Aurin, the Daemons grow impatient. Arise, they are in search…

Inside a caravan, jagged cracks in the rotten wood bled rays of sunlight onto the caravan floor. Outside, birds chirped, horses trotted, and wheels churned over crooked rocks. Light shimmered off a boy's white hair, and perfectly blended with his orange tufted ends. Amid his peaceful slumber, a sharp ringing pierced his dreams. His eyes creaked ajar, revealing a fire-like color. Yet behind the fierce glow, settled a morbid undertone.

'Did someone say something?'

The first thing he noticed was the familiar thick stench of mold mixing with damp wood.

Rubbing his back in pain, he traced the crude bumps along his spine. As he barely kept awake, he squinted across the dim wagon. In the opposite corner by the gate, he was reunited with a familiar thin silhouette. As the sun parted the shadows, her blue eyes and pale skin skimmed through through the darkness.

Her arms crossed as her eyes narrowed. Then she muttered with a trace of disdain, "Quit staring,"

His head immediately span in the opposite direction. But the sustaining pressure of her gaze still seared into the back of his skull.

Almost impulsively, he laid back against the withered wall for comfort but was met with a rude sensation. Splinters had jabbed through his makeshift tunic and bit into his skin. As they brushed against the inside of his tunic, he winced. After he shuffled around rigidly for what felt like minutes, he eventually curled up into a neat ball.

The space turned into a deafening silence, nearly solace. Cut off by the acute pain of the splinters, or the occasional complaint from his empty stomach.

'Maybe this village has something different than carrots and bread…' he mused as a faint smile tugged at his lips. 'Xyph, hopefully, it won't be turnips. Please don't let it be turnips… I'd rather starve to death than have those again. '

While he peeled off chips of wood from the withering floor, heavy eyelids almost drew him to sleep. But somehow he regrettably found himself contemplating the past.

From what he'd heard by eavesdropping, they were heading to a small village at the edge of Paraphine. They called it Melanor. Every time they passed through a village, he was forced to ration the measly portions of food. Thirst was the bigger issue he had to face though. They didn't bother to give him much of that. Instead, the woman next to him taught a manifestation called Aqavium.

About a month ago, she dragged him to a lake so he could adapt to the water. Supposedly it was to give him a better feel for the aspect. He spent a week treacherously flinging water around to learn how to swim. The only break he was granted was sleeping, eating, or pausing because he would nearly drown. Only after that did she bother talking about Atheria.

Why didn't they use that to give him water? His favorite theory to play at was to stop an opportunistic child like himself from running.

He giggled under a muffled elbow and thought, 'I guess that's something they all had in common—they never said a word about why I'm here… These might be the worst of them though… Elia and… Garrick?'

'Well, maybe not the worst----but close...' he thought to himself.

While the caravan slowly drudged to a halt, Aurin sighed beneath his sleeve.

'The next people probably won't be any better...'

The caravan finally shook to a stop.

A moment later, Elia rose from the grim corner with a barely visible expression. In her hand, she carried a pail filled with a murky black substance. She knelt at his height, and he mumbled, "How long are we staying this time..." While she smeared a black paste into his hair, she grumbled, "How should I know..." Whilst she continued, two deep voices began to chatter ahead of the wagon.

When he tried to listen through the wall, the distracting odor involuntarily made his nose wrinkle; He rarely caused an issue because of it, though, he couldn't resist pinching his nostrils. It was really just a smoky aroma, but the distinct scent mold made it truly vile.

Whenever they went into a village or town, they usually disguised him with charcoal mixed with water. Since his hair was white, it was fairly easy to change color, so most who were with him came to the same conclusion.

By the time she put on the finishing touches of paste, his hair was raven-black. As she lightly laid the bucket down, she scuffled his hair. "Don't forget to wear that." She said while pointing towards his side. When he looked down, he spotted the hood they made him wear during storms. Struggling to slide the tightly knit hood over his head, heavy footsteps squelched around the wagon.

After a few quiet moments passed, the gate shuddered before abruptly flying open. Aurin had winced when the gate crashed into the outer wood.

The intense sunlight became even more intense and dazzling. Outside, stood a freakishly tall man. Long brown hair, dark green eyes, and on his back was a long, slim, double-edged sword. It was Garrick.

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"Is the kid ready?" Garrick's raspy tone broke the silence.

After Elia rose to her feet, her eyes darted back down to Aurin. With a moody glint reflecting off her blue eyes, she mumbled, "Just about, yeah…"

Not a second later, her hand snapped down around his wrist.

Squirming, the woman's grasp tightened causing him to gasp. Without hesitation, she dragged him along while he yelped, "Wai-" Before he could finish, she leapt off. The weight of it caused his balance to falter. As he flung forward off the edge, she jolted her arm out to catch him, but missed by a breadth of hair. He closed his eyes as his arms flailed in circles. He was screaming in his head, but not a sound left his lips before he landed with a resounding wet thud.

Laid there, it didn't only hurt because of the fall, but also because there were sharp stones beneath the surface. He brewed in the mud that molded around his body. A tightness dug into his throat and his face felt like it was set ablaze. Tears started to well in his eyes, threatening to spill. He propped his stinging hands to the side while he rigidly pushed to his knees. The poor state he was in didn't attest to his ascent.

Despite the mud that covered every inch of his body, Elia nor Garrick stood close to him. Instead, they were a few paces to his right. With crossed arms, they looked down at him with cold, distant, uncaring eyes; like they were viewing something mundane.

As he saw them, his eyes nearly looked blank, as if he was staring infinitely into nothing. His brows raised and was nearly drawing blood by biting his lower lip.

Unmoved, Garrick stood tapping his foot along the ground, and grumbled, "Clean up…" Elia scratched the back of her head and said, "We don't want people staring…"

A weight strung to his chest as he struggled to utter a word; almost as if they were stuck in his mouth, but he still weakly mumbled, "What if I can't get water…"

Garrick shifted a deadpan stare, and scoffed "Find a way."

Aurin stared back at the imprinted mud. Remembering the ripping pain of a dry coarse throat, he dug his fingers into his neck.

'You're the ones who...'

Eyes twitching, his hands fell to the side and quaked into a fist.

'Find a way he says...'

Letting out a long sigh, he inhaled a long stiff breath as he lifted his right arm out. A subtle warm light seeped from his tunic and shorts. Soon a plethora of orange glowing art-like runes flowed out across his limbs.

Reluctantly, he closed his eyes, and his mind was transported into seemingly endless darkness. In the empty expanse, only his body was illuminated. The more he concentrated on the void's edge, the more the watery scape expanded to fill it.

Staring down, the waves rippled, almost in response. Slowly, a soothing cold water clung to his feet.

When he trailed his arms out, a path of orange particles followed, then dissipated into the black abyss. But slowly, all of them were dimming, including his light.

As he watched as the last one fluttered into black, his eyes closed. An immediate light poured back into his consciousness. Squinting, he spotted eight moderate-sized balls of water formed above his head. They slowly floated outwards from him; while they did, he stared down at his limbs.

He wasn't sure of what the runes were, but no one else seemed to have them...

The eight balls were constantly being molded back into shape, still waiting for his command. Looking up, he swerved his hand to the side, and the water followed. It was as though there were multiple strings of Ather strung to his hand; like a puppeteer. Just one slight movement with all the threads attached to a finger would cause the water to come crashing.

'Wrong one, again...' he frowned.

Reversing his palm facing upwards, he flicked his middle finger inwards, and his index out. The perfectly shaped balls shuddered. They weren't just balls anymore, they had morphed into spiraling cones. Clenching his jaw, he shut his eyes as tight as possible. Letting his arm fall, he felt a resistance tugging at his bones. The water had started to fall apart as it twirled, and as a result, they began to fall apart. But before they could dissipate, each of them shot down in a clockwise order.

When the first one hit, he almost screamed in shock. The air inside his lungs propelled out, barely giving him time to recover. He slumped forward. He was completely drenched from head to toe. While the manifestation slowly dispelled, the mud on him slipped to the ground with it. Along with that, his runes were fizzling with a plume of glowing dust. Gasping for breath, his knees wobbled as if they were supported by mere twigs.

Hearing someone click their tongue, he heard Elia reaffirm that by laughing out, "Xyph, you're still terrible. You beat yourself with water!"

The sound around him muffled. He finally got his head up to look at them. His vision was blurred and slightly jittery, but he was able to make out the two figures.

His lower lip quivered and his shoulders shook as Garrick grinned wryly.

They were waving him over...

'...'

The air hung heavy, smelling wet and sour. He hadn't even bothered to collect where he was… He dragged his head up and met an endless row of mudflats, as far as the eye could see. Puddles, mud, and god rays seeped through the clouded skies. A storm was coming. 'Why here?' he thought while coughing.

Garrick saw it too... He muttered, "A storm aye…"

Elia nodded. Looking back to Aurin, she slowly started to move towards him. He stood there stiffly looking down at the mud while trying to keep on his feet. Before he looked back up, he felt her cold iron grip snap down around his wrist. Giving him a light tug, he stumbled forward in her steps. Then she huffed, "Yeah… and I doubt shelter there is cheap…" He nodded agreeingly, then chuckled, "Xyph, is anywhere cheap nowadays?"

While they started to move, he constantly stuttered on subtle rocks, bumps, or potholes in the poorly made gravel. But he found a rhythm, and in that rhythm, he observed the bleak landscape. They were traversing a thinly paved road barely raised above the mudflats covering both sides. But not too far down the path, the flats ended abruptly to a thick pine wood forest littered with overgrowth.

Aurin watched as the distant tops of the trees swayed with the wind that slowly picked up. Looking down at his scraped palms and scratched arms, he wondered back to when he trained Aqavium. 'Is there any way of increasing Ather reserves?' Sparing a glance at Garrick, he thought, ''Not like they'd tell me...'

Soon, they reached the outline of the forest. Before they entered, Aurin had a cold realization.

Who was Garrick talking to?

Straight ahead there was nothing, but once he looked behind.

There.

A distant black dot down the paved road, just a bit behind their caravan.

Even while squinting, it still looked like a blur. He couldn't tell if the person stood still, or was moving down the road, but assumed the latter. 'There isn't anything that way for a while… he's going there by foot?' he wondered.

A pit of unease gnawed in his stomach. The dark cloaked figure rose a gray-sleeved gloved arm in the air, and... It felt directed at him...

While paused, Elia tugged on his wrist making him stagger forward. Forced to look ahead, the distant forestry revealed two stone-bound cottages atop a cleared hill deep within.

The border of the village.

Melanor.

End of Chapter 1