One who is trapped is not locked away, but rather given the keys to a different door.
Those words echoed in the boy’s head, as he laid staring up at the roof. The textures of the wooden bars and domed ceiling long since etched into the scriptures of his brain. It was not an overstatement to say he knew every nook and cranny. He turned his head to stare at his room’s door, silence hanging beyond it.
What he did not know was that which lay beyond the room, his mind was already limited, but for such a small cage he was able to encapsulate it fully within his youthful comprehension. He looked to his left, where a small box laid resting silently, the contraption forged of wood and rock. He admired the many circles that rung its sides, before lifting his head ever so slightly off the mattress.
He watched as the beam of morning light shone past him, slamming against the box with non-existent force, the resulting luster magnifying as the box began to shudder and open. Its lid popped open, as liquid shot upward, clear fragrant water that rose like a geyser before falling cleanly back into the capsule without a drop spilled. It was one of his father’s creations, something meant to keep him entertained.
All it did was make him feel more limited. Limits were not something that could be broken, they weren’t obstacles that could be overcome, limits were nothing more than the world’s mockery thrust to your chest. They were meant to hurt.
Even still, he enjoyed seeing it, as he felt pain from holding his neck up and chose to finally let it drop back onto the mattress. As he did, the water stopped shooting up, and the capsule enclosed itself once more under complete automation. He didn’t understand how that part worked. As he began to ponder it, his time of silent morning was brought to an abrupt end.
He heard footsteps echoing through the structure, as he glanced at the door with an excited smile. There were only so many people awake this early.
He smiles as his mother comes into the room, bearing the same face as he. “I brought you your favorite.” Her words were like honey, honey which sparked his lonely mind. Similarly, the honey glazed cod she brought was something that sparked his dormant hunger. He watched as she brought up a small wooden chair to his bed, barely fitting in the claustrophobic chambers.
With an overjoyed face he opened his mouth, as she fed him the delicacy in small bites. Without thinking, he began to crane his neck over to watch her expression, it was unchangingly cold. The smile had faded in the time spent to feed him, and his own began to decay slightly. It was clear that today was not going to be one that bore good news.
“The physician has become too expensive to pay for anymore, and he says that nothing can be done for you anymore.”
The words stabbed him like a blade, as his more childish emotions crossed through his matured mind, breaking it down and washing it away with pure cold reality. For the years he had spent stuck upon this bed, there would never be a time where he could escape it. He would be stuck here for the rest of his life. He wanted to cry, to shed tears and to scream, the right to which he more than earned to suffer so much at this age. Yet he held back that sorrow.
His mother’s tears fell before his, as if crying for him as he obscured his true feelings. He desperately willed his arm to move, desperately willed his arm to hold her shoulder, to even graze her skin, to bring forth even the smallest shard of comfort to her heart. Yet it would not even twitch, as emotion was nothing to the reality of his body.
Somewhere in his heart, he could hear the booming of a god’s laughter, and he wondered if it was his imagination.
Instead he exhaled and spoke with as much energy as his crippled youth could allow.
“It's alright! I’m fine!” He reassured her. She looked at him with tears still hanging off her eyelids, seeing his own smile and confidence caused her face to grow flushed with shame. As she nodded and wiped her tears away. In truth, the boy had no confidence at all.
Basil’s expression was suffering personified, veiled behind a smile beyond his years. At the short age of seven he was effortlessly giving off a fake contentment.
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By the time that sun had reached the peak of its travel, was when the windows of Basil’s room began to lose their brilliant lights. At his right there were two, one in perfect position to trigger his father’s mysterious box. He considered raising his head again to try to trigger it once more, but before he could give that any thought the door to his room parted once more. He had hoped it would be the maid, Miss Cary, perhaps he could vent his frustrations.
This time it was his father.
He was a large and well built man, bearing a scruffy beard and hair matted down as if he had come out of a bath. Yet he was dry in every other way of the word, he seated himself down on the bed, carefully avoiding Basil’s legs. “So you can’t move.” His words were dry, and Basil felt the urge to scream in anger at how callously he spoke.
He wouldn’t dare entertain that idea.
His father looked down at him, seemingly noticing something in his face as he brought a hand to his face. Basil looked up at him, confused before he felt the soft finger graze his cheek, the contact sparking his brain’s lacking nerves. Before he could react his father pulled his finger away, pointing it upward. Basil gasped as he watched the hovering small sphere of water linger above his digit.
“Did you cry with your mom?”
Basil shook his head. His father nodded proudly, “You need to help her stay strong throughout all of this.” He flicked his finger, as the globule of fluid splashes against the box to their left, its lid began to slowly open before shutting closed as soon as the water spilled off. He looked Basil in the eyes, and pulled him from the bed, standing up as he did so. Basil felt motionless as the support underneath him was suddenly taken away.
He was scared, scared of being above the ground without the ability to even bend his knees. Yet he felt safe as his father bent his body ever slightly to hold him an embrace. “Right now however, right now you can cry.”
The words sparked the fear and the sorrow in his brain, and the facade he had held the whole day shattered. He sobbed into his parent’s shoulder, trying to wrap his arms around him in return, yet not even his fingers would bend as his head shed tears aside his father’s neck. His father silently received his sadness, and didn’t say anything, he didn’t need to. Basil exhausted his emotions quickly.
After a minute, his father set him back on the bed safely and gently, and sat down again. “Even if you’re physically incapable, there are other ways to live.” He held a hand towards the box, and smirked smugly. “Basil, you are a Harbinger, your magical potency is beyond any average sorcerer or mage.” The lid began to open, as the water inside forcefully burst upward, it spread outward in an all directional fan of fluid.
“And you’re my son, you have all of the mana in the world at your fingertips. You just have to learn to channel it.” Despite the logic that would apply, the water somehow flew in reverse as it came down, still falling into the box without spilling. “This toy for example, do you know how it closes after the light stops?”
Basil shook his head, though his father was staring at the box. He was surprised when the man still nodded and laughed. “You see, it’s all water magic.” He lowered his hand and the water stopped, allowing him to safely grab the cube and hold it before Basil’s gaze. “Look at those wooden rings.” He squinted, trying to make out whatever it was he was supposed to see.
He thought his father was crazy before he finally noticed them. Albeit ridiculously small, there were words carved into the rings of oak, he couldn’t make them out, but nodded in genuine awe. “There are words.”
“Yeah, words!” His father chuckled lightly, patting Basil’s head as he turned the box about within his other hand. “It's an incantation, inscribed using water to carve into the wood.” He explained, but Basil didn’t really understand what he was saying. His father noticed this, but continued anyway. “The incantation stores mana, and performs the magic inscribed until it runs out, it's way easier than me constantly having to keep it up.”
“What does the incantation do?” Basil asked, still not fully understanding as his father pulled the box from his view and threw it to the air. It flew twirling, basking in the thin rays of fading light within the room. “Upon being hit by sunlight, the water pulls the gears, pushing the box open until it stops moving.”
The box shot open, as a geyser once again erupted, ending almost as suddenly as it started as it escaped the thin daylight and fell upon the floor. Even that unorthodox spin did not cause it to spill a single drop. His father laughed as Basil’s jaw went slack with amazement. “This box is full of tricks!”
He looked on as his father picked up the box, standing within the dimming light and holding it out towards Basil. “You’re full of tricks too, starting tomorrow I’m going to train you to do just this, to be able to use water to operate mechanisms. Eventually, we might even get you sliding around on a bed of the stuff!”
The words amazed him, as the thought of being able to finally escape the cage that was this room boomed across his head. He wanted it, he wanted it badly, to be able to explore the village outside, and the world beyond. He wanted to be able to see his family from beyond this bed’s point of view, and to stand in the grass beyond. He would take any chance he could get at that. “So, will you take this training?” His father yelled, aggressive but cheerful.
“Yes!” Basil yelled back, ready to begin to learn the intricacies of water magic.
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He was terrible at it.
It had been maybe a week, as Basil stared at the floating sphere of liquid in front of him. At his bedside it hovered, massive in size but barely holding together, it rippled and trembled at its bursting point. Meanwhile his father sat watching in silence, not daring to disrupt his focus. He could barely hold it five seconds before the bubble erupted, ruining his father’s clothes.
Basil craned his neck, to stare at his father in some form of apology. His father blinked twice, before laughing and glancing at him with joy. “Don’t feel down! You’ve made steady progress in the span of only a few days!” Basil didn’t understand what he was talking about, and couldn’t find himself able to feel happy.
“I can barely hold a bubble together… I’m not good at this.” His father sighed and simply smirked. “Listen Basil, you don’t have a flowpoint.”
“Flowpoint?”
His father stood up, holding up his hand in an odd gesture. As he did so water swirled upon the tip of his finger, flowing from the very clothes Basil had wet. By the time it had finished collecting, his father was once again dry. “Sorcerers cannot simply call upon their mana, it has to be channeled through the body. The ideal points of course are fingertips, or even one's toes. However you can’t perform this channeling.”
Basil sagged in the bed, depressed at the thought. His father watched him pout before his smirk only grew and he pointed his finger forward. The bubble flew straight at Basil’s face. His eyes widened as the water careened towards his body, having lost its shape as his father stopped concentrating on it.
Yet it regained it instantly, as it hovered before Basil. His eyes remained wide, as he stared at his father through the sphere of aqua. “You, on the other hand, have improved faster than a master’s rate, and you aren’t using a flowpoint, just your eyes.” Basil gasped, and the ball of water erupted instantly, covering his bed and himself in the liquid. He gasped again, this time for air as his father laughed.
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“Well, that's enough for now. I’ll have somebody clean this place up.” Basil nodded, feeling excitement reverberate through his brain as he tried to move his body. Still to no avail, but he remained excited from his father’s words, as he left the room. Basil waited in silence, simply staring at the door.
A few minutes passed, and eventually the door opened. Basil was expecting to see the usual maid, but instead his eyes froze in horror.
It was a young girl, maybe a year or two older than he was. Her violet eyes completely deadened, as she stared emptily at him. “Greetings, my name is Levia.” Basil looked at her in shock, and concern, as he looked her up and down. Her clothing was that of a maid’s dress that was too big for her, and she looked to have bags under her eyes.
“What happened to Mis-”
“My mother passed away yesterday.”
Basil laid there, feeling as if his skull had caved in. His brain erupted with pain and anger, as he questioned why the world was continuing to take things away from him. It was maybe once a week that he got to see Miss Cary, the maid that would always clean the house. She would always hear out his pain, she would always listen to his suffering. She had been his secret friend to confide in. Now that was taken away too.
“As her daughter, I am to replace her from henceforth, you may ask me to do anything you wish.” The girl grabbed at her dress’ hem, seemingly conflicted with her own words. Basil blinked, having lost focus due to his own thoughts. A daughter? If she was this old, it meant that Miss Cary had given birth from before serving this family.
He didn’t care though, he was still reeling from the shock of the event. He looked at her, still trying to process things when she looked at him with fear. “I, I can do anything, anything you desire, to make up for my sinful mot-”
Ah.
Basil was quite young, but he understood.
All powerful is the fear that takes root in one’s mind, never heart, for it is that fear that causes paranoia, and that fear that causes all powerful destruction to one’s state of being. Fear is the end of existence. Her mother must’ve done something looked down upon horribly, and perhaps it was Levia’s birth in the first place. Regardless, she was being limited by her mother.
Basil hated the idea of limits.
“Don’t say that.”
Levia flinched, cowering slightly at hearing Basil’s voice, yet its calm tone was easing. He looked her in the eyes as she quivered. “Just, all I need…”
She began to grow more fearful.
“Is to play a game of cards.”
“Huh?” Levia questioned, to which Basil simply smiled childishly.
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A year passed, and Levia proved to be different from Miss Cary. She would make mistakes, she would be mocked, she wasn’t disrespected, she was hit, she was abused.
Levia wasn’t Miss Cary.
Still, everyday she bore that pain, and showed up at Basil’s door. Everytime she asked him again, if there was something more that she desired of him, everytime he asked the same thing. It was always a game of cards, one that was somewhat difficult to play due to Basil’s lack of mobility. Yet thanks to a little water magic, he could at least hold a hand within a bubble.
“How do they not get wet?” Levia asked, amazed as Basil stared at his cards intensely. He looked at her with barely a side glance as he mumbled. “Magic.”
“Wow.” She remarked, as she sat cross legged on the bed. Since she was only actually required to work once a week, the other days allowed her to come in more comfortable attire. Of course, when Basil saw her original clothes, he quickly requested that his father purchase her something a little less torn.
He was surprised at Basil’s choices at first, but he could still remember his father’s face as he smiled and nodded. “Alright, but don’t get too lovey dovey with a servant.”
Basil recalled rebuking that statement very quickly. His father was kind and understanding, not putting Levia under the same pressure that many others would. It was people like him that could change the way this world worked.
Basil was so deep in thought, he hadn’t noticed Levia placing down the last card and winning the game. He gasped in surprise as she smiled lightly. “I guess I finally beat you.”
He grimaced while letting the bubble burst, the water splashing back into the box to his left as the two cards he had left dropped to the mattress. Levia looked at him angrily pouting and laughed slightly, covering her mouth, her once overwhelming terror had ebbed away over the past year. She had begun to see Basil as a friend, the only thing he had desired to be to her.
“Well anyway, I should go.” She said quietly, as she got up from his bedside and dusted herself off. Basil grinned and spoke softly. “Hold on.”
She turned around, curious as he once again stared at the box. It opened easily, as the stream of water surged towards him. Levia raised her hand in a confused protest, but rather than splash over his or her body, it seemingly disappeared as it made contact with Basil’s face. “Huh?” She voiced her awe, as Basil looked her in the eyes.
Water surrounded his arm, as he began to raise it slowly. It was slight and monotonous, as the fingers flexed bit by bit to offer a handshake. He felt nothing, but the motion was still before him for the first time. Levia looked on in amazement, before extending her hand. Her fingers slipped into the water, before wrapping into his in a brief single shake.
She pulled her hand out. “Icky.” She remarked slyly, and Basil laughed, but her amazement was still plastered on her face. “That means you’ll be able to walk soon right! And you can actually hold the cards!”
“Yeah, but that might take a little more time.” Basil remarked, as Levia nodded understandingly, but still left with a spring in her step. “Take care, see you tomorrow!” She waved, and Basil waved back, albeit a bit robotically. Once she had closed the door behind herself, Basil sighed quietly.
“What am I doing?” The water immediately fell to the ground, as his arm laid off the bedside. In truth, the year had only made him capable of controlling his arm this rigidly for maybe ten seconds. He had just pushed it, and his brain was frying just from the process. Cold reality was once again at his doorstep.
He couldn’t fix his body, he wasn’t going to ever be able to move properly for long. Never, he would be old and brittle before his training produced that. His dreams of walking had long since been thrown away. His father had continued to train him, but even that was clear to him. Still, he was content with this. Even if he could never fully regain his body like this, he could at least have fun with Levia and his parents.
He was happy.
That ended quickly, of course.
It was like an explosion, the sound threatened to shatter his ears. Before he could even think he could feel the sound of rumbling. It was like a thousand horses upon his senses. He craned his neck to look outside the window, but only saw the shadows of what seemed to be a group of people. He was confused, and it only grew worse after his father came into his room.
He looked back at his dad.
He was covered in blood.
The red mixed with his clothes, as he smirked and turned around to face the door. “Looks like peace wasn’t going to last after all.”
“Dad?”
He tried to speak further, but felt his voice disappear. He screamed as his father placed a bubble around his head, smothering his voice completely. Air came to him naturally, but he wasn’t able to break his father’s concentration over the aforementioned sphere. “Listen Basil, they’ve wiped out the entire village, and all the others. Your mother is already dead. The girl was out there when they arrived.”
His eyes widened, and he tried to scream in horror. Nothing came out.
“That blasted Ether, our magic scares them so much they plan to wipe us all out.” He heaved deeply, as his wounds began to take their toll on him. Basil watched as his father sagged against the door, barely keeping his breath going. He tried to move his body, tried to make his legs move so he could get to his father, tried to push his arms to grab ahold of him, to help him.
Nothing moved.
“Well, keep going, son.” Footsteps rumbled through the house, as well as yelling, his father stepped outside the door as the box beside Basil erupted. The water flew not from just its core but the gears within, pushing it to form a wall along the door with the mass of fluid. Basil screamed as his father began to fade from his vision, as the water reflected an empty room back at him.
He could hear the door close, and roared and cried. Nothing came out.
“In my own house, huh?” His father’s voice could still be heard, as other voices yelled, blades could be heard cutting through flesh. He begged the gods, whatever of them that exist, to not take this away too, to at least let him have this one respite. Nothing came from it.
He cried. Nothing came out.
He tried to get up. Nothing moved.
The sounds stopped, and Basil’s eyes grew dim as he heard the footsteps approaching his door. He glared forward, preparing to use whatever magic he could. He was going to kill them, and kill that Ether too.
The door opened.
Nothing came forward.
The door closed.
His father’s wall held, and the footsteps disappeared out from the house. Only then, only then did the wall fall. Only then did the bubble surrounding his face finally burst. However, Basil was out of voice to cry out, and out of tears to shed, he had already drained himself of his emotions. Emotions that went unheard.
His father was dead.
His mother was dead.
Levia was dead.
Somehow, the last one hurt the most, as he began to cry out again. Yet nothing came out, he had completely muddied his mattress in tears. The entire room was filled with a thin layer of water from the extensive use of the magic. Basil looked around, and felt nothing but pure rage. He looked at the box, completely empty and broken apart. The gears were still twirling slowly, as a result of the remaining force that had been applied to break it open.
Twirling…
“Upon being hit by sunlight, the water pulls the gears, pushing the box open until it stops moving.”
The water in the room began to collect, swirling around Basil. He blasted the bed to the side, the torrent smashing it into pieces and causing him to fall to the ground. His paralyzed body was received by the small waves, and he stared up at the ceiling. The sounds of footsteps had long since faded, so Basil let his voice cry out.
He roared, as the water slowly began to dwindle, flowing into his mouth. He roared as his voice drowned out, and the water surged through his body, flying by organs like wind. He roared until his voice grew hoarse and bubbly, and until the water found its mark. “The body is made up mostly of water…” He grimaced as he felt himself touch the hard ground, and the water finally arrived at his spine.
“This will work.” He exclaimed, as he felt the water smash into his spine, flowing around it and condensing it within his back. It felt alien, like something was squirming inside him. Yet he controlled that alien feeling, and let it spread all across his body. From the spine, the water branched out firm throughout his limbs and torso.
He coughed and gasped, sputtering at the intense effort it was costing him just to hold this.
“The incantation stores mana, and performs the magic inscribed until it runs out, it's way easier than me constantly having to keep it up.”
His eyes widened, but he steeled himself as he finally tested his plan.
He tried to move his fingers.
He tried to raise his legs.
He tried to slam his arms into the ground.
His fingers flexed.
His legs pushed against the wood.
His arms grew red as they shoved him onto his feet.
Basil cried out in immense pain, as he stood on his legs for the first time in his entire life. His mind pushed him forward on blind adrenaline as he stumbled forward. Not even feeling the ground as he stepped through the doorway, he didn’t even notice his father’s bleeding out body as he walked by. His father noticed him however, and he watched as Basil walked through the house’s halls. A grin was on his face as he passed on.
Basil looked at the kitchen, where his mother had been crushed against the wooden table. Was this where she made those incredible fish dishes? It seemed so much smaller than he had expected. He eventually reached his house’s door, opening it without thinking.
His feet finally touched the grass. It felt refreshing.
He stared up into the sky, as he stood upon the earth for the first time.
It was blood stained earth.
He cursed himself, as he glared to the heavens in pure unadulterated rage. His youthful half had shattered, as his body began to treat itself like the matured man his mind had long since become. At the age of eight, Basil swore vengeance.
“Revenge.”
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Basil awoke, looking up at the inn’s roof. It was still unfamiliar to him, and he didn’t care to memorize its intricacies. He looked down at his legs, and kicked one upwards to wrap around the other. “Revenge, huh?”
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