In my youth, I was raised by a Master and his disciple. They had saved me from a disease stricken village, and I followed them, understanding that my parents were long dead. They were of faith, and they read from a scroll which I was not allowed to read.

I did not hold it against them, and loved them all the same. They were good folk, and they had an affinity for the natural arts and care. But, of their own admittance had stricken a great deal of suffering upon themselves. Their abilities which made them the point of envy and fear, from others had become a burden and struck their bodies with illness. Still, they were good folk who did not harm others. They accepted the cost.

The master was a man of thirty years, he stood quite tall and had gray hair. His body was bulky, and although he had never acted on it, many believed, including me, that he could crush somebody's skull in his bare hand. I was not fearful, but the image in my head would never leave when thinking of him.

The disciple was also a man, at the age of twenty-seven. He believed everything the master would say, and he spoke quite kindly of him whenever he had the chance. The secrets of the scroll made him a fanatical mess at mess times, though there was no question that he was significantly more devout than the master.

I am a man of average stature. I can not be said to be strong or weak, I had existed firmly in the middle for all my life. My hair is white, and quite short. My eyes, an oddity to all at first, are a gold color. I have never seen anyone else with the same color, though I do wish to meet someone else who does, one day.

In my youth, I lived in a small village with the master and his disciple. They were bedstruck some days, pinnacles of both the natural and unnatural on others. It was rarely both at once, and that meant I had grown quite accustomed to their individual company. They had now placed the scroll deep in our basement, hidden behind lock and key. Both my master and the disciple knew it by heart, and now protection was the priority.

The village was surrounded by a lush forest, and to be honest was part lush forest as well. Simple wooden homes made with tender care and community that kept things going There was a mountain bordering the south, an easy enough climb for the locals who often went up for a view. I had grown quite accustomed to the tradition, myself.

There was a baker, a smith, a tailor, many scavengers, and a few farmers. It was a quaint place, and although most were taciturn, the sense of community was present wherever you were in the village community.

And although I had not been able to read the scroll the master and disciple read, I had an extensive library offered to me in substitution. While watching over them in sickness, I read and honed my mind. Through the stories I read, I understood more the better how lucky I was.

In my youth, I had thoughts of reading the scroll. I was hungry for knowledge, and the thought of untapt knowledge hurt me deeply. I had grown to take walks by myself, to avoid the temptation.

During my walks I would see the people of the village, the scenery which I had grown accustomed to. The ease of it all brought my heart to ease. The townspeople had welcomed us with open arms, and even with unease on my face did they show me a smile. Human connection was a very real thing in this small place, something that I had grown to understand as much much more than just simple kindness and feeling. It was belonging and purpose.

I had grown accustomed to climbing higher and higher upon the mountain. I had gotten to the top a few times, and a few times after that I had become quite adept at it. Looking down at the town, I felt my hunger fade. The reason I had not been allowed to read the scrolls stemmed from a good place, there was a danger attached to it. They had alluded as much, and although my envy threatened me, my love for them and their love for me was real.

I had learnt to bake bread, to make weapons, to sew clothes, to think, the gift I was most thankful of. The land had given me life, and the people too shared themselves openly. The world offered itself to me, and I gladly accepted it back.

My master and his disciple had begun to grow better. They had begun talks of travel once more, and of leaving the village behind. They spoke of the sights we would see, and the wonders. They did not speak of the scroll, although I knew it was at the forefront of their mind.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

My youth ended, when I climbed to the top of the mountain again. My thoughts were of melancholy and anticipation, for we were set to leave the village soon. I looked over the village from above and took in the beautiful blend of nature and man. There were fields of grass, twisted leaves which flew in the wind, of all sorts of colors. The buildings each blended in, an example of beauty in a way I had grown long accustomed to but still revered. And my eyes lingered, for so long on that beautiful scenery. And then my eyes wandered upwards, hoping to be able to understand some grand design of the world.

My eyes, when they looked to the sky, only saw another’s. How small or big, I could not describe. The eyes bore into me, they forced my perspective to focus on them and only them. They were indifferent all the same. A dull black, they looked down to the village. I could not explain its body, nor its actions. My recollection of the thing truly, is its eyes.

The actions of the thing are another matter, for I will never forget the ease and quickness it was done. The valley below seemed to become a mass of chaos in a moment, the buildings were destroyed, the tree’s tipped over, cracks ran through the earth, fires had started, but none of that mattered. I understood instantly, the master and disciple had died instantly in the chaos.

I could not understand what had happened in totality. It was a simple and utter chaos, the houses breaking apart, the tree’s splitting in two, the ground shaking, all of it occurred at once and without pageantry. A simple destructive force, that wiped away my home.

The eyes vanished quickly, and I was left to witness the destruction. Why that thing took the actions it did, or why I was spared, I do not know. I believe it struck me into an extreme shock, I had instantly felt removed from the situation. Objectivity flooded my mind, of course in conjunction with a deep sadness, but not one I expressed.

I came upon the house I had lived in with the two. It was gone, foundation and all. All that existed of it was the basement, which had been fortunate enough to survive the incident. All the basements had, he had discovered. It did no good, as no one was fortunate enough to find themselves in one.

I walked down into the basement, my desire somehow transcending any other emotion I had felt previously. The scroll was safe, waiting for me down the steps. And I had to understand the meaning of it, to give meaning to my master and his disciple.

As I stopped in front of it, my hand trembled. I had begun to feel the fear of an intense curse, or of vengeful spirits. I thought of how they had never given me permission, of how I should still be searching for them although I knew all too well what the amount of blood around had meant.

Opening the scroll, I was met with the knowledge of a spell, a formula for being able to refine the energy used to practice magic. It was barebones and simple, and in the text it said that it was the commonest of common teachings.

The rest was… formulaic dogma. Disgusting twists of logic and faith, it was an assault to my senses, a test of my skeptic mind honed by my understanding of the world. I rejected the notions, and denied their truths.

Not in a single passage, or line, was there an art that made one sick. The truth of the lie I had been told had begun to weigh on me, until my understanding of an even larger truth unearthed itself. In the scroll, no rule of exclusivity exists. No secrecy to knowledge, no map to treasure hidden inside it to keep it from prying eyes

I had been denied, for a reason I could not understand. An absolute denial of possibility, for no observable meaning. It struck me as odd, as infuriating. And as I read it further and deeper, no meaning came to me. It was simple and concise, not a literature of mass complexity and theme. All I could think was that they held it from me out of fear. Stemming from what, I do not know. Their faith was self restrictive and arbitrary, but encouraged openness. They betrayed that.

I lit the scroll aflame, burning its contents after memorizing the simple steps of the most basic of spells. I had no use for the secrets hidden with it, nor would any other. A simple device of division and distrust like it should not have existed in the first place. Though, I understood that it was no more a symbol of distrust than a bloody dagger.

I had hated the things’ eyes, the lying of my perceived family, the community I had been deprived of, myself. The feelings had begun to overwhelm me, bringing myself to a fever pitch.

In a world with nobody, such a thing was irrelevant. I had continued living by knowing when I had to act. The anger simply allowed me to move forward, not banishing the thoughts of my past but understanding the filth of it. It became something to ground myself with. And my hatred too, of those eyes.

I became saddened by the stories that I had lost. The books that had given me comfort, the friends that had given me their knowledge. And even in my anger towards them, the master and his disciple too brought me a deep sadness. I let the emotions wash over me in full, wanting to savor each one. I seeked to understand my pain, beyond just feeling and logic.

Thus, I left the village and my youth, and set off to become a sage.