An ivory-haired boy slunk through the lilac jungle with preternatural ease. Flitting between trees with a grace belying his age, he swiftly made his way to a small clearing within the light purple trees. Bursting out of the foliage with only a slight whispering of leaves, he came to a panting stop breaking his illusion of silence. 59.7 seconds. My {Obscured Steps} have finally reached Completion.

  Despite such a momentous advancement the boy’s face remained impassive. Such an achievement was inconsequential in the grand scheme of his life, for he was a cripple– born without sensitivity to mystic energy. No level of mundane training nor technique could bridge the vast gap in existence between those who harness the energy of the universe and those who do not, and taking even one step on this path would catapult one’s strength past mundane limits.

  Dropping to the floor in the lotus position and closing his eyes, the boy began to breathe in a smooth rhythm that quickly generated a slight thrum in the surrounding air. Slipping into the recovery trance of {Cyclic Breathing} has become nigh instant, while both {Tempered Body} and {Silent Strike} have reached their limits as well. Further improvements from this point will be minimal. It seems I’ve finally reached the limits of a mundane body.

  Despite the dismal realisation the thirteen year old boy soon rose to his feet, a faint sheen of sweat on onyx skin the only remnant of his vigorous exercise. With an impassive expression on his face he surveyed the little clearing that had become his home away from home. A flat rock in the center for meditation was the only adornment in the otherwise empty space. The ground in the northeastern section was packed solid and free of grass from years of exercise and martial arts practice, with notches on the surrounding trees from his forays in wielding weapons.

  Confident that nothing had changed, the boy utilized his {Obscured Steps} once again and headed west through the forest. He wove between the trees at a relaxed pace remaining vigilant of his surroundings and soon arrived at the Kirrun River.

  The boy slowed as he approached the riverbank, using his highly attuned senses to scan the surroundings. It was this unique sensitivity, touching upon the realm of extrasensory perception, that gave the boy the confidence to roam this dangerous forest with his meager power. Assured that there were no lurking dangers, the boy quickly knelt by the river and washed the sweat from his face. Wiping water from his face, the boy, Zelim, truly gazed upon his reflection for the first time in ages.

  Pupilless crimson irises set in sunken eye sockets gazed back at him, fitted in an unremarkable face black as ink. Strands of bone white matted hair dangled wildly around his visage matching a distinct chalk-colored scar running diagonally from the bottom of his left nostril past the corner of his mouth to the edge of his jaw. Projecting an aura of savagery from his expressionless face, it was clear that the past six years had not been kind to the boy. Thinking back, he once more recalled the day that altered the trajectory of his life forever.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  “The son of Madam Reina is Seedless? Truly?”

  “It doesn’t surprise me that a devil child would be spurned by the very universe!”

  “Hair of bones, eyes of blood and skin of night. A bastard son sharing no resemblance to his mother.”

  “A changeling perhaps? An imposter sent from hell due to fell karma?”

  “One thing is for certain– Madam Reina’s “prodigy” has died in the cradle Haha!”

  A seven year old Zelim trailed two steps behind his mother Reina as the murmuring crowd parted before her. Despite the bleak results of his Talent Assessment the boy’s face revealed only mild disappointment that was overshadowed by a firm determination. Marching proud with an unbent back, he shook off all criticism and followed his mother to their home.

  Zelim and his mother Reina lived in a manor on the southernmost edge of Keves Village, a minor settlement on the border of the Amethyst Forest.

  As they approached the gate Zelim belatedly took notice of his mothers abnormal state. With his extraordinary senses he should have picked up on her inner turmoil long ago, but the events of the day had clouded his mind. An ominous feeling spread in Zelim’s chest causing his hairs to stand on end as he resolutely followed his mother into their home and closed the door behind him.

  The moment the door swung shut his mother collapsed, sinking to her knees on the atrium floor. The little boy froze in shock as an unimaginable sight unfolded before him. His mother – the most powerful fighter in the village and his bedrock – wept uncontrollably.

  Frozen, Zelim watched wide-eyed as her whimpers turned into sobs, and then wails of anguish. A strong desire to hold and comfort her arose in his aching heart yet he remained frozen in place. The reason for this was clear to him.

  Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  Was it callousness? No.

  Was it guilt? No.

  The answer was simple.

  Fear.

  The boy’s unique senses warned of a fatal danger, blaring at Zelim that should he so much as twitch it would spell his doom. Never before had his senses been so sharp and vivid. Eyes locked on his mother’s figure, Zelim experienced a quiet change deep within. From the moment Zelim was born he was different. An obsidian child bearing deep crimson eyes and ghost-white hair born to a brown eyed mother of olive skin and black hair. His mother was told by many to give him to the forest due to his devilish appearance– but she refused.

  He awakened his consciousness at just ten months old to the radiant smile of his mother, and her loving attention had cradled him ever since. Speaking fluently at eighteen months had her boasting to all in town about her unparalleled prodigy of a son. Throughout his life Zelim had not once felt an inkling of a negative emotion from his mother.

  And now she wished to kill him.

  He could fee– no, he could see it.

  Faced with the immensity of his mother’s hatred, Zelim perceived a dark tempest of rage and madness swirling around her as if it were a physical phenomenon. The swirling emotions soon formed a phantom figure, a wailing banshee of madness made manifest. Gripped by terror, the young boy took a small step backwards onto a squeaky floorboard. The sound echoed through the room as his mother was taking a deep breath.

  Before Zelim could blink, his mother appeared before him with a crazed expression. His senses rang uncontrollably within his mind but he was paralyzed by fear.

  “You! You waste! This is all your fault! My only connection to that man and it's defective!” his mother screeched. “I endured criticism! Shame! DISRESPECT!” she howled as her visage twisted further and further from the mother he knew. “For years I raised you! Taught you! So you could one day succeed where I had failed! And for what?!?” she raged, each word causing the sinister phantom to engulf her features more and more as she leaned closer. “A thrice. Damned. Cripple.” she spat, spittle and dark negative energy dripping from her mouth like sludge.

  Before he could think any further, Zelim suddenly found his head snapping back so quickly he lost his balance and fell backwards onto the floor. Momentarily dazed, he looked back up at his mother only to feel an icy hand grip on his heart.

  Where his head had been moments ago, was now his mothers hand performing the knife hand form. Shrouded by a living darkness suddenly visible to him, his mother loomed above him, possessed by the phantom of the screeching banshee that released an unholy screech sounding directly in his mind.

  Feeling something dripping onto his shirt, Zelim risked a quick glance downward and watched as rivulets of blood spilled from his face. The crimson hue entered his matching eyes and brought along with it an awareness of a superheated line of pain on his left cheek.

  His confusion vanished as the pieces of the puzzle came together– his mother had tried to kill him. And were it not for his sudden loss of balance she would have succeeded.

  No it wasn’t a sudden fall. My body subconsciously avoided the danger somehow. Is this connected to me being able to see the phantom around Mother?

  Suppressing the errant thought, Zelim redirected his attention to his mother as the dark haze suddenly vanished.

  “I almost killed my baby boy…” she whispered. “I–I can’t do this.” Her eyes went dull as she slumped to the floor. The life seemed to drain out of her as her eyes unfocused completely and she lay curled up and motionless.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Snapping out of his trip down memory lane with nothing more than a slight twitch of his brow, Zelim stepped away from the riverbank. Reassessing his surroundings ensuring nothing snuck up on him while he was distracted, he took a deep breath and headed back towards Keves Village.

  Weaving through the trees in a casual stride Zelim picked up speed while dreading the trip he would have to take across the village. After his mother’s breakdown following his Talent Assessment, the superstitious village folk had been free to act on their superstitions. What began as a hushed whisper here and a pointed finger there, soon became a complete ostracization by the village.

  The discrimination and social exile of the people of Keves did not bother Zelim, but the village chief’s son – Mendel – definitely did. The boy was a year older than Zelim, and possessed an obsessive desire to prove himself superior due to being outshone when they were young boys. When Zelim was divined to be Seedless, Mendel revealed a vicious streak unlike any other in the village. His bullying ranged from relentless harassment and insults to routine thrashings and ambushes.

  Resigning himself to scurrying home between alleyways like a rat, Zelim picked up his pace. As he neared the village a strange feeling surfaced from within his gut, urging him to investigate. Carefully scanning his surroundings for what had pinged his senses he soon stumbled on an oddity. A small patch of leaves had been cleared at about two heads higher than his own, using either a machete or a knife.

  Attributing the damage to a forest creature Zelim intended to ignore it, and made to turn towards the village only to notice the hole was facing the exact direction of the village from where he stood. Now suspicious, he carefully inspected the area and detected several more clues. Faint footprints. A slight notch in the bark of a tree. His senses came together to paint an ominous picture, but his mind refused to accept the reality until it became an inevitability.

  Making a slight hop and gripping a tree, Zelim used his new vantage point to peek through the slight gap in the trees that revealed an unobstructed view of the village thanks to the elevation. His heart froze in trepidation as he accepted the truth but quickly thawed as he took note of the still peaceful village. Perhaps there was still time.

  Dropping to the ground Zelim burst into a sprint making sure to maintain the rhythm of his {Obscured Steps}. Panic surged through his veins disrupting his carefully maintained {Cyclic Breathing}, and his stoic expression shifted with a slight furrowing of his brow. As his heart pounded in his ears he only hoped he would make it in time to sound the alarm.

  Marauders were coming.