Become Stronger. These two words echoed through Nathan's head constantly. For years he was called jeering nicknames more than the name his mother had given him. He had no talent at all. No power at all, and in this life, power was everything.
Nathan feared others his whole life. He feared his father and his brother and his sister and his cousins and his uncle. Everyone. People on the roads of the Rose Clan's seclusive city isolated from the rest of the world would all look at him with laughing eyes. He was beaten up too many times to count, sometimes in the middle of public, and no one would come to help. They would pretend not to notice, or sometimes even smile, laugh or join in on the fun. The Rose Clan looked like a flower to those who observed it from far away, but when you got close, you realized just how many thorns it had. One such example is of when Nathan was young.
Nathan had returned home, bruised and beaten after he was abused by a group of kids his age. He was six. While imagining the other children, realize that, despite being so young, they still had Manifestations, weapons made out of their soul. Weapons that were by no means weak. Nathan avoided the front gate into the mansion. He didn't have it in him to have any more eyes on him, and the front of the palace was flooded with people and guards. They were having a party. All of the high-ranking warriors, elders, and weaponmasters attended. He could hear the laughter from where he stood. The whole point was to show off the talent of the Clan and and an excuse to eat. He had never been in one. He snuck into the forest, a familiar training ground, and used that as a way to circle around the wall the mansion had. Since his mother disappeared, two years ago he had been training to become stronger. To show that he could save everyone.
Nathan would sneak out and run to the edge of the forest which surrounded the Rose Clan and train. He would swing his sword into trees and wish they would tremble. He would pretend to fight his brother, and pretend to win. He loved something about the forest. It was quiet. No one would laugh or attack him just because he was weak. While the forest had the law of jungle, everything had a purpose. One would hunt for food, not for sport.
Nathan stealthily climbed over tree roots and walked to one of the sides of the giant stone wall which surrounded the mansion. Grabbing a hook on a string he kept in his travel pack he kept with him, he started to swing it in circles so it would build up momentum. Nathan had entered this way many times, planting metal bars int he wall so he could ascend easily. He threw the hook up and missed the bar. It took him a few times, but he eventually got it and began to ascend the wall. After reaching the first hook he jumped with all him might to the next, and the next, and the next. It was extremely dangerous, if he fell he would almost certainly die, but that held its own benefits. Closing his eyes, Nathan focused to see if he could hear any guards on the top of the wall. Nothing.
He climbed up the last few rings and pulled himself up onto the top of the wall. On the inside of the wall there was a set of stairs that led down, so Nathan put his hook in his pack and descended them. Nathan headed for the staff entrance on the back side of the mansion. He entered the door and looked around to ensure everyone was gone. The staff were all busy with the party. He began to maneuver his way towards the stairs in the main hall, the only way to get up, before hearing a deep voice.
"Nathan!” Nathan halted, turned around and looked up, his father giving him a stern look while his brother smiled, and Madiland, seeing what Felix was doing, copied, checking back multiple times to make sure she was doing it right. Felix was the oldest and most mature of the three Rose Heirs, and, while young, walked with a dignified presence. He had brown hair and brown eyes, just like his father. However, Madiland was different. She had bright, vibrant red hair which she wore long, the red hair contrasting with her blue eyes and, every time he saw her, it only ever reminded Nathan of his mother. Nathan however, looked different than anyone within his family line. He had white, silvery eyes which contrasted with his black hair. These features alone caused scandals to pop up everywhere, believing his mother had an affair. However, these things were all brushed aside, as the head said that he was indeed his son. They all quieted. Nathan wished he had such power.
“Why are you beaten and bruised? Did the other children beat up on you again?” From most parents, these words would be of worry and care. However, all Nathan heard was shame.
“You are one of the few who have been blessed with the right to inherit the strongest clan on the continent,” He continued. “and you allow others to bully you? Others who are merely from branches of our great clan?” The children, long ago, had noticed that Nathan had stopped being sheltered by the Rose clans power, so the children in the town no longer worried about getting into trouble and would beat him limitlessly. “How could you be so weak. You cannot even use your call yet, yet your sister can use her Bane, not even regarding your brother who has nearly mastered his.” This shocked Nathan.
Unlocking your Bane is no easy task. Just being able to use it before you die is considered a genius, never mind before the age of 10. “Show him.” His sister then nodded and closed her eyes, twin daggers appearing in her hands. "Twin Blossoms" they were called. Suddenly thorned vines sprouted out of the ground and walls, breaking the stone and bursting through the ground, hitting Nathan and wrapping around him with the strength that could break through stone. What kind of insane strength is this? She just unlocked her Bane! Nathan thought.
“Why don’t you fight back.” His father looked at him and asked. Because I’m weak. Nathan felt in pain. The weight of the giant vines pressed down on his windpipe and chest like the weight of the world. Seconds passed, but to Nathan they were hours. His father opened his mouth again. “Stop.” The vines loosened and retreated into the ground. He collapsed onto the ground, feeling the fractured rib bones ache. He coughed until he spat out blood. By the time he could look up all he saw were their backs as they went through the doors to join the party outside. Felix, however, looked back, still smiling. Long after they left, he regained the strength and drugged his body up the stairs and went into the attic as the maids and servants rushed past him. The Attic was his home this is where he would spend time when not in the jungle or the town. He could still hear the laughter of the outside world ringing in his ears. He wondered what it would be like to stand next to his siblings and show off his incredible powers to hundred of amazed people from all over the continent. But he had no Call, no Bane. All he had was a sword too massive and to heavy to wield. Instead, he would only be looked upon by the paintings of previous leaders placed in the attic to gather dust. He looked up at Dolan Rose, the first head, and hero to the whole continent. Would he be happy with what his Clan turned into? Probably not, but that didn't mean Nathan's situation wasn't his fault. Nathan couldn't help but despise this man for creating the strongest clan in the known world, this clan. Nathan whimpered but did not cry. He would not allow himself to be weak.
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Nathan POV
I slowly came too and opened my eyelids, blinking a few times to focus on my surroundings. I lay in a bed which was more comfortable than the attics hardwood floor, although it was not as nice as the ones in my father, siblings, and my old room. A soft blanket was over me, not as nice as the ones that I would steal from the laundering servants but good enough. It all flooded back to me. The fight with my father, the shattering of my sword, my soul.
I then noticed something very off. Not the fact I was in a bed, nor the fact I had a blanket over me, but the fact that there was an old, partially wrinkled face was about 5 inches from mine looking me straight in the eyes. “Good. You’re up.”
“AAAAAAAAAH” I screamed and launched myself backwards, only to hit my head on a stone wall, but after looking back I realized that instead of stone, the wall was wooden. Most wooden walls would of broken or cracked under the force I just rammed it with, but instead of the wood cracking it felt more like my skull was the thing cracking. What strong wood. I thought, taking a note of that fact if I needed to escape. I started to take in my surroundings and summoned my Manifestation in order to fight.
The Old Man backed up a bit and pushed his hands towards me. “Woah there.” He said, but before he could finish I jumped forward and slashed at him, my blade hitting him square in the middle of his forearm, this surprised me somewhat because he hadn’t even attempted to fight back, but I then immediately realized why. The small portion left of my blade had certainly hit him in the arm, but my sword hadn’t cut his arm at all.
The old man chuckled, “Jeez, kids these days. This is how you treat your savior?” I remembered then, an old man picking me up and heading off to somewhere, I passed out with the sound of the wind whistling in my ears at an astonishing speed.
“Wait that was you?” I asked. He just smiled in response, as if that was an adequate answer. I withdrew my Manifestation and fell back onto the bed. The pain and soreness from my actions hit me like a sledgehammer, but it was nothing compared to what I had experienced, such as manifestations akin to real sledgehammers hitting me full force. The bed was located in the corner of a large one-room wooden cabin. In the middle of the room, a fire crackled under a pot cooking a stew. Torches were on the walls, enough for adequate light but also enough so that the room wouldn’t feel bright. A cabinet in the corner opposite from where he sate held books whose bindings looked so old that I could easily imagining just a small breeze would break the bindings apart.. One of which was open on a desk adjacent to it, a quill sitting in a bottle of ink. One of the pages seemed to have the uncompleted picture of some sort of demonic frog with a broken horn. The top of the page said, Black Rock Toad. Various notes were scattered across the page with phrases like, “Lives in central swamp” and “Absorbs preys flesh to form their horn”. “Woah.” I accidentally said aloud.
The man stood up and walked over to the desk and opened up one of the shelves, pulling out two bowls. “This forest has creatures which have not been documented. Some of which have strange abilities beyond your imagination. You should avoid them at all cost until you know their abilities.” He continued, “You should thank this guy though.” He laughed when he saw my confused face, “I hadn’t finished my documentation on the Black Rock Toad so I was tracking one, and that’s when I found you.” He approached pot in the middle of the room where he reached down under the bottom of the pot with his open hand, sticking his hand in the red hot coals, then picked it up and put it down off on the side of the fire.
Wait… he did what!?
This old man, somehow, casually stuck his hand in a pile of coals just to lift up a metal pot. There must've been some trick. I started looking around for a bucket of water to help the old man so he could cool down his hand but I couldn’t find one. The old man walked over to me and asked “What wrong?”, his brow furrowed.
I was just making sure it wasn’t over cooked...”
“Not that! You just stuck your hand in a fire!”
Narrator POV
The man looked down to his hand holding the bottom of a pot which had been in contact with coals for who knows how long just a second ago. “Oh, I guess I did.” He chuckled. “Sorry I surprised you, I haven’t gone outside of this forest for quite some time so I sometimes forget what you consider normal.”
“Normal? I can’t even use my Call or Bane and you did that without even your manifestation out!” Just bringing out a manifestation would make your body and mind quicker and stronger.
He set down one of the two bowls in his hand on a bedside table and used a wooden ladle to pour some soup into his bowl from the large cauldron and gestured it towards Nathan.
“How do I know it’s not poisoned.” Nathan gave a very serious look, but the old man just smiled and laughed. “If I wanted you dead then why would I have saved you.”
It was logical enough, so Nathan took a spoonful of the soup from the bowl the old man made for him. DELICIOUS. Nathan was dumbfounded that a strange old man in the wilderness could cook this good. In fact it was better than the food Nathan would sneak from the clans kitchen.
This murky looking dish was in no way on par in appearance, but in terms of flavor it outshone the best meals he had ever had at the Mansion. Nathan devoured the rest of the soup and held out his bowl. “Seconds?” The old man was stunned at his sudden change in behavior. The man then poured some more in the bowl and laughed. Nathan hadn’t eaten or drank for many days, so he was making up for it now.
After five bowls, Nathan was finally satisfied. Then he started thinking. “Wait. Old man,” Nathan set down his bowl and looked into the old man’s eyes, “Why did you save me?” A strange light seemed to be in the old man’s eyes. “Because you wanted to live, and no one who wants to live should die.” While the old man said this he meant it, this was not the only reason. If he really believed that he would be running around helping people not sitting in some cabin wouldn’t he? T real reason, the one he didn’t say, was that he saw himself in the boy. He may not of saved the boy if he had not seen that he had an Irregular Manifestation, one which had more potential than perhaps his own. The old man remembered how his irregular manifestation had made him the object of ridicule, but that changed a long time ago.
The Old Man then asked, “My name is Damon.” He held out his hand to Nathan and asked “What is yours.” “Nathan Ro…”My name? Nathan thought. I am no longer a member of the Rose clan. I am not one of them anymore. Nathan decided he would change his last name, but not his first one. His first name, the one who was given to him by his mother, he wouldn’t change, but the last name which he inherited from his father whom he despised. After all he only hated his father, not his mother, and she was the one who gave him that name.
“Blackthorne, Nathan Blackthorne.”