--15 Years Ago--

He's not strong enough. He's not ready. He won't survive. I didn't prepare him enough for it. I failed him. I failed to make him strong. I failed.

Daniel Jeseth Senior paced his workshop as he held a card in his right hand. The card was old, yellowing at the corners with gold filagree spelling out the words "From, Dad". He had received the card from his father after his first year at Fabulinus University. A rather apt name considering how the University started from the basics of magic and ranged every possible subject they could cram into their student's heads before they could "graduate". There were so many things they offered but all of it at a price. Madness was common among those who could not control what they were taught, or could not handle the truths that they sought. Death was not unheard of, only looked down upon by the faculty. You either got good or died. It was as simple as that.

Daniel senior stopped his pacing as the golden letters faded away from his card, replaced by a black symbol that seemed to be revolving slowly. His eyes widened as he looked below the symbol and saw his own name with the addition of Junior. His son was cursing him, and the little fuck probably didn't even know it. He could feel his heart slowing painfully as he watched it make a full revolution before coming to a halt. He could feel his magic slowly leaving him as another card slowly appeared on his workbench, blank and perfectly pristine. Before he could think his fist was through a plastered wall, he was screaming in incoherent rage. The power that had sustained him was already leaving him in drops, he could already feel the tumor in his lungs from decades of smoking starting to speed its growth now that magic no longer constrained it. His knees gave out, his mind trying desperately to keep conscious.

That little shit is waking up to his magic. That little fucking shit is killing me. That fucking pansy little faggot piece of shit is fucking KILLING ME!

When Daniel Jeseth Junior came home, his beating was more severe than usual. There was no answer that satisfied his father. Only after his father left the house did he have a chance to escape his pain by crawling into his room and hiding under his bed, crying himself to sleep and wishing his father would die a horrible painful death.

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--Present Day--

Daniel was seated on his bed, the parcel sitting unopened before him next to a pair of scissors while the card sat clenched in his hands. His father hadn't left behind any money or property to inherit. The house they had lived in was sold off to help pay for his father's medical bills long ago forcing them to move into welfare housing. After his mother had died the year after their father they had all left that shit hole as quickly as humanly possible. Now there was supposedly a gift from his father, it was his father's handwriting, and he didn't know what to make of it. They had hated each other for years and even come to a verbal agreement to keep the peace after one particularly violent case almost prompting medical attention and most likely a police presence due to how badly Daniel Junior had been beaten because he refused to give in anymore. That same father had apparently arranged for this nondescript package and card to be delivered after his death.

Daniel could clearly remember the disappointment he had seen in his father's eyes as they had parted that last time in the hospital. He could feel the deathly cold that seemed to settle in the air around his father as he stormed off into the hospital's elevator lobby to cool off. He could remember the years that he slowly started to forgive his father as he died. His body no longer able to allow him to lay down without the risk of drowning him. His mind no longer clear as he lost sleep from pain and dementia set in. His hands shaking and reaching into the air as if trying to grab hold of something. Daniel just couldn't keep hating his father despite what he had done, so he forgave him, but his father was always just disappointed or angry despite anything he did. He was just always so angry.

Clearing his throat and wiping at his reddening eyes, he dropped the card onto his bed and began to dismantle the package using the scissors. The inside of the parcel revealed a small wooden box that he vaguely recognized. It was something his father had made when Daniel was in elementary school. The top of the box was a sliding cover with a very crudely engraved western style dragon. He had mentioned to his father that he wanted one just like it and the vague grunt he had received in reply neither dismissed nor promised anything. With shaking hands and his vision blurring, Daniel slid the lid open.

A bright blue flash blinded him before he passed out. The box clattered to the floor, empty.