Chapter one

Well, that can’t be good. Is he dying? I sure hope not. I didn’t become a recluse just to have to raise a child forever. I better fix him. I better take a closer look first to see what I’m dealing with here. The sorcerer thought to himself.

Upon closer inspection, the sorcerer noticed many things that he bluntly dismissed about his intruder. The unconscious boy had well-kept short dark orange hair and fine-tailored clothes, all be it messy ones. His nails were well-manicured, and his hands had never held a tool or blade till this day. Upon looking at the wound, the sorcerer found it to be shallow and not life-threatening, a simple slice meaning the boy passed out from shock, which gave relief to the sorcerer, much to his surprise as he did not believe he could still care for the living. Now the question came how do I heal him and not scare him when he wakes up, taking a metaphorical breath and looking, his eyes landed on the doll.

That will do. Yes, that will do quite nicely. I mean, he is a child, but what do I say? The sorcerer pondered.

Then from outside, the sorcerer heard voices.

“How could you let the brat get away?” The gruff-voiced man says.

“Why is it my fault?” The high pitch man replies.

“Well, you're the one that let him grab your knife, got spooked and went to stick 'em with it.” The gruff-voiced man says.

“Well, I wasn’t expecting it is all. Plus, how was I supposed to know he would be able to run away after being knicked by a knife. You think he would have the sense to stay by the ones with bandages.” The high pitch man says.

“Are you a complete idiot? What individual would stay near their kidnappers after being stabbed, especially a scared child?” The gruff-voiced man says.

“I already answered that.” The high pitch man says.

“For my curiosity, what is the answer so when I hit you, I won’t feel bad and feel justified.” The gruff-voiced man says.

“I don’t see why you would hit me, but the answer is a smart one.” The high pitch man replies. Bamph! “Ah, my nose, you punched me in the nose. The high-pitched whined.

“I gave fair and ample warning of the strike. Now where do you think the brat has gone off to? The fog is too thick to find tracks, and I’m not crawling around in some cave or underbrush just to get bit or eatin' by some creature.” The gruff-voiced man says.

“Did the boss say she needed him alive?” The high pitch man queried.

“No alive was preferred in case we wanted to ransom him back.” The gruff-voiced man replies.

“Wait, ransom, was that brat actually worth something? I know he had a maid, but merchants have that much.” The high-pitched man says with panic in his voice.

“That boy is the son of a viscount. Viscount Lionheart, to be exact. To be even more precise, it’s his firstborn and heir.” The gruff-voiced man says with a lump in his throat.

“Are you telling me we made an enemy of Marcus Lionheart, a man known for battle and clout with the king of Estaria. The boss must be out of her mind. The high pitch says with obvious panic in his voice.

“I dare you to say to her face. But back to our current problem, we have nobody to bring back,” The gruff-voiced man says with a deep sigh.

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“ I think I have an idea. And before you shoot me down, at least hear me out.”

The high-pitched man says.

“Fine, let's hear it; at least it can’t be worse than the predicament we are already in.” The gruff-voiced says.

“Okay, so the reason we are in this god-forsaken swamp is because it’s haunted, and nobody in their right mind would follow us in here. So let's say that some spirit took em.” The high-pitched man said, sounding smug.

Well, he is partly correct; a spirit is now involved, and this place is most definitely haunted. The sorcerer thought.

“Well, that’s actually a great idea. Let's get out here.” The gruff-voiced man said excitedly. And with that, the voices drifted further away.

Oh good, I thought they would never leave or, worse, invite themselves in; not that I couldn’t handle them, but I do hate inconveniences. Speaking of which, I have one bleeding on my floor, and I need to tend to it. If those two outside only released how close they were, oh well, time to get work. The sorcerer thought.

First looking at the doll and studying it for a short period of time, the sorcerer began channeling his mana, the colour purple, into the doll. As the purple mana began covering the doll, the sorcerer began chanting, causing spiritual nerves to form inside the doll for him to use and connect his soul to. Taking another metaphorical breath, he willed himself into the doll with ease, much to his delight, as he had never possessed something before and was using knowledge and theory of golems. Now came the hard part moving ragdoll didn’t even begin to cover the janky movements that the body allowed.

“Why is this so hard? Wait a minute, that’s a voice, not just any voice but my voice. If I knew that I could speak, I would have possessed something long ago.” The sorcerer said with so much excitement that he fell backward and had to roll like a turtle to get back up.

“Okay, just got to get to the boy. Oh, right, how do I turn him over I could see the wound as a spirit, but as a doll, it’s in a physical plain. I am an idiot I should heal him in my spirit form, then get back in the doll.” The sorcerer said with disappointment in himself.

Leaving the doll's body and hovering over the boy's body, the sorcerer and, this time, yellow and green mana formed and sunk into the unconscious boy finishing with a light chant. A dim flash appeared and went, and once again, the sorcerer went into the doll. Waiting for the boy to wake up, the now doll sorcerer spent his time practicing walking and climbing but, most importantly, deciding what to do next. As the boy awoke, the Sorcerer's next decision would change both their lives forever.

“Mmhhh…. Where am I?” the boy mumbled.

“Do not fear. You are safe.” The Sorcerer replied.

Quickly sitting up, the boy looked around, fearing his captors were near but only found his doll sitting in an armchair by a fireplace with a fire with no smoke.

“Who said that? I know you are here. The boy said with strange bravado.

Taking a look around his surroundings again, the boy found himself in a very nice living room lined with bookshelves and writing desks; the air was fresh, and not a speck of dust could be seen in fact, the only mess was the now blood-stained rug the boy sat upon. With worry, the boy frantically checked his wound to find it gone in fact, it was as though it never existed, not even a scar. Standing slowly, the boy went to get his doll only to see it begin to stand.

“Ahh, how is it moving. Has a demon taken over Stitches! The boy yelled as he fell backward, beginning to cry.

Stitches, eh? That simplifies things glad I waited; I always heard patience was a virtue. The sorcerer thought. “No, I am not a demon, and I healed you.” Stitches said, climbing down the chair.

“Healed me how? The boy asked, wiping away the tears from his eyes.

“With magic, of course. I am your spirit guardian, given form in this doll from your obvious devotion to it and your imagination. My mission is to take you home.” Stitches proclaimed, holding out his arms which would look more impressive if he was more than a foot tall and had fingers.

“You can use magic?” The boy said in awe.

“Indeed! Behold my power! Stitches proclaimed once again and began letting his mana begin manifesting. This time a light blue washed over the boy and the rug leaving them sparkling clean.

“You can do laundry. I have a lot of servants that do that.” The boy said with disappointment.

“Listen here, I can do much more. What I just showed you was mana manifestation proof of magic and its potency don’t get hung up on what I chose to do with it. I assure you I can and will be able to protect you on your way home.” Stitches said ever so calmly as much as he could. He was never good with kids. Honestly, he was not good with anyone no high-level sorcerers were, but kids were his weak spot in conversations and nerves the most. Thinking quickly and already regretting the long journey ahead, he took a deep breath and continued. “Listen, I need two things from you. First, your name. Second where we are going. Stitches queered.

“Huh! You don’t know my name, but you’re supposed to be my spirit guardian, and you don’t know where we live. That’s a little suspicious, don’t you think?” The boy said while eyeing the doll quizzically.

“Now, now, calm down. Logically speaking, I am a being given life and knowledge by some unknown being and put in this doll to help you. The doll has no memories of being made of cloth and fluff.” The sorcerer lied to the boy with a long-forgotten gut-wrenching feeling of guilt.

“I guess that makes sense. My name is Thomas…Thomas Lionheart son of Viscount Marcus Lionheart of the kingdom of Estaria.” Thomas said calmly.

“Thomas, wonderful to meet you. Now where is Estaria? Stitches said, trying to cover his panic as he realized the world must have changed so much since he died.

“From here, I don’t know. I was traveling with my maid Tildy who disappeared,” Thomas said as his stomach began to grumble.

“Oh, hungry and lost, we have a lot of problems.” If Stitches could sweat, his living room would seem like a sauna as his problems began mounting.