Thick grey clouds loom in the sky, a relentless downpour of rain falls heavy over the Dusk family manor. Willow stands at the door of the manor, a small porch keeping her dry from the unending rain. Willow's back straightening as she notices her father coming through the door. An umbrella at his side he, strolls past Willow, opening the umbrella.

"Willow. Stand straight! It's this sort of behaviour that brings the dragging the Dusk name through the dirt. By the time I return, you had better rectify this attitude of yours." He says in a harsh tone.

"Excuse me, Mr Arthur. Are we ready to depart now? or -" A thin middle-aged man says, standing beside a glamorous carriage. Before the man could think of finishing his question, Willow's father storms over, lifting the frail man by the neck with a single hand, raising him to his eye level.

"Excuse me?, what gives you the privilege of addressing me by my name?. You get the right to speak to me, have the decency to say my name correctly!" Willow's father says in a burning rage. Arthur takes a deep breath, dropping his grip on the man. The sudden drop plummets him into the muddy floor beneath him. Shaking and unsteady, he stands back on his feet.

"Uh, Mr Dusk. Are you ready to depart- or would you like some more time?" The man says, a tremble in his voice. Fear takes over, leaving the man unable to look Arthur in the eyes as he opens the carriage door.

"Yes. I believe we can depart now. My son is busy with his duties and won't be able to see me off." Arthur says, stepping into the carriage.

"Have a safe trip, father!" Willow shouts out as the carriage door closes. Without a glance towards her, the carriage wheel's begin to move through the muddy road. She walks back into the manor. The eerie silence fills the house. The signs of the staff were nonexistent. Her father was quiet about why they were leaving but deep down. She knew it was her.

'Am I really ruining the family name that much?' She thinks to herself while heading towards her room. For days now, she sat for hours doing as the boy suggested. The sensation he described coming and going while she trained. She steadies her breathing, calming her bubbling frustration.

"Mr Dusk, is it really alright for you to spend much towards the village?" A plump man with well-trimmed mutton chops says, sitting opposite of Arthur. His words bring Arthur out of his deep focus.

"Eugine. It is clear as day the Dusk family is at a steady decline ever since being relocated. If I have to sacrifice staff and temporary pleasures for the sake of our families future, then so be it." Arthur tells the plump man in a calm formal tone. Eugine lets out a small chuckle, his belly jiggling.

"Relocated is quite a generous way to describe your fall from such great heights. Arthur, you were a Duke, now loot at you. A lowly keeper of a small village. But I am intrigued with how you'll climb back up the ladder." Eugine says, letting out a hearty chuckle as he speaks. Arthurs blood boils, his temper raging but unvented. The physical discomfort clear as day. Oh, how he wished he could make this man regret saying those words.

A small gathering of townsfolk gathers at the edge of their modest village. A small rustic carriage with a straw roof trudges through the dense mud. An elderly man leaning on a sturdy cane stands at the front of the group. The man's hair was hardly visible to the point of nonexistence, his teeth disorganised and rotten to the core and his heads shaky. The group of townsfolk wave to the carriage man through the dense rain, quickly getting his attention. Carefully the carriage comes to a slow stop beside the frail man.

"Alright, right, sod off. I've got places to be, and this weather ain't helpin'," The Carriage driver says, in a rough, coarse tone. The mud beneath their feet, a small group of five people, carefully leave the carriage. Without a goodbye, the carriage man flings the reins, heading off down the thick muddy road. A short but burly man with a large beard on his face climbs out of the carriage, looking around confused. A clear expression of frustration coating his face, he stomps through the thick mud over to the group.

Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

"Aye ya there, old fella. This ain't Pelt's town, right?" The short, muscular man asks in surprise. He looks over the area several times over in disbelief.

"Haha, that's right. I'm glad we have a tough guy like you around now, haha. I'm mayor Vogel. Welcome to our small town," The man says, introducing himself to the dumbfounded group.

"That can't be, the fella that paid us to move ere told us this was a big- That blood arse hole. Argh, dammit," The short man yells, stomping his boot into the damn mud, instantly regretting his action.

"That keeper of this town, Mr Dusk, must have spun quite the tail for you to be this upset. Welp, nothing you can do now. Don't worry. We did make you some housing, though. He didn't fudge that part, Haha," The senile mayor says, waving for the group to follow him into town. A woman in a long dress curls her face in disgust, holding up her dress from the grimy floor beneath her.

"What the hell kind of cesspool of a town is this. I can't believe I have to live here." She says in disgust, flinching from the sight of the mud on her shoes. They find themselves outside a newly built wooden house.

"You lot will be able to stay here while you get your footing in town. But I wouldn't dawdle too much. We've had lots of people coming to town like you lately," The Mayor says, letting out a small giggle, leaving the newcomers to their devices.

"Melanie, did that Dusk fellow tell you this place was such a shit hole?" The short man says in a rough voice, his line of sight still fixed on the building.

"Roland!, Shut up. Shut up. Of course, he didn't! This god damn town isn't a thing like he described!. If he had said anything, I wouldn't be standing here right now!" She yells, gritting her teeth tightly, storming inside. The rest of her group following behind. She looks over the house. There were four small rooms and a single communal room. 'How could I have fallen so low' she thinks to her self, her face churning in sheer frustration.

"That ass paid us already, and we've already spent the dough to set up ere. That ass clown Dusk played us." The short-statured Roland says, tensing his eyes in thought. As much as he hated the man, he had to hand it to him. He never saw it coming.

Underneath a dense forest, using the thick trees as a cover from the rain, Willow sits quietly. Her umbrella plunged into the wet floor beside her. She shacks her head, trying to ignore the cold rain wind billowing around her.

"That damn brother. Father leaves, and he instantly stomps around complaining. Argh! he's such an idiot!" She says, running her hand through her hair. She breathes in deep, taking in the cold air, trying to forget her brother entirely. She sits, quiet, stewing in her thoughts. Legs crossed, hands firm on her knee's, her mind clear. She looks deep, scouring for the sporadic sensation of small but faint energy floating around her body. She could feel it, faintly, scatted around her entire body. 'Calm down, don't lose focus', She reminds her self, in a soft thought.

Using Issac's words as a guide, she focuses' carefully gathering the small mana within her body. Not too fast, not too slow. Careful to not lose the sensation as she'd done for days in a row. One, two, three specks of mana begin to accumulate inside her. An eerie filling overwhelming her as her body sweats, and her hands shake with each new spec she collects. The cold stormy wind blows past her, unstopped by her small umbrella. Uncountable raindrops add to her pools of sweat. More and more mana begins to build up, with a sense of numbing and dread as she struggles to find the strength to swallow. She open's her eyes, in an instant, the rain around her glistens. Terror engulfing her, she clenches her body tight. Thousands of tiny raindrops falling around her suddenly stop. Her vision blurs. 'This can't be real, no, no, no', she frantically thinks to herself, clenching her eyes tight. Thousands of minuscule needles crash down, barraging the child, her scream piercing through the heavy rain, like booming thunder. An icy dome sits silently amidst the rain, not an audible sound from within. Splash! Splash!

"You blood damn child", A loud man's voice roars. His overbearing feet echo as he runs through the endless puddles. CRASH!. An axe head crashes into the icy dome, chunks of ice crumbling under its weight. A shivering Willow revealed. Drenched from head to toe. Gunnar grabs the child. No second thought, he throws her over his shoulder. Determined, he charges towards toward as fast as he can. Frustrated and wet, he runs through the wet, muddy ground. 'This stupid girl doesn't she know not to play out in the rain!'. Bam! The door opens with a bang against the wall.

Willows vision blurs around her, voices and crackling fire spirals around her from every direction. 'What..' she thinks to herself, looking around. A rustic home, simple. A roaring fire blazes near her.

"Morning, princess", Issac says in a snarky voice. Her eyes open wide as she realises where she was. Frantically Willow tries to stand, her legs not quite awake and covered in a thick blanket. She crumbles to the floor with a loud thud. Issac, giggling as he leans against the wall, offering a hand to help with a grin on his face.

"What the hell's going on now? Can you let me wake up before one of you nearly dies, please!" Gunnar yells from the kitchen. He walks out of the kitchen, a piping hot coffee in one hand and the other rested alongside his exhausted head. Gunnar managing to let out a frail snicker watching Issac help Willow to her feet.