"Go and make interesting mistakes, make amazing mistakes, make glorious and fantastic mistakes. Break rules. Leave the world more interesting for your being here. Make. Good. Art."

-Neil Gaiman

Draw a line, look up, draw a line, erase, redraw that line, shade here, shade there.

"God… how many times have I drawn the school?" the artist said, picking up his sketchbook and looking at the facade of Atlas Academy looking back at him from the page. He moved it slightly to the side to see the same buildings looking back at him from a few miles away, only in color and not marred by the texture of pencil marks and erasers.

Burne "Arty" Umber picked up his materials, folded his sketchbook under his arm, and stood up to go back inside, being careful not to slip on the mounds of snow and fall off of the roof of his house. He liked going outside to draw. The freezing fresh air was much better for a more relaxed drawing environment than being inside.

Climbing back into his window, he sat at the desk in the corner of his comfortably furnished attic bedroom where the air vent blew warm air over his bed. Various art supplies were scattered around the room, papers pinned up on the walls, a couple of easels stood with canvases. Some had completed works, but most had paintings that were barely even started. It was obvious that once this young creator got a new idea, he dropped his last one in order to start it and would continue to work on it until something else popped into his head.

Arty pushed his pencil behind his ear and opened his book. Under the light of the lamp, something just didn't look right with the drawing. Were the columns too spaced apart? Were the lines not straight enough? No… maybe it was the spacing...

"Agh… darn it." Arty tore the page out of his sketchbook and crumpled the paper, throwing it into the overflowing trashcan next to him. He ran his hands through his hair and huffed loudly. "I guess it's just a little different when you hate what you're drawing." He stared at the ceiling as he leaned back in his chair.

"BURNE!" he heard his dad roar his real name from downstairs.

Arty shot up, having to wave his arms around to prevent himself from falling onto the floor. "oh crap…" He repeatedly whispered under his breath. He ran down the stairs. Upon getting to the ground floor, he put his right hand up to his forehead in salute, his left arm down flat to his side, his back straight. "Sir!?"

In the living room, his parents sat by the coffee table. They both looked like they had something serious to say. Arty's dad looked up to him standing at the stairs. He was fiddling with one of the medals hanging to his white Atlas military jacket. Never a good sign.

"Come down here Burne." He gestured to an empty chair.

Arty wanted to just turn around and run back upstairs. He knew that the lecture was coming, but he knew that one way or another, he was going to hear what his father had to say.

Sitting facing his father, Arty prepared for the worst.

"Son, as you know, school is about to start up again." He opened a piece of paper. "We got your team assignment in the mail."

"Great. Who's on my team?" Arty said, now happy that the lecture had started on a lighter note for once.

"Burne, I want you to know that no matter how well you get along with these three, you are going into the military after graduating."

Arty's short-lived happiness faded. "Dad, we've been over this a thousand times. I don't want to be in the Atlesian military!" His voice came out louder than he expected, possibly due to the number of times he'd repeated this outburst.

"Don't start with me Burne! Now I've said a thousand times that you are going into the military and that's final!"

Arty stood up. "Why can't I be a Huntsman Dad? There are Huntsmen from Atlas too!"

"That may be true, but the Umbers have been outstanding soldiers for generations! Why is it that all of the sudden that you are the generation that has to refuse that?"

"Maybe it's because I'm tired of being in a place where the same people control everything! Maybe I want to go out and see the world as somebody that people can admire and look to as a protector without making them fear me because I'm one of the infinite soldiers that come from Atlas!" Arty took a deep breath and looked at his dad. He could see the anger in his eyes. His mom sat at the other end of the table, her hand over her mouth. The silence made Arty feel like he'd accidentally broken something. Slowly, his mother stood up.

"Will you two stop with all the yelling?! You're going to scare Meri," she walked down the hall towards the kitchen, "I'm going to go get some tea. When I come back, I want you two to be in a better mood." Halfway down the hall, she turned back. The look in her eyes said I wish he'd listen too or at the least I'm sorry.

Arty's dad stood up. "Burne, I feel like you need to understand that this is Atlas. We are a military power. We have been since the Great War. And before you continue babbling on about how Huntsmen come from Atlas too, I feel like your power would be better in the military rather than off in this crazy world we live in. When you're one among thousands, your power can only be multiplied. You'll reach your end goal much faster than going off on your own as some sort of," he paused, waving his hand as he thought of his phrasing, "lonely freelancer." He glanced up to the stairs. "And sometimes I feel like your little painting hobby is getting in the way as well."

Arty was mad now. "It's not getting in the way! In fact, it's kind of the only thing keeping me sane around here! And in case you never noticed, I've been using my 'hobby' in my fighting."

This raised an eyebrow from his father. Maybe he was finally getting to him.

"Yeah. That standard military rifle was boring, so I made a new weapon. I've been training with it all summer. " He turned to go up the stairs. "I'll go get it."

Arty made it up to his room, dragged a big metal box out from under his bed and flipped the lid. He smiled when he saw his one true masterpiece. He reached down and pulled out his hand-made paintball gun. The shining orange and silver metal gleamed in the late afternoon sun. He quickly grabbed a vial of bright red paintballs out of the box and ran back downstairs.

He waved his paintball gun when his dad turned. "See?" He handed the gun and the vial of paintballs to his father. "I call it Palette. Midas and Curie helped me make it," He watched as his dad turned the gun over in his hands, inspecting each little detail in the craftsmanship. "The paintballs are filled with my own paint made with Dust. Each color does something different." He smiled. "Pretty cool, huh?" My art's not so useless now, huh Dad?

"I must admit, it's very well made." He mumbled as he turned. He disappeared into the kitchen, past his wife as she poured tea.

"Wait… Dad? What are you doing? Dad!" Arty yelled as he ran after him.

Mrs. Umber called out to him, but he didn't stop.

Arty continued to chase his father out of the side door and into the alley next to the house. His breath formed white clouds in front of his face as he breathed heavily. Arty froze as he watched his father throw his paintball gun into the dumpster. "What did you do that for!?" Arty's heart was racing. He couldn't tell if he was more scared or angry.

"This, Burne, is a waste of time." He said pointing to the rusted metal box behind him. "Your enemies aren't going to sit around and entertain you while you paint a picture for them." He held up the vial of red paintballs.

"Dad! Don't!" Time seemed to slow down as the glass tube flew through the air towards the dumpster where his gun now sat. The explosion shot out and the fire flared from within its metal container. Arty fell to his knees, unwilling to accept what had just happened. His work. His entire summer - gone. He could tell his dad was standing next to him, but his vision tunneled to the point he could only watch the fires burning within the dumpster.

"Come on Burne." His father said, looking down at him.

Arty turned and ran back inside. He stormed up the stairs. He was pretty sure he could hear his parents calling for him and his little sister start crying, but he didn't care. He was furious. He gripped at his messy blonde hair and looked at the various materials around him. He hated his dad. He hated how he didn't even try to understand. He hated the military. He hated Atlas. He turned to his desk, seeing the open sketchbook, the torn edge of a page could be seen. In the trash bin, he could see bits and pieces of his sketches of Atlas Academy among the wads of paper. That's when the idea came to him. He had to make a statement.

He was standing on the roof when he heard his dad beginning to storm up the stairs. His one-strap backpack thrown over his shoulder, the icy wind biting his nose. He felt the weight of the materials in his backpack weighing down. He looked at the roof across from him. For a split second, he considered going back in and humoring his father, but then the smoke rising from the alley below reminded him of his work literally going up in flames. He jumped and ran. Leaping over the rooftops as he made his way towards the school in the distance.

Not too long later, the sun began to set, Arty stood next to the front of the school. Luckily, there weren't any soldiers guarding the front, but that could easily change. He had to work fast.

Arty threw down his backpack and quickly unzipped it. He pulled out the cans of spray paint he had grabbed on his way out of his room. "Time to get to work." He muttered as he began taping cut sheets of plastic onto the bricks in front of him.

Arty tore down the plastic before stepping back. He gazed up at Atlas Academy's newest mural. Depicted was a battalion of Atlas soldiers dressed in their stark white uniforms. The center one was painted much larger in a bright orange, almost seeming to glow with a bright light as he stood out from the crowd without his helmet. Arty smiled as he gazed at his 'statement'.

"HEY! You there!"

Arty spun around to see two Atlesian soldiers, one male, one female. Their helmets glowed eerily in the glare of the streetlights. They had their rifles drawn and their hulking white armor shuffled as they ran towards him..

"Oh crap!" He raised his arms. The can of spray paint he was holding fell to the ground and began to roll away from him towards the building.

"What do you think you're doing!" the male asked gesturing to the wall.

"Alright kid, you're coming with us," the female said as she advanced towards him.

Arty was terrified. He was finally starting to see the rashness of his decision. Despite his panic, the one thing on his mind was the fact that he could smell smoke. The image of Palette burning in the dumpster next to his house returned to his mind. He turned, trying to find where it was coming from. He saw one of the real soldiers walking up to his mural - where the orange paint soldier had wisps of smoke curling off of it. Arty's eyes widened as he watched the can roll nearer to the orange soldier's right foot.

"Get away from there!" he yelled to the soldier, who was slowly raising his hand to examine the red paint.

It seemed to happen all in slow motion. When the can made contact with the wall, a loud blast launched the three of them away from the school. Arty and the two soldiers landed flat on the ground. Arty looked up, his ears ringing. Dazed and confused, Arty pushed himself up with his elbows. The black sleeves of his t-shirt were visibly coated in dust and debris. He tasted a little bit of blood. He ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth and found that one of his teeth had been knocked out as a result of the blast. When the smoke cleared, Arty saw the new 30-foot wide entrance to Atlas Academy. He could have sworn he had regular orange spray paint, but obviously that wasn't the case. Paint infused with pure magma Dust had activated, causing the explosion that almost killed him and the two soldiers.

Arty was in shock. How could he have made such a stupid mistake? The two soldiers were starting to stir and get up. He didn't know what to do, so he just ran. As he headed towards the front gate, he reached down, grabbed his bag and swung it over his shoulder.

He could hear the soldiers yelling. Some new arrivals were beginning to mutter about the commotion. His boots slammed against the ground as he hurried away from the scene. Almost there! He thought to himself as he neared the gate. The vandal had just exited school grounds when he felt the blunt end of a gun slam right between his eyes.

Arty woke up in his bed, his head throbbing as morning light flooded through his windows. What happened? The last thing he could remember was the… front of Atlas Academy exploding into rubble and dust. He tried to get up, but the pain in his head forced him back onto his bed.

"Hey, don't try to get up so fast," A comforting voice said.

Arty turned and, through his double vision, saw his mother sitting next to his bed. He turned away in shame when he saw the shining trails that tears had left on her face.

"You've been out cold all day," She said with a weak smile.

"He's lucky he didn't wake up in a prison cell."

Arty looked towards the stairs. With the most disapproving look he'd ever seen, his dad stood there, his arms crossed as he leaned against the wall. Arty turned away from him too.

"I hope you're happy Burne. While you were sleeping off your headache, I had to go meet the General at four in the morning and have spent a large majority of today getting berated because of your actions," he threw down a folded piece of paper onto Arty's bed, "the last thing she said to me before she slammed the door in my face was that she was going to personally ban you from returning to Atlas Academy," he turned to go back downstairs, but stopped at the edge of the first step, "You've finally done it, you got your wish. She said she'd never allow someone as disobedient and destructive as you to wear the title of soldier." His boots stomped down the stairs.

Normally, Arty would have been elated to hear that news, but the tone of his father's voice made him feel like dirt. He'd caused damage to the school. He'd nearly killed two soldiers, along with himself. There was no telling how much his dad had to give up to prevent him from going to prison. He'd gone and ruined everything. And his mother…

Another realization dawned on him. Not only had he made it impossible for joining the military, it was impossible for him to get Huntsman training too. He felt like screaming. Not only was his summer ruined, but all of his effort leading up to this moment was wasted too. He felt tears welling up in his eyes.

"I'm going back downstairs, Arty," his mother said.

He sat there dumbfounded. It wasn't very often he heard either of his parents use his nickname. He guessed it was because his dad wasn't there in the room anymore. That almost broke him.

Before she turned to leave, she reached under Arty's bed and pulled out Palette's case. Arty watched as she pulled out the molten framing of the prized masterpiece he had worked with all summer.

"I pulled it out of the dumpster when the flames finally died down… when your father was off talking to General Leon. I know it looks bad, but maybe… maybe you could fix it and we'll… we'll figure out another option for..." She choked back tears. Arty hated seeing her like this.

He took the paintball gun from her and put a hand on hers. "Thank you, mom."

She leaned in and kissed his forehead before heading back downstairs.

Arty took some deep breaths until he felt the heat in his face recede. He sat in silence for a minute until he remembered the paper his father left on his bed. Through the aching soreness in his sides, Arty reached over and picked it up. Through his headache, he read over it. It was his team assignment sheet. The circular gear and spear emblem of Atlas was printed at the top. Across the entirety of the paper, stamped in all caps and red ink, was the word "ANNULLED". He skimmed through it until he found the list of team members.

Student Name: Umber, Burne

Team Assignment: Team MLBC (Malbec)

Midas Ankara

Ledning Coyle

Burne Umber

Curie Geiger

He had just finished reading the list when the throbbing pain in his head made his vision blur. Arty leaned back and just stared at the ceiling. He had let his future team down. How can there be a team with only 3 people? He was lucky enough to be on the same team with his best friends Midas and Curie. Midas was a little obnoxious at times and Curie may have been a little… reclusive, but they were his closest friends nonetheless. Midas's cousin, Ledning, however, was always pretty distant. Maybe he would be happy to hear of Arty getting kicked out of the Academy. After being stuck alone with his thoughts for a few hours, he fell asleep again.

A few days later, his headache gone, Arty sat in his room staring at the paintings around him. He hadn't so much as touched a pencil or paintbrush since the incident. He had been contemplating throwing it all away. As he stood up and looked to the window, he was startled by his father calling him from downstairs. Arty had flashbacks to his dad calling him to lecture him a few days before. His socked feet padded down the stairs. Out of habit, he repeated his salute to his father. There in the living room, was his mother, his father, and a man with salt-and-pepper hair in a checkerboard-pattern jacket. Arty had never seen this man before and had no idea who he could have been.

"There's somebody here to talk to you, son." His dad said, not sounding happy.

"Good day, Mr. Umber," the man said as he tapped his cane on the floor, "Please, have a seat. We have much to discuss."

Great, Arty thought to himself, somebody else coming to scold me...