Five figures stood, one at each point of the intricate star. Their robes, shimmering between black, white and all shades of gray, stayed strangely unruffled by nature’s outrage. At the center of this formation was a crystal, the size of a man, standing like a pillar thrust into the earth. The air throbbed with power as it flowed into the crystal, filling it with a light brighter than the sun. When it seemed it could take no more the light vanished, leaving the crystal utterly black, a hole in the world. The wind and lightning suddenly stilled.
227 AT. Near the peak of Mt Thyrah; westernmost mountain of the Thy’gath mountain range.
The boy was dreaming again, the same dream, a man held rigid like a statue, a lady throwing balls of white light and over it all a black figure with red flashing eyes. It seemed to be no more than a dream and yet, it was the only dream he ever had. A thought drifted through his sleeping mind: Why always the same dream? It must mean something. Then a voice saying “...boy...boy...wake up boy” and the dream gave way. Cutter’s presence immediately reassured the boy. He shook off the questions plaguing him, knowing Cutter would give no answers, and started washing. “Yes father?”
“I told you not to call me that” Cutter grumbled. “Time for your morning routine.”
The boy grimaced for a moment, rubbed his face and headed towards the door of the little hut. Stepping outside he turned his face upwards, the mountain air met his damp face with a sudden chill, the white light of the sun beginning to form in a halo around the peak. Being only seven years old, his legs were still quite short so he had to pump them hard to get up the steep incline. That strange, thrilling tingle pumped through his muscles as he increased his pace. Cresting the peak, a solid beam of light pierced the clouds and hit his face. The light, a harsh white, felt soft and warm. His strange, violet eyes drank it in without being overwhelmed and his white blonde hair seemed to glow. He sat facing the sun, stretching out his muscles and breathing deeply, feeling unusually invigorated by the light. After about ten minutes Cutter joined him at the peak and he stood up. The boy took one more deep breath and started the meditation and strength exercises Cutter had been making him do since he could walk.
After only the first exercise Cutter held up his hand. With a slight smile on his weathered face Cutter said, “Wait, we start something new today.”
“What? Why today?”” he complained, “I'm just getting used to this routine.”
Cutter sighed, showing rare patience at the boy’s questioning, ““I will explain a few things. Firstly, what do you know of lifelights?”
The boy’s small, oval face turned pensive, “Nothing really.”
“I better start there then. Every person has a lifelight from the moment they are born.”
“Where does it...” he trailed off at the raised hand.
“Contain your curiosity.” Cutter rebuked mildly. “I will answer some questions after.”
“There are plenty of ideas about where lifelight comes from; the parents, a reaction at birth or even some divine source. Who knows. Suffice it to say, every child is born with one. Generally, they resemble those of their parents. Until about seven years old, the light is static. It does not change or grow. After seven, the body opens itself to external energy sources and the lifelight begins to change and increase. The changes are influenced heavily by the type, quality, and quantity of light it is exposed to.”
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“Why at the age of…” The boy began asking. Cutter only looked at him, thick black eyebrows furrowing.
“Sorry!” he squeaked.
“The change has various effects but, as with many things concerning light, it is unclear what is causative and what is the result. Based on the light you are drawing, it’s clear you have recently turned seven. Now, questions?”
“I have three questions.” the boy said quickly, his face pinched in thought. “Firstly: why the age of seven? Secondly, what do you mean when you say it has various effects? Thirdly: what is drawing and how do you know I am doing it? Oh wait, one more, if I'm drawing light in why isn't it dark around me?”
Cutter was momentarily taken aback by the incisive speed of the boy’s reply, “Quick mind you have.”
The boy, intent on the answers to his questions, only waved his hand vaguely in response to the comment.
“Well, light energy just seems to be connected to the number seven. All children begin drawing at that age. Casting groups, spell combinations and even enchanting patterns also work particularly well in sevens.”” Seeing the confusion in the boys face Cutter hurried on “, I’ll explain those things another day. Next, it seems to affect your…Cutter rolled his wrist…approach to life. Some people say it affects your moral choices but such things aren’t red and white. This is part of the reason why children are not usually given a name until they begin to draw. Thirdly, I can see the energy bending around you.”
That answer seemed to catch the boy by surprise. “Oh! How can you do that? Is that magic?””
Cutter rolled his eyes “Anyone can tune their eyes to see ambient currents of light.”
The boy was about to continue when Cutter held up his hand “To your final question, it is not exactly the light that you are drawing, more an energy that is carried to you by the light.” The boy made to continue the questioning but was cut off. “Enough, once I have tested you I will give you a name and a new routine.”
Cutter began explaining the new morning exercise, “Once the body becomes capable of absorbing light, light can also be taken from it. It can be given willingly or it can be taken by force in a Willfight.” The two sat facing each other. “The common way to initiate a Willfight is through physical touch. You can attempt to take Lifelight from a distance but we will need physical contact. Place your hand out palm up.” The boy complied and Cutter reached over and placed his much larger, callused hand over the boys. Looking into the boy’s eyes Cutter asked “ready?” A nod was the only response, a strange intensity in the boy’s eyes.
Cutter was just beginning to draw when light flashed from every pore in the boy’s body and the old man was thrown back, hard. “Quod quale fuit mico?” he breathed. The boy, eyes wide with shock and hair standing on end said, “Did you just call me Mico? I like that name! Wait, was that meant to happen?” Still wheezing from the impact, Cutter leaned back and laughed at the sky until tears ran down his face. Memories of the day the boy appeared ran through his mind and he said, “I suppose I did, little flash, Mico it is,” a rare look of humour on his weathered face. “That will be enough for today. We will resume your morning routines, with the addition of Willfighting, tomorrow. As for the rest of today, we need to head to the village at the base of the mountain to trade off our winter clothing and register your name. The days are growing warm.”
Cutter turned away and began his own routine. Recognising the dismissal for what it was, the boy, Mico now, headed back down the mountain. Consumed with excitement for his new name and routing, he failed to notice Cutter pausing in his exercises to watch him leave a considering look on his face.