Far away from all other signs of civilization was an isolated town called Griff. If there was anything to set Griff apart it was certainly their extreme hatred of magic. If a child showed signs of magic, the townspeople would immediately abandon them. That being said, those children could not leave. Even if they could get beyond the cold stone walls, all that surrounded them would be wilderness as far as the eye could see.

One boy, about twelve, had not given up on escape despite the disadvantages. The boy had no name, much the same as most of the children there. He was covered in wounds from head to toe, but that did not stop him from springing into action when the baker left his bakery unattended.

Did he take bread? No. What kind of idiot would risk his life for some miserable old bread? He bagged a box of cupcakes and shot his small frame out the window before the baker could spot him. By the time anyone noticed he was long gone in the alleyways no townsfolk dared to tread.

“Again?” another ragged boy asked in disbelief, “They really will kill you this time.”

“No they won’t,” the boy said with confidence, “I’ve made up my mind. I am going to leave this place and become a real person.”

The other boy sighed. “You know there is nothing out there.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’d rather have nothing than be stuck in Griff,” he said and stared at the wall, “Everyone else failed because they didn’t take anything with them. I have food, and I have this knife I stole from the butcher. I even stole money from the people who beat me.”

At this, the other boy seemed disgusted. “Fine. Go die out there. I’m going to die in here like everyone else.”

The boy didn’t care. It wasn’t like he had ever had the freedom to get close to anyone anyway. Not in this place. He waited until nightfall, hiding from any pursuers that were still chasing him. Once night fell he tied the cupcake box, the money, and the knife in an old ragged blanket he found in the garbage and climbed the wall. 

The wall was steep and slick with barely any footholds, but he had been preparing for this for his whole life. The drop from the top of the wall was a bit painful, but he didn’t have time to rest. He wouldn’t be safe until he was deep in the forest. And so he ran. 

He ran for hours without a break, shoving past vines, brush, and branches that stood in his way. His legs burned and he began to feel lightheaded, but he did not dare to stop. Eventually, his legs gave way, and he collapsed. 

The first thing he saw from where he lay was a mushroom. It reminded him of something. What was it called again? Soril? Sarol? Syrel? No, it sounded more like Soral. Come to think of it, if he was to become a real person, he needed a name. He reached out but lost consciousness with his hand inches away from the mushroom. 

Soral woke up late in the afternoon of the next day. He ached all over, and his cupcakes had been smashed but there was no sign anyone had tried to follow him. At long last, he was free! After the elation of freedom faded, the reality of his situation slowly sunk in. Cupcakes were great, but he wouldn’t survive long with just that. 

His eyes locked on the mushroom. Well… It was worth a try. Better to try and suffer now when he had a backup than when he was desperate later. Soral carefully plucked the mushroom and took a tentative nibble. The texture wasn’t the best but the taste wasn’t too bad. If it had any effects, nothing was immediate. The next issue was water, but he was far less concerned about that. There was a river nearby, so he just needed to follow it.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

And follow the river he did. He spent days mindlessly walking along the river, eating mushrooms and cupcakes as he went. The days turned into weeks, the last of the cupcakes long gone and the mushrooms more and more suspicious. Despite this, Soral never felt sick, and some even gave him extra boosts of energy. 

There was finally a break in the trees as Soral snacked on a particularly vivid purple mushroom. The river shrank into a stream that flowed into a lake. Around the lake was a cluster of buildings. Soral came to a stop. Houses? But there was no wall, no intimidating guards. Was it abandoned? He crept closer to investigate.

As he got closer, he could hear people talking and laughing. They seemed so carefree. Then, as he peeked around a corner he saw something unbelievable. There was a little girl holding sparks in her hands, and the adults were cheering her on. Was this place created by others who escaped like him?

“What are you doing?” a voice asked from behind him. 

Soral jerked and toppled over in surprise. There was a boy likely a few years older than himself standing there with a confused expression. 

“Actually, where did you even come from?” the boy continued, “You look a mess.”

“I’m just traveling,” Soral replied defensively.

The boy frowned. “Like that? Hold on. Mom! I found a weird kid!”

The woman turned away from the little girl and joined them behind the house. “Goodness! You look half starved! What happened to you?”

Soral shrunk back from the attention he was receiving. “I was just traveling,” he repeated.

She frowned, but shook it off. “First things first, let’s get you washed up.”

Before Soral could react, she picked him up and dragged him inside the house. She confiscated his blanket bundle, stole his precious clothing, and dunked him in a tub of warm water. Water she had clearly summoned with magic. The shock of it all left him quiet and obedient to her scrubbing. He didn’t even notice her pull out scissors until she was midway through chopping his hair off.

The woman helped him dress and then showed him a mirror. “See? This is much better.”

Soral looked at his reflection, mesmerized. “I look like a real person,” he whispered.

“What else would you be if not a person?” the woman asked, “What is your name?”

“Soral,” he answered. He had held onto his newly created name during his weeks of travel, repeating it until it felt natural.

“Soral? Nice to meet you. I am Vona. This may be a little village, but I think we do well for ourselves here. Would you like to stay for a while?”

“Stay?” Soral asked. 

“You said you were traveling, but every traveler needs a place to rest now and then,” Vona told him, “I don’t know how far your destination is, but you can rest here for a while.”

Soral was somewhat relieved. For a moment, he had thought she was going to try to force him to live there. She seemed nice so far, but he had no intention of being trapped anywhere again. 

“What do you need from me?” Soral asked. 

“You may have to help a bit around the house, but it shouldn’t be too hard,” she assured him. 

“Mom! Are you done?” the boy from earlier called. 

“Hold on, Dillon!” Vona called back, “That boy has no patience.”

She gathered up Soral’s old rags and threw the door open. Dillon, who had been leaning up against it almost fell in before the rags were shoved into his arms.

“What is this?” he asked. 

“Take care of these,” Vona told him, “I gave our guest some of your old clothes for now, but they are a bit loose on him. Go find some more once you are done.”

Dillon grumbled but did as he was told.

Soral suddenly darted forward and rummaged through the bundle, holding the knife and the money pouches close. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but he couldn’t let them take these. Luckily no one tried and Dillon left with the rags. 

Later that day, a man joined them at the house. Soral learned he was Ilar, the husband of Vona. The girl from earlier was Liza. She welcomed Soral eagerly. Perhaps a bit too eagerly. It felt warm, but uncomfortable. 

At night the first nightmare came. It was hard to say if it was a memory or fear itself that haunted him. He could hear the voices of those he had abandoned, and those who had hurt him. All of them whispered that he did not belong there.

“How could you leave us?”

“Monster!”

“A fiend like you should stay in the rubbish where you belong!”

“Filthy street rat!”

“How could you escape alone?”

The next night, another nightmare came. It was as if his penance for escaping his living nightmare was to never have peaceful rest again. Soral never told anyone, but as the nightmares continued he felt more unsettled with his current life. 

Not even a month after he arrived in the village, Soral vanished in the night again. He took his knife, his pouches, and one more thing. The second name of Voila to honor the kindness Vona and Ilar had shown him.