"That boy, he'll surely be a problem in the future."
In a grassy field of children, 70, or so, a single child stood out compared to all the others.
The sun's bright gleam cast light upon every nook and cranny of the field, indicating the summer season.
Warm, earthy scents filled the air. Earthworms crawled through the soft dirt.
Cicadas, dragonflies, butterflies, and birds paraded the soft baby blue skies, all singing their varying melodies.
The strength of the sun could be felt.
"Beiric?"
"Not only was he successfully born with the clan's light magic, but he has this calculated ruthlessness that no other child has."
The elders of the Fahno family sat together, monitoring their heirs. The discussion of Beiric was a common one that was brought up, as Beiric's fighting could be described as exactly that. Scary.
It was to the point that he had to be repeatedly told to go easy on the other children, the regular children who didn't seek violence.
"His face… it's a bit scary."
The pale boy stared into the sky, with a flat smile on his face.
. . .
. .
.
"Violence is art."
Beiric to himself. He was a well-known fighter. Everyone respected him if they didn't fear him.
Despite this fame, it was him alone at the river bank, skipping rocks across the river, speaking to himself.
The young boy was a strange one.
From the beginning of his life, he faced sorrow.
The bastard son of a Fahno painter and an extremely abusive man.
His memories were in scattered parts. But a common theme was his father standing over his mother's blood-stained canvas.
"… Mom…"
She crawled, her movement shaky and unstable.
"Did I tell you to get up?!"
Crash!
His father drove a shard of glass into the woman's head. One thing went to another.
The door was left ajar.
He crawled over toward his injured mother.
Blood trickled, painting the floor red.
"Mom…!"
She turned over to her other side, weakly.
The glass shard had done its damage. It dug so far into her skull, that trying to take it out would've killed her.
She didn't speak. Staring at her only son. The son she loved so dearly.
Her face was battered and bruised.
"…"
"Beautiful."
His eyes did not leave his mother's face.
. . .
. .
.
Beiric stood quietly, in front of his house. People carried out the woman's body.
Neighbors from the houses around surrounded the scene.
"I knew this would happen."
"Poor kid.."
"The worst part is that he'll probably be just like his father. Evil."
A cold wind blew through the town. The young boy shivered, his frail body not able to withstand the cold. But his face, stood still, motionless. It was hard to figure out what exactly the boy was feeling.
His face had traces of sadness. But at the same time, satisfaction. What exactly was he satisfied with?
Quiet, nimble tapping was heard to his side. It was the slow and steady footsteps of an old man, towering over the young boy. A man well beyond his years, with grey hairs and a rich beard.
He stood quietly, his hands held behind his back. Both the boy and him stared at the small house. They watched as the knights took the dead body out of the house.
There were healers on the scene. They tried their best. But even the best healers couldn't revive a dead body. It was beyond their pay grade.
The cold berated his young body, continuously. But he did nothing at all, but stare at his mother from a distance.
The elder scratched his head. Trying to figure out the best way to talk to the boy. After a simple few seconds of contemplation, he spoke:
"Boy... Beiric, it is. I'm a relative of your mother. I came here as fast as I could, after hearing the news. I understand that you are in a lot of distress, and that is fine. Or, maybe you're too young to truly understand what exactly is going on. Whichever one it is, that no longer matters. I'm here to take you to a better home, a place that would treat you far better than your current home."
His voice was soft, and his words were comforting. He reluctantly placed his hands on the boy's shoulder. The boy never turned around.
. . .
"Beiric is a monster!"
"I know, right? He's just a mere 12 years old, yet he's putting up a fight against some 15-year-olds."
"I mean, really, it isn't fair. The kid's amazing! His lack of care for his opponents makes him a lot sharper."
"Not only is he an amazing fighter, he's incredibly fast."
"He inherited the clan's light magic, too."
"A prodigy like him... it makes you feel proud for being even born into this clan."
"Right!"
"But it puts a lot more pressure on-"
"You kids get back to training!" the elder knocked his fist onto the top of the heads of each chatting boy.
"Owww!"
"Elder, come on!"
They laughed it off, returning back to training.
But while they trained together, Beiric kept himself isolated>
"Hah!"
He swung fiercely. Being the only person in the Fahno family who wielded daggers, he could never properly spar with anyone using weapons. So he was forced to train by himself.
Quiet. The wildlife and the occasional rustling of leaves could be briefly heard.
Loneliness.
. . .