A few passing clouds, otherwise generally sunny day, the sun beat down on Baskire , a small isolated mining village surrounded by mountains and forests.A young boy around the age of 13 could be seen running down a hill carrying a steel bucket and a rusted shovel in his hands. He occasionally leaped into the air missing the bumpy rocky surfaces as his feet landed smoothly on the ground. Soon he reached a thatched hut. It looked haggard and the roof was thinning probably due to the harsh weather conditions. He placed his bucket and shovel beside the wall and burst into the hut. Soon, he re-emerged in an ill- fitting red robe, it's colour faded from being washed countless times. It hung loose on his small frame, the fabric wrinkled and torn at the ends. He stretched his body and let out a tired yawn.
Since yesterday, he has been digging the earth for ores. They were common around here but for the top notch quality ones, he has to thread deeper into the mountains.
The ores were graded according to their value.
Red (Tier 1) rare and was highly prized, often used for powerful magic.
Blue (Tier 2): Valuable, but less rare than red, used for advanced spells.
Violet (Tier 3): Most valuable, extremely rare, used for master-level magic.
Yellow (Tier 4): Common, used for basic magic.
Green (Tier 5): Abundant, used for everyday tasks.
Ark lived in a realm where the laws of magic governed everything, where the powerful ruled and had absolute control over everything. For commoners like him, last at the end of the food chain, being a miner or a blacksmith was the only means to survive in this world. During the last harvest season, the legendary two headed snake- dragon was spotted by an old miner on his way home. He rushed back and the baksire ore miners guild hired a master magician. He returned the next day with the severed head of the beast. Dried up blood and a magical ore embedded in its forehead.
Baksire was famous for its ores and rare medicinal herbs. Ark managed to sell his ores and herbs to a few of such traders who travelled here on market days. He knew he was paid far less but he had no choice. After all, he was considered the freak, an outcast tossed into the far end of the village. The villagers shunned him, refusing to acknowledge his existence. They believed he was a bad omen, probably because he caused a fire when he was three, burned down his house which killed his parents. The strange part was that he survived. They found him alive with only some slight burns. Most villagers stared at him with disdain and pure hatred, they hurled insults at his mere presence. On one occasion, he was surrounded and beaten to pulp. From there, he always hid in the shadows, keeping tabs on the movements of his bullies so he doesn't bump into them when he goes to the market square. His only relative, his grandmother died from old age and was buried months back. No one came to console him except for Old man Kilo. He inhaled slowly to calm himself and grabbed the bucket checking his spoils. He got yellow, red and blue ores yesterday, he had a silly grin on his face as he inspected the ores. He paused slightly as he picked the black ore underneath. He wasn't sure about this one, yesterday as a result of curiosity he carried it along but he has long lost interest. Never has he heard of a black ore. Probably a defective one. He tossed it carelessly into the bucket and wrapped the others carefully into a pouch. He made his way to the village missing the slight tremble of the black ore which emitted a dark smoke, its tendrils curling like skeletal fingers beckoning the darkness from within.
The market was bustling with activities, stalls were filled with people checking their wares and bargaining prices with the owners. Chatter and laughter filled the air, children playing around and occasional talks of the grand awakening ceremony popping up.
This was a major event that took place every season.
The Grand awakening ceremony occurs every season. Skilled magicians from other neighbouring villages and even towns came to access the children looking for hidden gems who will carve their names on the tablet of magic. Every parent had high hopes for their kids during this period because it was the greatest honour to be taken in as an apprentice of a master magician. Ark's heartbeat rose with excitement but was soon replaced with melancholy when he thought of the fact that he was now past that pivotal age closing on 14. His bright eyes dimmed and lost their shine as he rounded a corner making his way to a small stall. He usually sold his spoils to this trader when he could afford to buy, it wasn't frequent though but he paid him so well and never cheated him out of what he was supposed to receive. He spotted the old stall owner, Patoe. His eyes lit up as he spotted Ark. Ah, my good friend, what treasures have you brought me today? He asked, his voice like the rustling of leaves. Ark approached him with a small smile on his face, opening his small pouch revealing the ores and some rare herbs he had plucked along the way. Pateo's eyes widened, with trembling hands, he reached out for the ores, his eyes inspecting it . Wow! where did you find this, he whispered, his voice full of awe. Ark smiled, a chance encounter ,old man. I was just lucky yesterday. Hmm, then your luck is great, it's frequent, old man Patoe let out a shout laugh. Its okay if you don't want to say. Ark's eyes held a hint of sadness as he thought of his Grandmother, she practically raised him after his parents death. She taught him the best spots to find quality ores and rare herbs, and also his way around the forests. Ah, Ark, l am sorry to hear about your grandmother, he said, his voice gentle. She was a good woman. I am sure she is watching over you from the heavens
Ark nodded, his throat tight. He hadn't expected Patoe to remember him, mentioning his grandmother. The transaction was completed in silence . Old man Pateo handed a small pouch of gold coins to Ark who exchanged it for his goods.