"Am I a reflection of this world? Or is the world a reflection of me?"
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Battered and bruised, scars and deep wounds caused by strikes that could never heal, and yet the world stood resilient in the face of The Great Filter. Who did it fight for? What was the reason for creating and supporting life, knowing very well that all that awaited was death?
In response to these ethereal levels of resilience displayed, the people of Aethelgard courageously developed their own unique abilities. It was more like it was given to them, but humanity enjoyed affixing its ownership tag to things that didn't belong to it.
"..." Thean's hand caressed the moss-covered stone tablet. The thrumming in his heart continued at a steady pace. Etched onto it was a singular word, "you". He could never gauge the importance of having such a slab; it conveyed practically no meaning but caused curiosity and a certain amount of interest.
"Stupid tablet..." he cursed under his breath. He would much rather have the company of his late parents than stare at this piece of stone that held no value to him. Placed in the centre of his small hut, the stone tablet didn't leave much space for him to live peacefully. In a weird sense, Thean felt the hut was more of a house for the tablet than for him, making him feel like a squatter in his own home.
"Haah...." It was almost time for him to head towards the city. The academy was rather strict about arriving on time. It was somewhat of an inconvenience for him to walk from the woods every single time, but what could he do? This was his home, his only reminder of his parents and the life they once had.
As he walked through the woods, stepping over thickets and bushes whose thorns poked out further than any fruit or flower it could bear. His hand gently grazed the trunks of trees, some of which had marks and scars that looked to be man-made. Every step led him away from home, and the thrumming in his heart gradually reduced in response.
Verdia, the sprawling metropolis, was a testament to the advancements of Aethelgard, its spires of polished magi-stone reaching towards the sky, its streets humming with the quiet energy of a thousand different magical affinities at work. But for Thean, it was just a place he had to pass through with his head down, a solitary figure in a world of bustling, purposeful people.
Passing by a group of students, draped in robes far more colourful and rich compared to his ragged tunic. Their laughter and sharp gaze followed his figure, from their fingertips escaped minute displays of magic, for some it was a wisp of fire that rolled around their fingers, for others it was a chilling frost slowly covering their hands. Thean's eyes were fixed on their casual display of mystical energy.
However, for them, he was a bundle of failure from whom lessons of how not to be could be learned. The boy with no spell tree, orphaned, and overall an anomaly. In a world full of vessels and cups, he was a fork.
The day flashed by like any other. He was a student with no spell tree assigned, a defect since birth; there wasn't too much he could offer even if he participated. The professors tried as much as they could, but there was only a limit to which they could do that.
Monotony was a constant companion of his; every day looked and felt the same. Thean did the same things, wore almost the same clothes, and ate the same food. As he reached the outskirts of the city and began the long walk back to his small, isolated hut, he heard footsteps behind him. Not the rhythmic pace of a lone traveler, but the staggered beat of a group trying to be quiet.
Thean didn't need to turn to know who they were. He'd heard their taunts before and felt their sharp spells as well. He was used to such treatment, but for them to follow him all the way over here was crossing the line.
"What can I do for y'all...?" he said with a certain amount of servitude and graciousness in his voice. But they knew better, Thean was rather sarcastic and humorous about his own depreciation.
"Oh! Nothing at all," the fire mage, Keon, stepped forward with an innocent smile that soon turned crooked, "we just want to see where a plebian like you lived." Tiny embers danced around his fingers with every word he uttered.
"Now, why would someone as high and mighty as Keon Leon ever want to see an abode that belonged to a peasant like me?" Thean turned around and cocked his head. To his surprise, the group didn't really wait to listen to him jest. The second his back no longer faced them, a fireball the size of a bowling ball struck him straight in the stomach.
The spell burnt any fabric close to the impact zone, as his body crashed into a nearby tree. The smell of charred sap and leaves was overwhelming his nose, and his eyes were flooded with tears, making his vision extremely blurry. The spell didn't hurt too much, after all, he was their punching bag for quite a while.
Keon Leon walked forward, the crunching sound of snapping branches and crackling of dried leaves accompanied his every step. He bent down and grabbed Thean's face, while his dominant foot remained at an awkward angle.
"Quit. Don't show yourself around Verdia again. Then maybe I'll let you in as a servant at my house kekeke," the little gremlin laughed before spitting on the ground next to Thean. There were moments where shutting up helped more than saying something; this was one of those. Unfortunately, Theann wasn't too big a fan of those kinds of cues.
"Missed?" he forcefully grinned while Keon held his face. The nerves on the latter's forehead popped out, and his expression turned ugly. He could feel his peers snickering at the little vermin's remarks, which only further fueled his rage.
He lifted him and flung him straight past a bunch of trees; his fingertips were now nearly a bright orange as they melted through the trunk of the tree he pressed into. Unbeknownst to him, tiny sparks slowly fell all over the place, some falling onto rocks, others onto more flammable objects such as dried leaves.
To make matters worse, Keon's expression grew worse, and the rage in his heart slowly began to consume his consciousness, making him less aware of his surroundings. Unlike the prideful bastard, the battered Thean knew very well what was happening. This elite shithead was starting a forest fire whether he knew it or not, and this was definitely not good considering the size and density of these woods.
"Hey, you bastard. Take your anger out on me, leave the woods alone," he spat blood out and struggled to his feet. Nevertheless, Thean had no intention of letting these rats anywhere close to his only remaining memorabilia of his parents. The little cozy hut.
Unfortunate for him, telling a raging bastard not to do something was akin to telling your crying girlfriend to "calm down". The fire around Keon's hands grew uncontrollably larger before finally catching onto the trees. The group of students that tagged along with him gulped as they noticed what was happening. They were either feigning ignorance or were too afraid to act.
"Fuck..." The thrumming in his heart grew louder as the fire slowly spread; the surroundings immediately smelled like the world itself was burning. The pungent and thick smell of smoke burned his nostrils with every breath he took. In response, he tore the rest of his shirt apart and tied it around his face as a mask.
Through the flames, he could see a single figure walking towards him. It made no sense. Was Keon trying to kill him? That was absurd; there was no reason for such a thing. The others who tagged along now slowly began to realize the severity of the situation as they attempted to kill the fire.
Thean staggered backward, before tripping over a thick root and stumbling down for a bit. What a day it had been for him. There was certainly nothing monotonous about this, and that made him a little happy. Even if he was being abused at the very moment, it felt new.
"You smile? Even no-" Keon's voice stopped as he appeared in front of Thean. His ugly expression grew uglier before he burst out into laughter. The thrumming in Thean's heart felt familiar; it was at a pace he knew very well. He gulped before slowly turning around.
There it was...his tiny and cozy little hut that housed nothing but a small bed and a stone tablet. His mind was in shambles; this place was supposed to be hidden and protected. It was utterly important to him, and before he could realize it, from his peripheral vision, he could see a reddish sphere fly towards his abode.
His hand reached out in desperation. The memories, the life he lived up till now, everything that was meaningful to him existed within this space, and right before his eyes, it burst into flames. The beat in his chest grew faster and more uncontrolled, his weary and wounded body crashed onto the ground as his blurry vision captured the flames ravaging his home.
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"This world is doomed. I do not see the point in living anymore. Who is to protect the weak... the strong? Ridiculous. They prey on us, the feast on our misery as it proves to them that they, in fact, are superior. There is nobody in this world who is merciful; there is no salvation, nor is there any hope left....." Thean's rage slowly died down as his unconscious state began to fade away.
"If there is a creator of this world....I wonder who it is-" before his delusions could continue, Thean woke up in a miserable state. The petrichor fought against the smell of charring, and the droplets of water fell from above. It felt like a response of the weak and inferior, fighting back against the fire that corrupted nature.
He staggered forward and looked at the pieces of wood and leaves awkwardly sitting where his hut once was. There was something that stuck out of the rubble, which was surprising. What could've possibly lived through that raging fire?
As he pushed aside the remains of the woods, a question from his delusions reformed in his head, and unknowingly, his lips parted, "Who is to protect the weak....?" he pushed aside the final piece of debris for his eyes to fall on a similar sight. A slightly damaged stone slab with a single word written.
"You."