Dreaming is leaving everything behind

Close a door then open a bigger door

As I write down my words here in these peices of parchment that I found lying around, I felt it talk to me; the paper and the quill, magically, it seemed to be. I felt every page ask me a different question. And with every word that I write down, the parchment listens to me.

 

Who was I? I try to forget my name. Because the name they have given me is a name for a warrior, a clan-member, a brother. My name bound me to countless reputations, evil ones. It bounded me to fame, just having that name. Fame that I was supposed to be a great warrior. A merciless, killing machine, I would say. The name they have given me, as they all did in theirs, meant born of fire, or a child of fire. I try to forget my past, and in doing so, I only remember a few.

 

I call myself Rai-Han. Just Rai-Han.

 

I never saw my mother and father. Well, I did. Twice in my life, at least, when I was born and when I died in their eyes. They bear a mark of the fire-clan and always went on war with the other clans. Only in portraits did I see my whole family, and I knew it was them because I will never forget those faces that were tatooed in my thoughts. The only portrait of them hangs in a nearby gallery, and in the portrait, they were going to war with other the rival clans. An unknown artist painted their portrait. Right in the center, I saw the woman who gave birth to me, wearing the traditional red robes. I had my mother's eyes, her sad, lonely eyes that was bound to observe every movement of the enemy. As far as I can remember, she used to be the adviser of the chieftain of the clan, who as always, looked bloated, even at the portrait. Always next to her was my father, unkempt hair and visible war scars distinguish him from the other males. That's all I ever knew.

 

When I was young I was sent away from my tribe. Or rather, I chose to be separated. Maybe one day I will write it down here. But enough of that. Enough of them. The only thing that made me proud is the gift of fire, which somehow made me superior to others. But I loathed what I was and where I came from.

 

And so I lived with an elderly couple who lived in the city, far from the tribal community where I belonged. They took me in as their own, but they were helpless as I was. Instead of spears, shields and swords, they gave me tomes and countless books on the arcane. Instead of war paint, they dressed me with robes that looked and felt elegant. They lived a totally different life, rich with wealth and wise beyond books; they never believed in brute strength, but rather, the strength of the mind, as opposed to what my primitve family deeply believed in. 

 

Unable to have a child (and long story short), they took me as the son they've always wished for. Then they sent me to continue my passion for the arcane in the finest academy in Lesallia. . .where I would meet my fate.

 

Goodbye, mother and father. Goodbye, whoever you are that was my past. As the polished oak doors of the academy opened in front of me and thousands of other students and other classes, I took one step in the completion of my dreams.

 

To be the wizard I was born to be.   

 

Reviews

[sutoraika]

Woooow, now his loathing of the fire clan makes sense now...primitive eh? As opposed to the academe he pursued. Yes, it all adds up to Keira's and Lesallia. Soon the stories will be intertwined with out their knowledge. Hahahah! Long live Lesallia! :D