Chapter Text
Year 839
“(Y/N), wake up.”
You’re dozing in a grassy field, where exactly you’re not sure. The bed you lie on is made of rich green grass, the roof over your head is an endless blue sky dotted with plump white clouds. The sun is just setting into a sea of pink and orange. You sigh and roll over, into a deeper sleep.
“(Y/N)!” comes your brother’s voice again. He puts a hand on your shoulder and shakes you awake.
Your eyes flutter open groggily and, much to your disappointment, you see not a blue sky and rolling green hills but the bleak gray walls of the cramped room you share with Kristoff. Grumpily, you turn over to face him.
“I was having that dream again. Thanks for ruining it.” You pout and pull the tattered blanket over your head.
Kristoff tugs it back down again.
“Seriously, (Y/N), get up! Mom’s gonna be furious if you’re not ready when they get here.”
You shoot up like a firecracker. “That’s right!” you exclaim.
Kristoff nods excitedly. “Today’s the day.”
Hurriedly, you get up from your mattress on the floor and pick up your dress from where you dropped it last night. The material is thin and worn in your hands, patched and repatched again and again, but clean enough. Kristoff, twelve years old and used to sharing such small quarters with his nine year old sister, turns his back to you in the only semblance of privacy either of you have ever known. You tug off the secondhand men’s shirt that serves as your nightgown, sleeves cut to the length of your arms, and replace it with the faded yellow dress.
“Good,” you say with a smile. Kristoff faces you again with bright eyes.
His energy is contagious. Your smile widens and you look on your brother fondly. He seems to be in the middle of a growth spurt; he’s even hungrier than usual and suddenly towering at least a head over you. His thick hair flops charmingly in his eyes and over his ears, his gangly, slightly-too-thin frame hides the fact that he can really run, and fast . This is a skill you and he share with many children in the Underground; you need to be quick to make it on these streets.
“Hey,” Kristoff says, his expression a bit more serious. “That dream you keep having? I bet it’ll be real someday. You’re too smart to spend your whole life in this garbage heap.”
You grin and puff out your chest. “I am pretty smart, aren’t I, Kris?”
He laughs.
“Kristoff, (Y/N),” your mom calls from the kitchen. “Let’s go.”
Kristoff rushes out of the bedroom as you quickly and roughly yank a comb through your long hair. Good enough, you decide, and chase after him.
The kitchen is hardly more impressive than the bedroom. There’s a rickety wooden table with four mismatched chairs, a water pump that constantly drips, a fireplace and chimney thick with soot, and one window too scratched and stained to let in any light. Not that there’s much light to be had — days in the Underground are always gray.
Your mother sits at the bare table with Kristoff. Strands of limp, ash blonde hair fall loose from her bun. It occurs to you how the dark circles under her eyes are there no matter how much she sleeps. There’s never enough food to fill out her face, meaning her sharp cheekbones are prominent features. And, more than anything, you see the way she looks at you compared to the way she looks at Kristoff, her only son and greatest joy. Today especially there’s hope in her typically dull eyes when she turns to him.
No breakfast out means there’s no breakfast to be had. You learned at a young age not to even ask. Instead, you fill a chipped cup with water from the pump and bounce excitedly, wondering if Mom will acknowledge your eagerness on this paramount day.
After nearly as much time as your young memory can recall, your small family of three has finally saved enough loose change, sold off enough of your late father’s things, and gone without enough meals to buy Kristoff counterfeit citizenship papers for the surface. Your father, who died before Mom knew she was pregnant with you, apparently dreamt of seeing his son make a life for himself above ground in the walled territories ruled over by King Fritz. Mom decided somewhere along the way that the best way to do this was to get him phony papers and have him enlist in the military.
It’s not until much later in your life that you will look back on the lengths your mother went to to ensure a happy life for your brother. The way she clearly loved him and cherished him over you never stung quite as much as it did when you reached an age where you could reflect on your childhood with some perspective — she saw your father in Kristoff like she never did in you.
As a child, however, you take what you can get from her without complaint.
Mom rewards you with a small smile and the happy anticipation in your stomach grows.
“(Y/N), you understand what’s happening for Kristoff today, don’t you?” she asks in a voice as thin and hollow as she is.
You nod eagerly, although the details are fuzzy in your childish mind.
Mom sighs and turns a warm gaze on Kristoff.
“I managed to find someone who can acquire papers for your brother. They’re coming by any minute now to drop them off and advise him on what to do next.”
Kristoff smiles and waggles his eyebrows at you playfully. You giggle into your cup.
A curt knock sounds at the door. The anticipation in the room heightens as Kristoff stands and Mom hurries to admit your guests.
Two young men are standing on the other side, one tall and fairly handsome with a kind, thoughtful face and dark blond hair. The other is short, dark haired and silver-eyed. His face is set in a stony mask. More than this, however, you’re struck by their clothes. Both are in high boots and somewhat new-looking shirts and trousers. You shift on your feet. Anyone in the Underground who can afford things like that, especially a decent pair of boots, means they’re good at what they do: thieving.
“Thank you for coming,” Mom says in her wispy voice. “Come in, have a seat.”
“Thank you,” says the tall one politely. The other stays silent as they make themselves comfortable at the table.
“I don’t think we met the other day,” Mom is saying to the short man as her and Kristoff sit. “I’m Erza and this is my son, Kristoff.”
Kristoff nods as he’s introduced. The man leans back into his chair with one arm thrown over the back and one leg crossed over the other.
“Levi,” is his only greeting.
“And who’s this?” the other man says amicably in your direction. “I’m Farlan.”
As if suddenly remembering you’re there, Mom unceremoniously reaches out to grab your sleeve and tug you to the table so you’re standing at her side.
“My daughter,” she says curtly. “(Y/N).”
You smile shyly, part of your face hidden by the water cup you still hold. Farlan smiles warmly while Levi gazes impassively at the worn but clean surface of the table.
“Shall we?” Farlan begins.
His stern looking companion lifts his head to regard you with what can only be described as boredom. While it’s certainly intimidating, your instinct is to stick your tongue out at him and see if you can make him laugh. The gravity of this meeting is not lost on you, however, so you fight the urge and inch closer to Mom.
“Kristoff,” Farlan says, addressing your brother and pulling out a folded piece of paper. “Guard these with your life. Don’t consider yourself safe until you’re on the Cadet Corps training grounds. I don’t know what it’s like up there but I do know that the Military Police are out to get people like us. When you pass the toll, stand your ground and don’t give any indication that they’re fakes, got it?”
“Yes, sir,” says Kristoff. You wonder if he’s making a point to deepen his voice or if you’re only imagining it.
He happily accepts the paper when Farlan holds it out and, after a moment, passes it off to Mom. You know she has no idea what they’re supposed to look like but you’re intuitive enough to realize she wants them to think she does; scams are as common in the Underground as dirt.
“Listen,” says Levi. His tone is dull and condescending. Your eyes narrow defensively but Kristoff doesn’t seem to take offense. “You’re just a shitty kid and you’ve got a long way to go on your own. Don’t be an idiot. Stay sharp and get the hell out of here.”
Somehow, Kristoff takes this as encouragement and nods determinedly. “Yes, sir,” he says again.
“Any questions?” asks Farlan, clearly unphased by Levi’s harsh demeanor.
Kristoff shakes his head as Mom reaches into the folds of her skirts and procures a patchwork coin purse. With some effort, as if parting with the money is physically taxing, she slides it across the table to Levi.
“That’s the rest of it,” she says resolutely.
Levi leans forward, planting both feet on the floor, to pick up the purse and weigh it in his hand before it disappears into his own pocket. He shoots Farlan a look that you interpret to mean the business is done. They both stand.
“Quick and painless, then,” says Farlan with a smile at Kristoff. “Good luck out there, kid.”
Levi is already opening the door when Mom and Kristoff stand to see them off.
“I can’t thank you enough,” Mom says in a voice that almost trembles.
Farlan smiles again. “It’s just business down here.” He meets your eye as you set down your cup at last. “Hey, (Y/N), maybe you’re next.”
With that he steps outside and a new excitement swells inside you. Levi is close behind, but not before looking at you with something that can almost be described as pity.
The door shuts with a click and Mom collapses back into her chair. Kristoff hops up and down and waves the paper over his head.
“Kris, you did it!” You clap your hands and jump alongside him.
“Mom, can you believe it?” he asks while you dance around.
She’s shaking her head as if in disbelief but her eyes are sharp and sure.
“Mom,” you say breathlessly. “When’s my turn? Like Farlan said?”
Kristoff stops his jumping. Mom looks up with a glassy expression.
“He shouldn’t have said that,” she admits matter of factly. “There’s no money left. You and I will have to continue to make it down here.”
The smile melts from your face. You look at Kristoff for help but his face is sad. “Really?” you ask forlornly.
“Don’t worry,” he says in an attempt to comfort you. “I’ll train hard. I’ll rise the ranks. Someday I’ll be able to get you and Mom out of here, too.”
Tears well up in your eyes and, feeling foolish, you roughly wipe them away with the back of your arm.
“I have to wait for you to rescue us?” you choke out. “I can’t do it myself like you are?”
“Enough of this,” says Mom. “We did this for your brother, not you. Let him have his chance.”
“I - ” you start but decide against it. With a quivering pout you run for the door.
“(Y/N)!” Kristoff calls but he doesn’t chase you.
Angry at your predicament and, though you don’t realize it, terribly sad that Kris is leaving, you fly over the front stoop and tear down the street. Your bare feet slap against the dirty pavement and you veer around the corner. Up ahead, you see Farlan and Levi’s retreating backs.
“Wait!” you cry. They don’t turn. “Levi!” you try, unsure why his name is the first to rise to your lips.
They both turn and you continue your sprint to catch up. You can’t slow in time and you skid straight into Levi.
“Oi, brat - ” he starts but Farlan interrupts.
“(Y/N)? What is it?”
“Please, tell me,” you gasp, out of breath, as Levi shoves you off him, “what can I do to get my papers? I - ” you begin to choke up again as Farlan looks down at you sadly. “I didn’t know I would never be able to.” You angrily wipe away more tears. “I want to see the sun and the sky, too. I want to be with Kris.”
Farlan puts a hand on your shoulder but it’s Levi who speaks. “You want to get out of here?” he asks, nothing at all gentle in the way he says it. “Learn to take care of yourself. Get yourself out of here. Otherwise you’re stuck like the rest of us.”
Farlan sighs. “We live hard lives down here. People on the surface, they’ll never understand. They’ve never known the taste of sewer water. Still, I really hope you get up there someday, kid.”
“Come on,” says Levi to Farlan coldly, eyeing you with his steely gaze. “We have other things to get to today.”
With a nod Farlan’s hand drops from your shoulder and, without another word, they depart. You watch them go and, through your tears, you don’t see Levi look over his shoulder at you one more time.
That night, Kristoff packs his few belongings with a sort of nervous excitement. You watch, sullen, the reality of the situation really hitting you. He’s leaving. For good.
Early the next morning, Kristoff pulls you close in a brief embrace. Mom tearfully waves him off. Only once he rounds the corner of your street — on which stands the only home you’ve both ever known — does it sink in. Hot tears start to spill from your eyes.
You never see him again.