I was foolish to do so, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. I took a boy, no older than five as my ward. His family and village were slaughtered by a vile man, who sold his pride for a taste of lesser immortality.

In his glee and bloodlust, the wretched fool laid waste to a village. I drove him off with the might of my necromantic power, but it left behind a child without a home.

Struck by an inescapable feeling of benevolence, I took that child and raised him as my own. For years I tended to his needs, giving him a home, education and all the needs a child requires.

I will admit, that it did require far more effort to raise a kid than I had thought. But after we got through the hurdles, I think I did a good job.

"Dad, where are we?" The now twelve-year-old Ren asked.

The boy had grown quite well over the years, gone was the timid and scared child. What replaced him was a curious and inciteful young lad. Yet he still looked like that young scared boy to me. In need of a protector, a father.

"This my boy is the Magedom of Turelane." I gestured to our surroundings and the bustling city of its namesake.

"Magedom? What is that father?" The boy asked, ever curious. The twinkle in his eye was something he surely inherited from me.

"A Magedom is a realm governed by an archmage. Generally the position is filled by a wizard, not necessarily of impressive power. The current archmage is not well known for his skills in magic." I explained as we walked.

Travelling through the gate and into the city proper, the boy was in awe at the many sites of a well-developed city. Gone were the town inns and villages. Now this was a real city and luckily my wanted poster hadn't reached here or had faded from memory.

Being a wanted man required us to keep a low profile, for quite a long time. It was only recently we started to travel to more populated areas. Still, I was cautious, not a good thing for a necromancer to be wanted.

Travelling down a walkway, Ren's head never stopped turning, his eyes locked onto everything of interest. From the peculiar architecture, the flying carpets overhead and even the strange people who went about their business.

"Flying carpets, dad look!" He excitedly pointed at a wizard travelling overhead.

"Yes my boy, they are impressive. Quite a fine art to create such arcane devices. I rode one myself many years ago."

"Could we ride one, please dad, please!" The boy pleaded, hands clasped as if praying.

I hadn't taught him about religion, but he picked up a few things as we travelled. Norelon was a haven for wizards, not so much necromancers. But religion still had its place here. The Narveson Pantheon once held sway, but the Etonians just had to spread their faith beyond their continent.

"Alright, we can see about hiring a carpet for a short ride." I caved and promised, something he would hold me to.

"You promise?" He demanded with all the force a child could muster.

Leaning over, I whispered in his ear. "I promise in the name of the storm lords."

His eyes widened and he smiled. This was a promise not so easily broken and so he was secure I would deliver. I chuckled at how adorable he was and continued.

We passed by many horse-drawn carriages and various people making their way. They were out of the ordinary in appearance, far removed from what Ren had seen in daily life. Unlike the typical style of clothing worn by the people in the United Federation. Turelane garb was the most exotic. They wore more open clothing, decorated vests and harem pants.

"Dad, what's that on their heads?" He pointed at a passerby who frowned at the gesture.

I quickly mouthed an apology and chided my son for the imposition. "It is not nice to point." I disciplined, not too harshly.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

The young lad dipped his head, ashamed at the oversight. It was cute and he tended to do that to duck responsibilities. But to a powerful and black-hearted necromancer, it was a futile gesture.

I looked down at him, keeping my resolve, but surely a lapse or two is fine. "It's fine little Ren, just make the effort to avoid pointing at strangers, okay?"

He nodded profusely, up and down his little face went, before grinning happily. "Yes father." He agreed, still with a mischievous glint in his eyes, suggesting that agreement was not absolute.

"In answer to your question, they are turbans, a local fashion passed down by the founder of the nation. Ali I think his name was, I'm not sure." I frowned, trying to recall this place's history.

I hadn't been here in years, passed through a few times on my treks to the Grove. In fact, I spent most of my time passing through Norelon like a wandering wastrel. The downside of practising magic was that was illegal.

Given this nation was partially associated with the council states, their archmage had a seat on the council. It stood to reason that they would enforce the same laws.

And yet, I was able to cultivate a more free-thinking contact who was residing here. This proved you could never truly know what interesting personages dwell in the oddest of places.

"Dad? What is that?" He pointed to a plaza up ahead.

I turned in that direction, and up ahead was a place I wanted to visit, well any self-respecting tourist should. What lay ahead was a collection of decorative tents, neatly arranged in a massive plaza. It was surrounded by a cacophony of activity and voices. Many figures darted around the stalls, browsing the wares on display.

"That is the famous bazaar of Turelane, its a place where anything can be bought, if you have the coin." I repeated what a certain salesman said once.

"Can we go there dad? Please." He begged, tugging on my sleeve.

"We are going, just be patient." I calmed the excited heart of a boy tempted by wonder and adventure.

I was pretty sure I was unsuccessful, but what I have learned from fatherhood, sometimes that isn't such a bad thing. So I indulged his whims on occasion and the pair of us entered the bustling bazaar.

Eyes wide, Ren looked around like, trying not to miss a single thing. Decorative stalls, sizzling meats, exotic textiles and even arcane devices. All were on display and available for the right price.

We passed by various stalls of interest, each merchant blabbering incomprehensible sales pitches. I will admit, I was not fluent in the language, but I could get by. Having a demon with the power to speak universal would be handy, but no one could trust them.

"Dad, dad, dad!" Ren repeated, getting my attention.

He turned to eye what he was pointing at. Luckily it wasn't another person, but a stall inlaid with delicious-smelling pastries. The aroma wafted from that direction, tempting passersby. It seems it had captured the stomach of a young boy.

"Alright, I'll get you one." I yielded and the two of us made our way to the stall.

"Welcome, we have pastries for any taste!" The merchant delivered his sales pitch. But I had already selected it and so pointed it out. He followed my finger and grinned. "Baklava, excellent choice." I gestured to purchase two and the exchange was made.

Handing the treat to Ren, he eagerly devoured it, I had to stop him from eating too fast, lest he get indigestion. I tasted my own and noted the almond filling was quite flavourful.

We adjourned to the side, far from the hustle and bustle, leaning on a nearby wall. Eating our deserts, I noticed Ren had stopped, his eyes skewering me with all the questions he wanted to ask.

"Dad, why do people hate necromancers?" He asked.

I nearly choked on my food, tapping my chest a few times, I managed to keep it down. "Why do you ask?" I answered a question with another.

He frowned for a moment, turning down his food. "Well, I just wondered why we have to hide what we are doing. It doesn't seem that bad to me, we are not hurting anyone, are we?"

I sighed, dreading the day this would come. Gathering myself, I launched into an explanation all fathers should give their children. It was the talk, the inevitable one. Daddy is a necromancer and that's okay.

"Son." I paused before continuing. "Sometimes people think something is wrong, that doesn't make them right. Their is a lot of nuances that you don't know, but the crux of the matter is, they think its dangerous and don't like it when people do it." I explained to the best of my ability.

"So they think its bad because its dangerous?" He asked, puzzled.

"Precisely, but their are other reasons, the practice can conflict with their faith and some just think dead people should stay in their graves." I turned to him with a smirk. "But where is the fun in that my boy. Remember when I made that skeleton tap dance?"

Ren's contemplative and sour mood brightened noticeably, he laughed at the memory. I joined him, so father and son could laugh together. Once we were finished, we both took a bite of our pastries, while it was still hot.

"So, it doesn't make you a bad person if you learn it?" He asked.

I leaned down to one knee, looking him straight in the eye and spoke. "No, Ren, it doesn't make you a bad person. Necromancy is a skill, nothing more, nothing less. Bad people can use it, just as good people can use it. No matter the stigma." I explained, trying to soothe what I could see was the struggle of a child.

"Does that mean your one of the good ones, dad?" The moment he asked, I will admit, it hurt just a little bit.

"I don't want to lie to you son. I have done bad things before." I leaned forward, cupping his face in both my hands. "But raising you, was one of the best, good thing I did."

My boy smiled and that was enough, despite his confusion, I could see my words made him happy. When did that become enough, I don't know and I honestly didn't care.

"Come on, finish your food, dad has a meeting with Lord Exador." I pinched his face and he laughed.