We studied and learned magic together. It seemed to require an idea, a chant, and a catalyst. My parents expended the last of their meager savings to buy the cheapest catalyst they could find: an old, cracked stone.
We only had one, so we took turns using it, practicing simple non-destructive spells. This became a bit difficult as we learned our affinities. My mother was aligned with water and earth and my father with wind. It seemed I was aligned with light, earth, and had an especially strong affinity to fire. This was already confusing since the book said that people are generally aligned to no more than 2 elemental attributes. I was curious why they specified 'elemental', but the bigger question was why I had 3 elemental affinities. I directly contradicted the book's teachings.
We proceeded under the assumption that my unusual eye color was somehow related and kept studying. Most of it came naturally to me, especially fire magic. Truth be told, I felt as if the catalyst and chant weren't needed, but I used it and learned the simple chants anyway. Who was I to question established practices in something I had nearly no understanding of?
Our days remained simple. I'd have dinner prepared by the time my parents got home unless it was one of the rare days in which they brought meat. We would eat, study magic, and do some self-defense training. We'd sometimes bathe, and then fall asleep, exhausted.
We'd forgotten about staying away from the window on a few occasions, and after some seasons passed, I could swear I heard footsteps passing close by in the evenings, with far more frequency than they used to. At the time, I assumed it was due to the change in seasons and work schedules.
The days grew shorter, leaves began to change color, and cold drafts would invade our home through one of the many available gaps. We kept the hearth warm and took the chance to practice fire magics. Things started to feel somewhat safe again, or as safe as I'd always thought they were. I was unaware that sinister machinations were just beginning.
During the wee hours of the night, in which only guards and the unscrupulous are awake, my sleep was interrupted by the sounds of breaking wood and windows. Before I knew what was happening, I found myself being ripped from my bedsheets and thrust to my mother. My eyes widened as she grabbed 3 rucksacks, the rucksacks. I understood at that moment that we were leaving. I'd been made to memorize the number of paces it should take, where and which ways to turn, and told landmarks.
The emergency plan we'd use to escape, the sort of thing you hope and pray never to use, had become my current reality.
I could hear the sounds of a scuffle coming from the other room. I saw and heard my father casting something while throwing pots and pans at 2 cloaked men. I recognized that chant, one that we knew and practiced, but never used inside due to its destructive nature.
Fire coalesced around my father's hand, and he prepared to release the blazing sphere. One of the attackers closed in and the next thing I knew, blood was spurting out of my father's back as a short sword had run him through.
His eyes were still resolute, and he maintained the spell, releasing it upon the opponent who'd stabbed him, engulfing him in flames. My father removed the sword from his chest and started gasping another chant, a more powerful spell than the one before.
I made to run to his side, but I was pulled back by my mother. My father turned to me and weakly motioned "go on" as if shooing me away from some little surprise he was hiding. This was all while bleeding profusely from his chest.
My mother pulled me away and out of the house. Once outside, we took the briefest of moments to don our cloaks. That was the second step after 'get away from danger'. We ran, as fast as our legs would carry us. I turned back once to see flames consuming our home. I felt a strong tug at my arm as we rounded the first corner.
For a moment, I felt cold and hollow, unable to feel my legs moving or the chill of night. I could only feel the warmth of my mother's hand pulling me along and the tears streaming down my face. We rounded another corner, and I felt myself pulled down. I fell forward onto the dirt road. My hand, still clasping my mother's, was then pulled up. She'd fallen, and taken me with her, but we kept running without regard for any injuries we may have taken.
A handful of turns and stumbles later, we slammed into the door of a family friend. We didn't bother stopping, and only bothered to knock once we'd come to our forced halt. A single knock, pause, 3 knocks, a breath, another 2 knocks, an exhale and 5 knocks.
That was the sequence my mother had taught me and the one she'd followed. The door opened without hesitation or greeting, and we entered.
We were met with hugs, kindness, and a short while later, hot tea. My mother explained the situation, and the absence of my father. Truth be told, none of it felt real. I wiped the dust-filled tear streaks from my face and took the tea that was offered, listening half-heartedly to the conversation across the room, and at the indistinct mutterings beyond the walls outside.
The indoor voices were sad and pained, but those outside, which I normally would've cast aside sounded... different. They were cold, callous, ruthless voices that held not a hint of good news for anyone within eyeshot or earshot of them. "They must be around here somewhere", one man barked. "Search the houses, and be quick, before the guards catch on."
The 7 hells! They were still searching, breaking into others' homes, disrupting families with needless violence. This was no longer a problem of me and my family. Anyone even thought to be harboring us would be in danger. My mind finally caught up to the immediacy of the situation. I could grieve later, cry later, lament later, but for now, I had to run.
They'd cared for me, fed me, clothed me, and raised me as their own, and the only way I could repay them was by being another mouth to feed and an unwilling target. I knew that none of it was my fault and that they didn't see me as a burden, but it did not change the fact that lives other than my own were in danger by my mere presence.
I rummaged through my rucksack, inspecting its contents: some preserved food, a knife, a change of clothes, a map, and a surprising amount of coin. I was already wearing a cloak. These provisions were more than I could've hoped for. I nodded to myself and clenched my fists. I turned to my mother and closed the distance between us in a breath. I embraced her, kissed her on her cheek, and whispered words of gratitude. Her face showed surprise for a moment, but I turned away before I could see anything else, before my resolve could collapse, bringing my knees with it.
It had been quiet in the streets for some moments already. I would use the gap in their search to make my escape. I opened the door as quickly and quietly as I could and glanced back once to see my mother utter a silent shriek before collapsing onto her knees as she reached for me. She dared not scream, knowing it would bring attention to us, making our preparations for naught. My heart ached as I used this fact against her, and made my way through the darkened streets.
