Atlas’ mother, twenty-eight years old, a strong, independent woman from Nova was working late at her job as a magazine editor when she met him. A young man from Shadra, barely twenty-two years old, working at the same company as an intern slash coffee boy. She had been completely immersed in the editorial pictures on her desk when suddenly, in the blink of an eye, the pictures were covered with brownish spots. A poignant smell of coffee hit her nose, causing her to wrinkle it. She looked up to find a man with a apologetic look on his face. At first, she wanted to get mad at the man. Did he not know how to use his eyes?! Then she decided not to. A conscious thought. It was nearing twelve a.m. and the only reason the man was still at the office was because she was still at the office. The man had only wanted to help her out by bringing her a cup of coffee, as he stated while profoundly apologizing for his mistake. She decided to forgive him and proposed getting a coffee together in the lounge, which he happily accepted.

The two were quick to become friends. Always hanging out together during office hours, and even after! They started dating about half a year after their first meeting and got married two years later. Skip another year and she became pregnant. This may have been the turning point in their relationship. She wasn’t anywhere near thrilled about being pregnant. She thought it a nuisance as it got in the way of working. Especially now that she got a promotion and became chief editor, being pregnant was not a condition she could use. She didn’t even want to think about possibly having to quit her job to raise this kid. Luckily her husband came out about the fact that he wouldn’t mind in the slightest to quit his job if that meant he could take care of their child. And so it happened.

Atlas’ birth, or any birth for that matter, should have been a happy, joyous occasion. It wasn’t. He was born about two weeks too early as a cross birth, meaning he and his mother had to stay in hospital for a while to see if everything checked out. This didn’t sit well with his mother whatsoever. She had to miss two very important weeks at work. The weeks in which she would normally prepare for the December edition, the most important edition of the year! Not only that, but it would also be the tenth anniversary edition! Atlas’ mother was forced to try and work from home, even though she was ordered by the doctors to rest and heal and bond with the newborn. Instead, Atlas’ father was the one to bond and really do anything with the child. Atlas’ mother became extremely stressed out because she could not stand the crying of the baby and started screaming at Atlas’ father to ‘shut up that bloody child up before I make it shut up for good!’

In the coming months after she started working fulltime once again, she started to hate going home afterwards. There would be a screaming child, a husband who only seemed to care for said child and a mess to boot. She started accusing her husband of being lazy, of forcing her into carrying a child she did not even want and of not loving her. Eventually she started hitting him.

Psychiatrists would later say that Atlas grew up under a lot of stress, an unhealthy environment. His father would be the only good thing the boy had known in his younger years. But even this positive soon turned dark. When Atlas was five years old, his dad hung himself from a wooden beam, in the middle of the living room. Though he loved Atlas with everything he knew, the abuse, psychical and psychological had become too much. Atlas was the one to find him. At the young of five he did not understand what he saw. His dad’s eyes were closed. Was he asleep? But everything felt off. With small steps Atlas made his way to his father and he softly started to pull on his jeans. With soft whispers he asked his dad to wake up. He didn’t. Thick tears rolled over his chubby cheeks. Why would he not wake up? What was the matter? His constant crying and screaming eventually alarmed the neighbors, who went to take a look, only to find the little boy hugging his father’s feet, begging him to wake up.

Nobody really understood why the good-natured father of one decided to commit suicide. He had always seemed so happy and it was no secret how much he loved that little boy of his. It was a true mystery and the entire neighborhood talked about it for weeks, until they forgot. But Atlas could not forget. He was reminded daily when there was no dad, but instead a mom. A mom who would scream abuse at him, hit him where she could, forget him. A five year old child does not yet know what hate is, but Atlas knew that what he felt for his mother was not love. He had not really loved her, ever. What he felt was something more akin to fear, rather than anything else.

The abuse and neglect went on for about a year. Then, after the summer when Atlas went to a new group at school and he had a male teacher, people started to notice. It had always been obvious how Atlas would shy away from the teachers the previous years. And that was all they thought was happening. Just a shy boy. But now Atlas almost seemed to cling to his male teacher, while shying away from the female teacher who shared the class. Then there were the many bruisings that littered the small boys body. They decided to call in Atlas’ mother, to figure out how Atlas was doing at home. During this conversation they not only noticed how Atlas’ mother seemed to be extremely annoyed to be there, but even more prominent, how Atlas seemed to cower away from her very presence. And every time his mother started to speak or lifted as much as a finger, he would flinch. The teachers decided they’d seen and talked enough and reluctantly send Atlas with his mother on their way. It was a no brainer that they immediately informed child services and the police who took immediate action. The following hours and days passed by quick. Atlas’ mom was arrested and Atlas went to a foster home, though not before being checked out at the hospital.

It took a few months of peace and quiet, when every now and then, barely noticeable and very short-lived, that Atlas seemed to be extremely cold and harsh. Rude even. His caretakers took little notice. They thought it only made sense for the boy to let of some steam. No biggy.

It took another two years, when Atlas was eight years old, when he was in one of his moods as his caretakers began to call it, when he said he wasn’t Atlas. He was Dànte. A trip to the doctors, many visits to a psychiatrist and a lot of research later, Atlas and Dànte were discovered to be two separate identities, trapped in one body. He was labeled as to have dissociative identity disorder.

Atlas was prescribed a fair amount of medication, though these did not really seemed to work. Atlas did not let it bother him. He grew up to be a good-natured teenager. He was well-spoken, friendly, funny and fairly outgoing. Much like his dad used to be. As long as it were boys he was dealing with, there were no problems. He still tended to shy away from females, though he had learned not to immediately run away or cry. Atlas was proud to say he could keep a short and basic conversation with the opposite sex. Though ‘basic’ and ‘short’ were the keywords in that exact sentence.

Though rarely, Atlas does from time to time have conversations with his Alter. Atlas’ writing a fine handwriting, scribbled on sheets of paper. Dànte’s handwriting basically chicken scratch. Mostly insults. Atlas does not like to talk to Dànte as is, too afraid he might take over indefinitely.

Atlas was eleven when they went to Starshine Academy. It didn’t take a genius to discover that Atlas was only able to use dark magic, whilst Dànte could only use light magic. A somewhat strange feat, but accepted with Atlas’ disorder.

Atlas’ mother, twenty-eight years old, a strong, independent woman from Nova was working late at her job as a magazine editor when she met him. A young man from Shadra, barely twenty-two years old, working at the same company as an intern slash coffee boy. She had been completely immersed in the editorial pictures on her desk when suddenly, in the blink of an eye, the pictures were covered with brownish spots. A poignant smell of coffee hit her nose, causing her to wrinkle it. She looked up to find a man with a apologetic look on his face. At first, she wanted to get mad at the man. Did he not know how to use his eyes?! Then she decided not to. A conscious thought. It was nearing twelve a.m. and the only reason the man was still at the office was because she was still at the office. The man had only wanted to help her out by bringing her a cup of coffee, as he stated while profoundly apologizing for his mistake. She decided to forgive him and proposed getting a coffee together in the lounge, which he happily accepted.

The two were quick to become friends. Always hanging out together during office hours, and even after! They started dating about half a year after their first meeting and got married two years later. Skip another year and she became pregnant. This may have been the turning point in their relationship. She wasn’t anywhere near thrilled about being pregnant. She thought it a nuisance as it got in the way of working. Especially now that she got a promotion and became chief editor, being pregnant was not a condition she could use. She didn’t even want to think about possibly having to quit her job to raise this kid. Luckily her husband came out about the fact that he wouldn’t mind in the slightest to quit his job if that meant he could take care of their child. And so it happened.

Atlas’ birth, or any birth for that matter, should have been a happy, joyous occasion. It wasn’t. He was born about two weeks too early as a cross birth, meaning he and his mother had to stay in hospital for a while to see if everything checked out. This didn’t sit well with his mother whatsoever. She had to miss two very important weeks at work. The weeks in which she would normally prepare for the December edition, the most important edition of the year! Not only that, but it would also be the tenth anniversary edition! Atlas’ mother was forced to try and work from home, even though she was ordered by the doctors to rest and heal and bond with the newborn. Instead, Atlas’ father was the one to bond and really do anything with the child. Atlas’ mother became extremely stressed out because she could not stand the crying of the baby and started screaming at Atlas’ father to ‘shut up that bloody child up before I make it shut up for good!’

In the coming months after she started working fulltime once again, she started to hate going home afterwards. There would be a screaming child, a husband who only seemed to care for said child and a mess to boot. She started accusing her husband of being lazy, of forcing her into carrying a child she did not even want and of not loving her. Eventually she started hitting him.

Psychiatrists would later say that Atlas grew up under a lot of stress, an unhealthy environment. His father would be the only good thing the boy had known in his younger years. But even this positive soon turned dark. When Atlas was five years old, his dad hung himself from a wooden beam, in the middle of the living room. Though he loved Atlas with everything he knew, the abuse, psychical and psychological had become too much. Atlas was the one to find him. At the young of five he did not understand what he saw. His dad’s eyes were closed. Was he asleep? But everything felt off. With small steps Atlas made his way to his father and he softly started to pull on his jeans. With soft whispers he asked his dad to wake up. He didn’t. Thick tears rolled over his chubby cheeks. Why would he not wake up? What was the matter? His constant crying and screaming eventually alarmed the neighbors, who went to take a look, only to find the little boy hugging his father’s feet, begging him to wake up.

Nobody really understood why the good-natured father of one decided to commit suicide. He had always seemed so happy and it was no secret how much he loved that little boy of his. It was a true mystery and the entire neighborhood talked about it for weeks, until they forgot. But Atlas could not forget. He was reminded daily when there was no dad, but instead a mom. A mom who would scream abuse at him, hit him where she could, forget him. A five year old child does not yet know what hate is, but Atlas knew that what he felt for his mother was not love. He had not really loved her, ever. What he felt was something more akin to fear, rather than anything else.

The abuse and neglect went on for about a year. Then, after the summer when Atlas went to a new group at school and he had a male teacher, people started to notice. It had always been obvious how Atlas would shy away from the teachers the previous years. And that was all they thought was happening. Just a shy boy. But now Atlas almost seemed to cling to his male teacher, while shying away from the female teacher who shared the class. Then there were the many bruisings that littered the small boys body. They decided to call in Atlas’ mother, to figure out how Atlas was doing at home. During this conversation they not only noticed how Atlas’ mother seemed to be extremely annoyed to be there, but even more prominent, how Atlas seemed to cower away from her very presence. And every time his mother started to speak or lifted as much as a finger, he would flinch. The teachers decided they’d seen and talked enough and reluctantly send Atlas with his mother on their way. It was a no brainer that they immediately informed child services and the police who took immediate action. The following hours and days passed by quick. Atlas’ mom was arrested and Atlas went to a foster home, though not before being checked out at the hospital.

It took a few months of peace and quiet, when every now and then, barely noticeable and very short-lived, that Atlas seemed to be extremely cold and harsh. Rude even. His caretakers took little notice. They thought it only made sense for the boy to let of some steam. No biggy.

It took another two years, when Atlas was eight years old, when he was in one of his moods as his caretakers began to call it, when he said he wasn’t Atlas. He was Dànte. A trip to the doctors, many visits to a psychiatrist and a lot of research later, Atlas and Dànte were discovered to be two separate identities, trapped in one body. He was labeled as to have dissociative identity disorder.

Atlas was prescribed a fair amount of medication, though these did not really seemed to work. Atlas did not let it bother him. He grew up to be a good-natured teenager. He was well-spoken, friendly, funny and fairly outgoing. Much like his dad used to be. As long as it were boys he was dealing with, there were no problems. He still tended to shy away from females, though he had learned not to immediately run away or cry. Atlas was proud to say he could keep a short and basic conversation with the opposite sex. Though ‘basic’ and ‘short’ were the keywords in that exact sentence.

Though rarely, Atlas does from time to time have conversations with his Alter. Atlas’ writing a fine handwriting, scribbled on sheets of paper. Dànte’s handwriting basically chicken scratch. Mostly insults. Atlas does not like to talk to Dànte as is, too afraid he might take over indefinitely.

Atlas was eleven when they went to Starshine Academy. It didn’t take a genius to discover that Atlas was only able to use dark magic, whilst Dànte could only use light magic. A somewhat strange feat, but accepted with Atlas’ disorder.