MTLNOVEL Chapter 25: 9. The Boy Who Saw It Coming
Chapter 9: The Boy Who Saw It Coming
POV: Cael
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Trust didn't mean much in Zaun.
Especially not if you'd grown up under a man like Smeech.
Cael remembered his parents—vaguely. They were merchants. Not big players, but honest ones. Ran a tiny stall near the lower Cauldron. Sold salvaged scraps and cut-rate tools. His mom knew how to smile through the worst days, and his dad always double-counted the cogs before handing them over.
He also remembered the night they died.
They'd been ambushed. A deal gone wrong, Cael was told. A crew of smugglers slit both throats for a bag of half-spoiled circuit boards.
Cael, seven years old, didn't cry. He just... watched. Memorized the smell of rust and blood. The sound of footsteps fading. The exact number of seconds it took for his mother to stop twitching.
Grief came later. But instincts? Those kicked in right away.
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He survived the next week by reading people. It wasn't something he learned—it was something he always had.
Cael could tell if someone was lying before they finished the sentence. Could feel the shift in a merchant's mood before they raised their voice.
Some people listened for danger. Cael saw it in their eyebrows. In how they leaned. In the weight behind casual words.
He was barely eight when Smeech's men picked him up.
"Smart kid," Smeech had said, licking spice-oil from his thumb. "Knows when to keep his mouth shut."
At first, Cael thought it was luck. A new home. Warm food. Orders to follow.
But luck in Zaun always came with a leash.
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By the time he was ten, Cael was doing Smeech's deals. No weapons, no fists—just words.
He could upsell rusted parts like they were fresh from Piltover. He knew how to squeeze two extra silver cogs from a desperate vendor without ever raising his voice.
Most kids learned to steal. Cael learned to talk.
He wasn't strong. He wasn't fast. But he had a mouth and a face that people trusted.
And most importantly, he watched.
Every bribe. Every backroom deal. Every "favor" Smeech made someone owe.
He cataloged it all like a ledger in his head.
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But the more he saw, the less he liked.
Smeech didn't just play the game. He owned it.
Slaves. Rigs. Poisoned deals. Cael saw too many good people vanish after one bad meeting.
Then came the Day of Ashes.
He was twelve.
It started like any other cursed day—quiet.
Smeech had been pacing since morning. Something was off. He kept checking the door, snapping at lieutenants, cutting deals short. Cael knew that look. Smeech smelled something coming. He always did.
And then the sky turned black.
Cael had been in the loading bay, sorting busted relay coils, when the rumble started. Like thunder, but deeper. Metal on metal. Then came the sirens—Enforcer-grade. Then came the smoke.
Smeech didn't run.
He hid.
Pulled Cael by the collar and dragged him into the sub-cellar behind the market crates. Sealed the latch. Sat in silence.
No screaming. No cursing. Just silence.
Because Smeech wasn't surprised. Not at all.
He had planned for this.
Cael sat in the dark beside him, knees to chest, hearing the chaos outside. Screams. Gunfire. Choking gas. A rebellion crushed before it even found its feet.
People Smeech had traded with—trusted—were being slaughtered above them, and he didn't even flinch.
That day changed something in Cael.
Not just because of the violence.
But because Smeech let it happen.
Let Zaun burn so he could stay clean.
Cael didn't cry. But he remembered the way Smeech's eyes stayed sharp in the dark. Calculating. Cold. Already working out how to profit off the ashes.
And Cael thought, for the first time:
> "I don't want to end up like him."
He stopped calling Smeech "Boss" by the time he was thirteen.
He started counting exits every time he entered a room.
And he stopped eating anything he didn't cook himself.
He noticed Smeech's gaze linger longer. His questions grew more probing. His smiles didn't reach his eyes anymore.
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Then came the final sign.
Fifteen, and Cael was handling a deal with some rough types from the Gutterline. One of them slipped—said something about "cleaning house." About how "pretty boys who know too much always disappear."
Cael smiled. Nodded. Laughed.
Then bolted that same night. Didn't pack. Didn't say goodbye. Just vanished.
He knew too well what was coming.
Because he'd been trained to see it.
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Living solo wasn't easy. He had no muscle, no crew, no name. But he had a gift—he could smell opportunity.
And Zaun? It bled opportunities.
He started flipping gear. Trading off scraps. He even got good at bluffing weapons he didn't fully understand. It was all about confidence. Confidence and reading the room.
Fake it until you live long enough to make it.
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That's when he ran into her.
Ashryn.
He didn't know her name yet. Just that she was bad news in a good way.
He was seventeen then. Skinny, slick-tongued, and three days out from getting stabbed over a busted scope. He had a gun to sell—decent piece, if you ignored the janky recoil. Found it off a deal gone south and decided to flip it fast.
Only problem?
The girl he tried to sell it to was its original owner.
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"You sure this ain't stolen?" she asked, inspecting the barrel with amused eyes.
"Positive," Cael said, all charm. "Bought it off a guy who swore it worked like a dream."
"Did he also have a black eye, busted jaw, and a limp?" she asked without looking up.
Cael blinked. "…Maybe."
"Yeah," she grinned, clicking the safety off. "Thought so. I left it in his mouth."
Cael hust gave her a cheeky grin saying,"Hey, you didn't leave a brand on it."
Just as Cael was overworking his brains to find an opening while maintaining the same nonchalant smirk, She just cocked the gun, handed it back to him, and walked away like she hadn't just flipped his world upside down.
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He didn't forget that face.
Didn't forget that presence, either.
She wasn't loud or cocky. She was assured. Like someone who didn't need to shout to get heard.
Later, he heard whispers about a girl building something. People disappearing from the streets—not dead, just… following her.
He kept his distance.
But part of him wondered.
Wondered what it'd be like to walk beside someone like that, instead of under someone like Smeech.
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Now, a year later, he still hadn't made contact again. But he'd seen her.
Moving like she owned the wind.
Balanced. Confident. Alive in a way few in Zaun managed to stay.
And deep down?
He kinda hoped she'd remember him.
Even if it was just as the idiot who tried to sell her own gun back to her.
Because if that girl was building something?
Cael had a gut feeling—like always—that it might be worth betting on.
And he was tired of betting alone.
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END OF CHAPTER