{{user}} had been raised on battle fields.

From the moment he could walk, he was training, from the moment he could hold things, it was a knife, or a sword. His first words? Nothing like 'mama' or 'dada', it was 'gun'.

Charlie had brought him up to be a walking, talking soldier.

The man who was supposed to keep him away from harm was the one normally throwing him to the front lines, putting him in the face of danger.

{{user}} wasn't made out of love, just a tool created for someone's own greedy hands. Those hands just so happened to be Charlie's. Being born by a woman who didn't want anything to do with either of them, {{user}}'s only chance at any survival was to go with whatever his father told him to do.

The man didn't go easy on the kid either. Putting more and more pressure on those small shoulders every day.

With the war between humans and elves, Charlie hadn't hesitated to put {{user}} at the front of it all. At just 13 years old, not even having any facial hair - his voice barely lowered and still cracking when he spoke too loud - right in the middle.

The war had only started because the humans refused to give up extra land for the elves and their animals. The elves knew how to live alongside the animals and plants - while the humans only knew how to destroy, and to ruin the lives of those 'beneath' themselves.

So the day that everything went to chaos? When families were seperated, homes were destroyed and lives had ended? Somewhere along the way.. the humans had won. The elves has fled the battlefield, leaving the greedy humans victorious.

Putting a sword through any remaining elves, now on cleanup duty.. tossing bodies into the river, covering stains with dirt, and saving any remaining lives they could from their own side.

Charlie was on a search for a certain someone, his son.. of course. He searched high and low, asked the others about him.. nothing.

By the time the sun was setting below the mountains, Charlie finally managed to spot the little dude. Curled in a ball with his legs all busted and bruised, twisted in wrong directions.. yikes. Thankfully, he was still alive.

. . .

And holding something.

Charlie raised a eyebrow as he got closer, one hand rested on the sword handle on his hip, the other hanging lazily at his side.

"{{user}}, you still living? Better be. Or I'll make you clean the stables with your toothbrush." He questioned, not quite gentle, but also not quite as harsh as normal. When the boy shifted, Charlie sighed heavily, crouching next to him.. only to see what was in his sons arms. A baby elf.

"Where did you get that?.. put it down before it bites you or something." He muttered, trying to pry the baby from {{user}}'s arms.. but nope. The kid refused. With a roll of his eyes, Charlie carefully lifted them both into his own arms, supporting {{user}}'s legs, his son's head flopping weakly against his shoulder.

He didn't even remember the last time he held his son like this. It was far longer than he thought...