Aurin, the Daemons grow impatient. Arise, they are in search…

  Birds chirped, horses trotted, and wheels churned over crooked rocks.

  Inside a traveling caravan, sunlight bled through jagged wood. The cascades of light shimmered off a boy's white hair, perfectly blending with his orange tufted strands. Amid his peaceful slumber, a sharp ringing cut through his dreams. His eyes creaked ajar, revealing a fire-like color. Yet behind the fierce glow, settled a morbid undertone.

  'Did someone say something?'

  A faint odor of damp wood blended with the thick stench of rotting mold, jolting his senses alive.

  Rubbing his eyes, he traced a crude pair of bumps along his spine. Glancing at the opposite corner, he was reunited with a familiar thin silhouette. As the sun parted the shadows, her blue eyes and pale skin skimmed through the darkness.

  Crossing her arms with narrowed eyes, she muttered with a trace of disdain, "Quit staring, hm?"

  His head immediately spun around. The sustaining pressure of her gaze still seared into the back of his skull.

  Instinctively, he tossed back against the withered wall but was met with an unpleasant sensation of splinters pricking his back. Each movement caused them to scrape against his skin. Shortly after, he plucked the wood pieces out of his tunic and quickly found himself curled into a neat ball.

  The space turned into a deafening silence, nearly solace. Only broken by the occasional complaint from his stomach.

  'Maybe this village has something different than carrots and bread…' he mused, a faint smile tugging at his lips. 'Xyph, hopefully, it won't be turnips. Please don't let it be turnips… I'd rather starve to death than have those again. '

  Peeling splinters from the withering floor, his heavy eyelids nearly drifted shut, but somehow he regrettably found himself contemplating the past.

  From what he'd heard by eavesdropping, they were heading to a small village at the edge of Paraphine. They called it Melanor. Every time they passed through a village, or anything of the sort, he was forced to ration measly portions of food. Thirst was the bigger issue he had to face though. They didn't bother to give him much of that. Instead, the woman next to him taught a manifestation called Aqavium.

  About a month ago, she dragged him to a lake so he could adapt to the water. Supposedly it was to give him a better feel for the aspect. He spent a week treacherously flinging water around attempting to swim. The only granted break was sleeping, eating, or needing to pause due to near-drowning experiences. Only after that did she bother mentioning how Atheria worked.

  Why didn't they use that to give him water? His favorite theory to play at was to stop an opportunistic child like himself from running.

  He giggled under a muffled elbow and thought, 'I guess that's something they all had in common—they never said a word about why I'm here… These might be the worst of them though… Elia and… Garrick?'

  'Well, maybe not the worst----but close...' he thought.

  While the caravan slowly drudged to a halt, Aurin sighed beneath his sleeve.

  'The next probably won't be any better...'

  The caravan finally shook to a stop.

  A moment passed before Elia rose from the grim corner. With a barely visible expression, she held a pail filled with a murky black substance as she knelt to him. Aurin mumbled, "How long are we staying this time..."

  While she smeared the black paste into his hair, she grumbled, "How should I know..."

  Whilst she continued, two deep voices began to chatter ahead of the wagon.

  As he attempted to listen through the wall, the distracting odor involuntarily made his nose wrinkle; He rarely caused an issue because of it, though, he couldn't resist pinching his nostrils. It was just a smoky aroma, but the distinct scent of mold made it truly vile.

  When going to a village, or a town, they usually disguised him charcoal mixed in water. Since his hair is white, it's fairly easy to change color, so most who were with him came to the same conclusion.

  By the time she put on the finishing touches of paste, his hair was raven-black. She lightly laid the bucket down and scuffled his hair. "Don't forget to wear that." She said while pointing towards his side. When he looked down, he spotted the hood they made him wear during storms. Struggling to slide the tightly knit hood over his head, heavy footsteps squelched around the wagon.

  Soon after, the gate abruptly shuddered before flying open. Aurin winced as the gate crashed into the outer frame.

  The sunlight became blinding as it flooded the wagon. Outside stood a freakishly tall man with long brown hair and dark green eyes. A slim, double-edged sword hung across his back. It was Garrick.

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  "Is the kid ready?" He asked.

  Elia rose to her feet, her eyes darted down to Aurin. A moody glint reflecting off her blue eyes, she mumbled, "Just about, yeah…"

  Not a second later, her hand snapped down around his wrist.

  Squirming, the woman's grasp tightened. Without hesitation, she dragged him along while he yelped, "Wai-" Before he could finish, she jumped off the ledge. Her weight toppled his balance, causing him to fling forward. She jolted her arm out to catch him but grasped at air. Flailing wildly, his eyes closed. Screaming in his head, but not a sound left his lips.

  He landed with a resounding wet thud.

  It wasn't just the fall that hurt him; embedded beneath the surface was a plethora of sharp rocks. Each of which managed to pierce through his thin tunic. He brewed in silence as the mud molded around his body. A tightness dug into his throat and his face felt ablaze. Tears started to well in his eyes, threatening to spill. He propped his stinging hands to the side, rigidly pushing to his knees.

  Despite the mud that covered every inch of his body, neither Elia nor Garrick stood close to him. Instead, they were a few paces to his right.

  Crossed arms, cold, distant, uncaring eyes; like they were viewing something mundane.

  As he saw them, his eyes turned blank, as if he was staring infinitely into nothing. His brows raised while the lower part of his lip nearly trickled blood from the relentless pressure bared by his teeth.

  Completely unmoved... Garrick tapped his foot along the ground, "Clean up..." he grumbled.

  Elia scratched her head, "We don't want people staring…"

  A weight strung to his chest as he struggled to utter a word; almost as if they were stuck in his mouth.

  "What if I can't get water…" Aurin muttered.

  Garrick shifted a deadpan stare, "Find a way."

  Aurin stared back at the imprinted mud. Remembering the ripping pain of a dry coarse throat, he dug his fingers into his neck.

  'You're the ones who...'

  Eyes twitching, his hands fell to the side and quaked into a fist.

  'Find a way...'

  Letting out a long sigh, he quickly inhaled a stiff breath before holding up his arm. A subtle warm light seeped from his tunic and shorts. Soon a plethora of orange glowing art-like runes flowed out along his limbs.

  Reluctantly, he closed his eyes. His mind was transported into seemingly endless darkness. In the empty expanse, only his body was illuminated. The more he concentrated on the void's edge, the more the watery scape expanded to fill it.

  Staring down, the waves rippled, almost in response to his gaze. Slowly, a soothing cold water clung to his feet.

  When he trailed his arms through the air, a path of orange particles followed, soon dissipating into the black abyss; All of them were dimming, including the light coming from him.

  As he watched the last one flutter to black, his eyes closed. Immediately, he felt the warm light of the sun pouring through his closed eyelids. Squinting, he spotted eight moderate-sized balls of water formed above his head. They slowly floated outwards from him, while they did, he stared down at his limbs.

  He wasn't sure what the runes were, but no one else seemed to have them...

  The eight balls were constantly being molded back into shape, still waiting for his command. Looking up, he swerved his hand to the side, and the water followed. It was as though there were multiple strings of Ather strung to his hand, like a puppeteer. Just one slight movement with all the threads attached to a finger would cause the water to come crashing.

  'Wrong one, again...' he frowned.

  Reversing his palm facing upwards, he flicked his middle finger inwards, and his index out. The perfectly shaped balls shuddered into spiraling cones. Clenching his jaw, his eyes shut as tight as possible. Letting his arm fall, a resistance tugged at his bones. The water had started to fall apart as it twirled. But before they could dissipate, each of them shot down in a clockwise order.

  When the first one hit, he almost screamed in shock. The air inside his lungs propelled out, barely giving him time to recover. He slumped forward. He was completely drenched from head to toe. While the manifestation slowly dispelled, the mud on him slipped to the ground with it. Along with that, his runes were fizzling with a plume of glowing dust. Gasping for breath, his knees wobbled as if they were supported by mere twigs.

  He heard someone click their tongue----then heard Elia laugh, "Xyph, you're still terrible. We told you to clean yourself, not turn into a practice dummy."

  The sound around him muffled. He finally lifted his head to look at them. His vision was blurred and slightly jittery, but he could distinguish the two figures.

  His lower lip quivered and his shoulders shook as Garrick grinned wryly.

  They were waving him over...

  '...'

  The air hung heavy, smelling wet and sour. He hadn't even bothered to collect where he was… He dragged his head up and met an endless row of mudflats, as far as the eye could see. Puddles, mud, and god rays seeped through the clouded skies.

  A storm was coming. 'Why now?' he thought while coughing.

  Garrick seemed to have noticed as well, "A storm aye…"

  Elia nodded. Looking back to Aurin, she slowly started to approach him. He stood stiffly, morbidly staring down while attempting to keep on his feet. Before he finally looked up, he felt a cold iron grip snap down around his wrist. Giving him a light tug, he stumbled forward in her steps. She huffed, "Yeah… and I doubt shelter there is cheap…"

  He nodded agreeingly, then chuckled, "Xyph, is anywhere cheap nowadays?"

  Whilst they started to traverse the path, he constantly stumbled on subtle rocks, bumps, or potholes in the poorly made gravel. Observing the bleak landscape, they were on a thinly paved road barely raised above the mudflats covering both sides. Not too far down the trail, the flat ended into a thick pine forest littered with overgrowth.

  Aurin watched as the distant treetops swayed with climbing winds. He glanced at his scraped palms and battered arms, his mind drifting back to his Aqavium training. 'Is there any way of increasing Ather reserves?'

  He looked to Garrick, ''Not like they'd tell me...'

  Soon, they reached the outline of the forest. But before entering, Aurin stopped momentarily, a cold memory drifted to light.

  Who was Garrick talking to?

  Straight ahead there was nothing, but once he looked behind.

  There.

  A singular black dot down the paved road, just a bit behind their caravan.

  Even while straining his eyes, it still appeared like a blur. He couldn't tell if the person was standing still, or was moving down the road. Was it even a person? 'There isn't anything that way for a while… he's going there by foot?'

  A pit of unease gnawed in his stomach. The dark cloaked figure rose a gray-sleeved gloved arm in the air, and... It felt directed at him...

  While paused, Elia tugged on his wrist, making him stagger forward. Forced to look ahead, the distant forestry revealed two stone-bound cottages atop a cleared hill.

  The border of the village.

  Melanor.

  End of Chapter 1