You know that feeling you get right before something bad happens? Like when you confess to your crush and they’re just silent for a second? Or when you’re waiting for the doctor to tell you if you have cancer? Well, that’s pretty much where I’m at.
I confessed to my crush a day ago, only to be bitterly rejected. Today, I went to the hospital, only to find out that I have stage three kidney cancer. And now I’m here, crossing the road on my way home from that bitter experience and that feeling is back.
All of a sudden, I notice two big beams of light growing ever brighter to my left. Then darkness.
…
Mantrea, Year 301- Summer
“Congratulations, it’s a boy! He looks healthy and strong. Do you have a name in mind?”
“We’ll call him Michael, after his grandfather. He was the strongest, smartest man I’ve ever met” rang a deep voice.
“Michael it is. Congratulations on your healthy, new son.”
…
Mantrea, Year 308 – Summer
Whack! Whack! Whack!
A young boy stood hitting a tree over and over with an axe. He was small of stature, had ears a bit too big for his face, curly brown hair, and sharp blue eyes with a determined look in them. He faced a tree as wide as he was tall. It had a metallic sheen to it and each blow of the boy’s dulling axe left only the smallest scratch in its base. To his left, a taller man bearing a striking resemblance did the same.
In the boy’s wake lay several such trees, each toppled so as to both avoid hitting other trees and to leave a clear path to the small wooden home behind him. With a final heave, the chipped blade struck the tree and the crunch of snapping wood filled his ears. He darted away and the earth shook beneath his feet.
As soon as the shaking stopped, a sonorous voice rang out. “Michael, time for lunch! Hurry up or you’ll upset your mother,” called the deep voice of his father. Eager to comply, Michael put his axe over his shoulder, slung several ropes around the smallest felled tree, and began to drag it after his father.
Back at their small cottage, Michael sat down to a meal of fresh bread, corn, and rabbit. He gobbled it down as quickly as he could and grabbed a wooden training sword that was left by the door. In moments, he was back out the door. He loved his parents dearly, but he loved training even more.
“Thanks mom! I’m off to train with Master Robin. See you for dinner!”
And off he went. Michael ran into the forest, up the hill towards his master’s training grounds. It was a small place, consisting of a small, sturdy hut and a flat dirt area for practicing sword skills. He arrived quickly and went to greet his master.
“Sir, I have arrived and am ready for my lesson. Please teach me well,” he said as he stood outside the hut, not daring to knock on the door. Indeed, his master had already instilled that good sense in him. Every time he had gone to knock, his teacher hit him with a wooden sword of his own. In time, he’d realized that he needed to stand further back for his own safety.
“Yeah, yeah. What’s with you young ones always being full of energy? It’s barely noon! Very well. Let’s begin.” A groggy old man walked out of the hut with a training sword in his hand and the hint of a smile on his face. His hair was gray, but his body was spry and flexible, as Michael had learned in their first spar. His skin was tan and calloused, as though he had spent a great deal of time in the sun.
This was the renowned Master Robin who had once been the strongest swordsman in the world, or so he claimed. Michael had never seen the old man fight anyone besides in their sparing lessons, and he was too humble to claim to take lessons from the world’s best swordsman. Instead, he settled on a happy medium, admiring his mentor but tailoring Master Robin’s long list of claimed accomplishments to a more believable level.
Without warning, Michael’s master leapt to attack. An overhead strike came flying at the boy. He managed to raise his sword just in time to block the attack. He directed the wooden blade off to the side, but still struggled under the powerful attack. Strike after strike, slash after slash, Michael did his best to keep up with his master. He lost all sense of time, focused only on his fight.
They continued for hours, taking breaks only when Michael collapsed to the ground, begging for a water break. Minutes later, they would begin again, much to his muscles’ disappointment. When Master Robin grew tired, he would send Michael back to his parents.
Despite their lack in numbers, their small family dinner was filled with noise and laughter. Their meals were simple, and their joys were too, but that never diminished their time together. A small, green fire burned in a stone-lined fireplace and the warmth spread easily through the loving home. Afterwards, Michael made use of an enchanted faucet to clean up before retiring to bed, content and loved.
Weeks followed weeks of the same pattern, with little change. Some days he hunted with his father, and other days he collected ironwood and learned to shape it in his father’s workshop. Though both his parents knew magic, they preferred hard work and taught Michael the same.
It was a late summer evening that everything changed. He swung what must have been his thousandth strike at his master. A strange sense came over his, and he could feel that this strike wouldn’t hit. He twisted the blade instead, swiping hard into his master’s side, just below Master Robin’s guard. He was ecstatic! In years of training, he had never once succeeded. As he jumped around, he noticed his Master focused not on his success, but on the distant horizon.
In fact, Master Robin had stopped mid-swing, starring off into the distance. Michael, seeing an opportunity, struck out at his master and landed his first ever hit. Rather than getting angry or praising him on his achievement, Master Robin continued to stare.
A sinking feeling that Michael hadn’t felt in a lifetime returned, and the boy turned around to see what his master was looking at. At the edge of the forest, there was smoke. In his seven years, Michael had seen several wildfires, but this one looked different. The smoke was a vibrant purple and the green flames were visible, even from their distant perch. And then it hit him— that was where he lived.
Seconds later, Michael was crashing his way down the hill with his master shortly behind him. He felt his master grab his arm and pull him to a stop.
“Think, boy! Those flames aren’t natural. Only a magical creature could conjure flames like that, and the few that could make some that powerful are few and far between. It’s suicide to go in there! I’ll go and quell the flames. Promise me you’ll stay back until I do.” With that, Michael’s master disappeared from in front of him, as if by magic. Since his master wasn’t there to stop him, Michael continued his trek to his burning home to help his parents.
‘Hey kid, what do you think you’re doing?’
The strange voice in his head reminded Michael of Master Robin, and that jolted him out of his stupor. He raced down the hill with renewed energy, desperate to know his parents were safe. As he neared the blaze, he could see that his home was nothing but ashes. His mentor was busy dissolving the last of the flames with water he’d conjured out of thin air. But there was no sign of his parents.
“Mom! Dad! Where are you,” Michael screamed. Master Robin briefly turned to look at him, but he quickly devoted his attention back to fighting the blaze. Michael knew he’d get chastised later, but finding his parents came first.
‘If you just want to find them, that’s easy. One of my specialties is sensory amplification. I can cast the spell, but not while I fight the fire.’
“Do it now! Where are they?”
A strange tingling ran through Michael’s body. He didn’t merely hear or see everything around him. Instead, it came as a sense of certainty.
‘Michael, don’t do anything rash. I’ve located two bodies ten meters ahead of where I am. There are no vital signs. Don’t go in there, kid. This dragonfire is nasty
.’
No! It couldn’t be. Michael fell to his knees, curled up in a ball and began to cry. After seven years of peace and love, disaster had struck again. Despite all his training, he had failed again.