The wolf approached, its jaws dripping with saliva and hunger. Looking warily at the monster, the boy could feel his body paralyzed, along with a strong urge to escape. Its eyes were filled with such intense ferocity that the boy could do nothing but stand there in fear. Suddenly his arm burst with sheer pressure causing him to gasp in pain, urging him to release it. Before he realized it the wolf was almost upon him, its hind legs thrusting off the ground in mere milliseconds, pouncing towards him in the air. Closing his eyes, he reached his hand out, and released the pressure simultaneously. Silence… Slowly opening his eyes, what was once a wolf was now it’s charred remains. Looking at his arm, he noticed blue sigils appear faintly upon the surface painfully, only to disappear seconds later. Exhausted from the ordeal, his small body could no longer stay awake.

A young boy named Arwin looks out from his cracked window, covered with dust and a sense of poverty. Rain solemnly hits the glass, the droplets staining the surface. Peering through the wet mist, he could scarcely feel his hunger anymore. That morning he had experienced magic for the first time, or at least he thinks so. Unbridled power had built up in his arm to the point of excruciating pain, like pressure begging to be let out. After his first life and death situation, he felt much more appreciative of his bleak existence.

Arwin was an orphan. Not only was he the smallest boy, but he had no susceptible strengths or talents. The idea of happiness was something he thought only nobles and the elite could have. Bullied endlessly by the other kids, Arwin was thought of as weak.

But mentally, Arwin was strong. Fiercely believing in a better future, and not giving into his current life, the small boy had real courage. But still…he was weak. Covered in bruises from the other boys, malnourished and maltreated; he didn’t have much to be happy about. Dirty and dressed in rags, he had to beg on the street for food like the other orphans.

Most of the passerby looked down on the poor boy with a mixture of both pity and disgust. Now sitting silently on the cobblestone street, with his clammy hands stretched out for food under the pouring rain. The only thing he could hope for right now was something to fill his empty stomach.

The Shelter had too many mouths to feed and not enough food to feed them all. They usually got one meal a day, and sometimes not even that. The stronger kids tended to steal his food, leaving him nothing but cold, empty hands.

“Just another orphan by the looks o’ im, feed im now and e’d die tomorrow anyways.” Said one of the passerby with a dark chuckle.”

Sometimes Arwin would dream. He would dream of a mother cradling him and hugging him softly or of a father who watch over him and guide him to become a man. While collapsing in hunger, he would imagine such things, while holding his empty stomach and forgetting about his tear-streaked eyes.

But, Arwin didn’t want pity. He never asked for this life. While you could say the strong have pride, there is also the pride of the weak. It may sound useless or bleak, but sometimes hope and pride were the only things the small boy had.

Now drenched, cold and hungry, the darkness finally creeped in. Well hopefully I’ll eat tomorrow thought the boy. With a smile as his mask, the boy picks himself up off the ground and decides to head back to the orphanage. Looking down at his arm, he felt sharp pains return around the former sigils and decides to cover it up with his sleeve.

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Heading towards his ragged bed, he collapses onto the tattered sheets, just another day’s work in the life of an orphan. Drab walls covered in dirt and grime, cupboards slightly ajar and broken. Dusty old beds covered in tattered sheets. The smell of stench and hunger permeated through the air.

Cold water.

The other boys dumped it all over Arwin’s sleeping body. Possibly, it helps them manage their pain, by inflicting it onto others. Jumping up in shock, only to be held down and have his mouth covered in the dead of night.

“Think yer better than us cause you can read! “, said one of the boys while holding him down.

“ Yer blonde hair shows that ya came from nobles, not like us commoners”, said another.

Yes, even among the poor, Arwin was shunned. No matter how ragged, or how dirty he is, the fact remains that in Humara only those born of noble blood had blue eyes and blonde hair.

If only he was to be free of this torment. Later that night Arwin finally escapes into a deep slumber. Dreams of breathing columns of fire and flapping mighty wings brought him some small comfort.

Early in the morning he wakes to hushed voices

“Th -That can’t be true!”

“It is, I assure you.”

“But he’s such a frail boy..”

“Yes, but that doesn’t change his aptitude for the arts”

Rubbing his eyes, and peering into the doorway, he notices a robed man talking to the head of the orphanage, Olivia Snow. Bespectacled and exceedingly plump, the woman had a face of a permanently grumpy frog, warts and all. The man speaking to her was exceedingly tall, and appeared to be of a thin build beneath his long flowing robes. Ornamental runes covered both his hood and the sleeves of his robe in a strange language.

“We seem to have a visitor, hello boy” said the robed man, peering at the boy standing at the doorway.

“Hello” said Arwin. “Sorry to have disturbed you mister”

“Young boy, be grateful. This man has agreed to take in as his apprentice!”

“Apprentice? “ said Arwin, looking at the strange man curiously “For what?”

Taking off his hood, exceedingly pointy ears popped out from behind his black hair, the mark of an elf. Intense yellow eyes peered from under many scars covering his otherwise flawless face.

“My name is Dam’lar Grotten. I will be your master from today onwards.”

“Really! I can leave the orphanage?!” said Arwin, his eyes bright and glittering.

“Yes, now get packed, we have a long journey ahead of us.”

Smiling, Arwin burst from the room and rushed over to get his belongings from his bedroom, his pain from last night now completely forgotten. Behind him, Dam’lar continued from where they left off.

“Aren’t you going to test him, how do you know that he’s gifted?” said Olivia, pushing up her spectacles with a haughty face.

“Oh, I’ve already witnessed his power, that boy is exceptionally talented.” Said Dam’lar, his gaze penetrating the foul woman, “Now then, We better get going, unless you have a reason to stop him from leaving?

“N-no..” Her will lost under his intense gaze.

The boy collected his meager baggage, which consisted of a few worn books and a few old shirts. Folding it delicately, he managed to fit all of it inside a small knapsack. Looking at the sleeping faces of the other orphans, he could find no friendly faces to say goodbye to. Unlike his one and only friend who died last year of the blistering pox.

“Goodbye Samiel ...” he whispered under his breath, looking at the empty bunk of his deceased friend.

“Ready?”

“Yes sir.”

“Sir huh, you have very good manners for an urchin. Just call me Master for now.”

“Yes Master” said the boy.