JUST TOOK IT, JUST LIKE YA ALWAYS DO, EXPECTING US TO COME IN AN’ CLEAN UP YA DULLED MISTAKES. Idiotic shard.”
Scrappy started screaming at them, blood splattered on the ground.
Obsidian turned to run, tears trickling down his face, and fell into Tig’s chest.
“Woah lil Smudge Shimak, what’s goin’ on?” His soft fingers held Obsidian’s shoulders, below the ridge of gems, but not hard enough. Obsidian wormed his way under his legs, and ran, stumbling and gasping, towards his little haven.
He threw himself into his bed and burrowed into the paper. He lay there, curled and whimpering, for a while. Scrappy walked in at some point and tried to talk to him.
“Smudge, it’s not you… Shik was just a bit out of it, y’know how they get.”
Obsidian didn’t answer right away.
“Do you think I’m a burden?” He muttered into the dark.
There was a long pause, “Look, Smudge, it’s not necessarily that you’re a burden, you just- well, it’s not you, I mean, you just don’t… See it all, y’know? And like that’s partly our bad cos we don’t let you see that-”
“Why not?”
Another long pause, “it’s just… You’re not… Like us-”
“Go away.”
“Smudge-”
“You just don't want me to leave. You don't think I can do it.”
Obsidian curled up tighter into the paper.
“Fine.” Came Scrappy’s voice, “If you really want to be immature then sure, go right ahead.” She stood up, and her footsteps faded. Obsidian flinched as he heard the sound of a pile of books tumbling to the ground by a spiteful hand.
