At seventeen, Orion's life was as simple as the dirt roads he grew up on. Days were filled with tending crops, fixing broken tools, and helping his family haul produce into Augustine—a city that smelled of dust, sweat, and spilled ale. It wasn't glamorous, but it was steady. Peaceful.
At the heart of those routines was Cyrus—"Old Man Cy" to Orion. Though not related by blood, he had been family for as long as Orion could remember. Cyrus, weathered by years of labor and long roads, carried himself with quiet patience. A soft-spoken man in his late fifties, he was dependable, kind… and just mysterious enough that Orion sometimes wondered what kind of life he'd lived before ending up in Augustine.
Delivery days were their ritual. Before the sun broke over the horizon, Orion would meet him by the carriage.
"Morning, old man," Orion greeted, stretching the sleep from his shoulders.
Cyrus, already hoisting a heavy crate into the wagon, glanced over with a smirk. "How long are you gonna keep calling me that?"
Orion grinned. "I don't know. How long are you gonna keep being old?"
Cyrus chuckled, shaking his head. "Smart mouth for someone who can't lift half these crates."
Orion leaned on the wagon, raising an eyebrow as Cyrus hefted another load with ease. "Seriously, though—how do you do that? You're stronger than you look."
"Looks can be deceiving," Cyrus said quietly, his tone dipping into something heavier. "And strength… doesn't always look like what you think it does."
He wiped his brow, nodding toward the reins. "Come on. The town won't wait forever."
They moved through Augustine, making their usual stops—the baker, the general store, the healer. The last stop was always the Star Tavern, the loudest place in town. Even this early, the saloon doors swung with drunkards stumbling out, their laughter sharp and careless.
One of them lurched straight into Cyrus, nearly toppling the crate from his arms.
"Watch it, geezer!" the drunk spat.
Orion's jaw clenched. "You walked into him. Maybe if you weren't drowning in liquor, you'd notice."
The drunk's eyes narrowed. "Better watch your tongue, boy… unless you want me to cut it out."
Before Orion could snap back, Cyrus raised a hand, steady and calm. "Orion. Let it go."
Reluctantly, Orion stepped back, though the fire in his chest smoldered. He trusted Cyrus—even when he didn't understand him.
But as the last crate was set down, one of the bitter drunks slammed into the stack with his shoulder. The crates toppled, crushing Orion to the ground.
That was it.
Orion grabbed a bottle from a nearby table and hurled it—crack!—glass shattering against the drunk's skull.
"You're dead, kid!" the man roared, stumbling forward with fists raised.
Before he could strike, Cyrus stepped between them, catching the man's wrist in an iron grip. His voice dropped, low and cold.
"You said he's just a boy," Cyrus said. "So if you want to act like a man… deal with me instead."
The drunk swung. Once. Twice. His fists pounded against Cyrus' chest, but Cyrus didn't move, didn't flinch. His eyes locked on the man, sharp as steel.
Something in that gaze cut deeper than any blow. The drunk faltered. His rage dissolved into shivers. Slowly, his fists dropped.
Cyrus released him and walked away. "Orion. Let's go."
The wagon rattled on the road home, silence heavy between them. Finally, Orion spoke.
"Why didn't you fight back? You just let him hit you."
Cyrus kept his eyes forward. "Because sometimes, not fighting takes more strength than throwing a punch ever could."
Orion frowned. "But you could've stopped him. You should've."
Cyrus glanced over, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. "I did stop him. Just not the way you expected."
Back at the tavern, the drunk sat trembling, pressing a rag to his bleeding head. His friend leaned in close, whispering urgently.
"Did you see his eyes? I swear I've seen them before… He looks just like that man on the old wanted posters. From the capital."
The bravado was gone. Only fear remained.
For Orion, the day ended like any other—chores, quiet supper, laughter at the table. But the truth was already stirring beneath the surface.
Today would be the last day he'd know peace.
Because the man he called Old Man Cy was more than he seemed.
And far away, in the shadows of Augustine's streets, a name was spoken for the first time in years.
Sheriff Malden.
The man whose arrival would shatter everything Orion thought he knew about family, justice, and the world itself.