The rain pounded against the wooden shingles of the small cottage with a relentless force. It transformed the dirt path into a muddy river. In the middle of this dark and stormy night, a sound cut through the howling wind. It was sharp and filled with desperation.
"Wahhh! Wahhh!"
Inside the house, a heavy wooden latch turned. The door creaked open. A man stepped out into the chill of the night.
He was a large man with shoulders as broad as an ox. His hair was a thick mane of gray that resembled tangled wool. He held a wooden plate in one hand and a half-eaten piece of bread was tucked into the side of his mouth.
He froze. His eyes widened as he looked down at the soaked mat.
"A baby?" he mumbled. The bread nearly fell from his mouth. "What in the world is a baby doing here?"
He glanced to the left and then to the right. The road was empty. There was no sign of a carriage or a fleeing parent. He leaned back into the warmth of the house and shouted.
"Ann! Someone left a baby at our door!"
A woman came running from the kitchen. Her hair was the color of a setting sun. It was a bright, vibrant red that seemed to glow in the dim candlelight of the room. Her face was lined with the marks of hard work, but her eyes held a soft, frantic light.
"Oh my! Who would do such a thing?" she cried.
She pushed past the man and scooped up the small wicker basket. The infant inside was shivering. His skin was pale from the cold. A small tuft of hair stuck out from the top of his head. It was a deep, royal purple.
"Hurry, Garrick! Take it inside and dry its clothes!" Ann urged. Her voice was thick with worry.
Garrick slammed the door shut against the wind. He set his plate down and helped his wife gently peel away the wet blankets.
The baby stopped crying the moment he felt the warmth of the fire. He looked up at the two strangers with curious, wide eyes.
"He has nowhere else to go," Ann whispered. She touched the baby's purple hair with a trembling finger. "Look at him. He's so cute!"
Garrick nodded slowly. He was a man of few words, but his heart was as big as his frame.
"We should take him in," he said.
Seven years passed in what felt like a blink of an eye.
The small cottage was no longer quiet. The surrounding forest was filled with the sounds of life. Birds chirped in the high branches of the pine trees. The air was always thick with the smell of damp earth and woodsmoke.
"Vaelen! Are you still reading books out there?"
A boy sat under the shade of a massive oak tree. He had that same shock of purple hair, though it was now longer and messy. He was hunched over a tattered book with yellowed pages. He looked up, blinking as if waking from a dream.
"Come help me with the firewood!" Garrick called out from the edge of the clearing.
"Ok, Dad!" Vaelen shouted back.
He reached into the grass and grabbed a small, sturdy stick. He tucked it carefully between the pages to make sure he did not forget where he had stopped. He closed the book with a satisfied thud and ran toward his father.
They walked together into the dense forest. The trees here were old. Their trunks were covered in thick, green moss.
Vaelen loved the way the sunlight filtered through the leaves. It created dancing patterns on the forest floor.
'The world is so big,' Vaelen thought. 'I wonder if the magic in my books is hidden in these trees.'
They reached a clearing where several trees had already been felled. The scent of fresh sap was heavy in the air.
"Vaelen," Garrick said. He wiped sweat from his brow. "Stay here. I am going to bring this load back to the house. Make sure to cut a few of the smaller branches. Come back as fast as you can before nightfall."
"I can do it," Vaelen said confidently.
He picked up a small, hand-sized hatchet. It felt heavy in his young grip. He walked over to a fallen log and took a deep breath. He raised the tool and swung.
Thack.
The metal bit into the wood. As he worked, something strange began to happen. Vaelen started to see things. They looked like tiny, floating specks of light. They were everywhere. They drifted through the air like dust motes but glowed with a faint, blue hue.
'There they are again,' he thought.
He did not know what they were. He had never seen anyone else talk about them. But he liked playing with them.
Every time he swung the hatchet, the particles reacted. When he moved his arm fast, the blue specks swirled in a tiny vortex around his wrist.
When the hatchet hit the wood, the particles rushed toward the point of impact. They seemed attracted to the vibration. They danced and jumped as if they were excited by his effort.
He hummed a small tune to himself. With every hit, he tried to catch the particles with his movements. He felt a strange warmth in his chest. It was a small spark, flickering in time with the rhythm of his work.
By the time he finished, he was panting. His small body was tired, but his mind was racing. He gathered the wood and hurried back toward his favorite spot.
It was a vast, open area near the house. It was filled with tall grass and wild, colorful flowers. In the center stood one lone, ancient tree. Its branches spread out like giant arms. This was Vaelen's sanctuary.
As he approached, a group of children from the nearby cluster of farms ran toward him.
"Vaelen! Do you want to play with us?" a girl named Elara shouted.
"Sure, guys!" Vaelen exclaimed.
He dropped his bundle of wood by the tree. His exhaustion vanished instantly. The children gathered in a circle. They had an old, lumpy potato that had been wrapped in a bit of scrap cloth to make it easier to toss.
"Hot potato!" a boy yelled.
He threw the potato toward Vaelen. Vaelen caught it. It felt cold and rough, but in his mind, he imagined it was a ball of fire. He quickly tossed it to the next person.
"Too slow, Jace!" Vaelen laughed.
The children began to run in a circle. They tossed the potato back and forth. The air was filled with the sound of their heavy breathing and high-pitched giggles. The sun was starting to dip below the horizon. It turned the sky into a canvas of orange and purple.
Vaelen felt a surge of pure joy. He looked at his friends. He saw the way they tripped over the grass and the way their faces turned red from exertion.
"Hahaha! Guys, you can't catch me!" Vaelen shouted.
He darted between two of the boys. He held the potato high above his head. He felt the particles in the air dancing around his ankles as he ran. He did not know why he was different, and he did not care.