Years ago

"Father!" Malcolm whined. "Let me see!"

"Quiet, Malcolm." Their wood floor creaked as Father paced. In the upstairs room, Malcolm heard his mother's screams, but was not perturbed. Mother had said everything would be fine, and Malcolm believed her. Mother had never lied to him before, nor had Father, nor had Grandfather or Grandmother, not even Aunt Linay. But Malcolm was very curious as to how the baby would be getting out of his mother. Her belly button?

At his birth, Mother and Father had needed a mage, as they often told him. He'd never met the mage. Malcolm had thought that the mage would return for the next baby being born, but she didn't come. That was probably why his mother was hurting so much.

"Is the baby going to be like me?" Malcolm asked Father. Father didn't respond. The next time Father walked by, Malcolm grabbed Father's leg with his big hand. Father nearly tripped. He whipped his head to look at Malcolm, cross.

"Malcolm, what did we tell you about using your hand!?" Father demanded. Malcolm let go.

"You didn't answer!" Malcolm protested as Father picked him up and put him in an armchair.

Father stood back and folded his arms. "That's no excuse. What did you ask?"

"I asked if the baby's going to be a mutant like me?"

"No. They're not going to have any special powers." Father stroked his beard. "They're not like you."

"Oh." Malcolm felt sad. It would have been a lot of fun to have someone he could wrestle with. "None at all? Is that bad?"

"It's not bad or good, it's...normal." Father stated with a frown. It was hard to hear him over Mother's screams.

Malcolm sometimes wondered if Mother could read his thoughts, like if she was an actual mage, and that was how she knew when he was getting into trouble. He wondered if Mother read his thoughts this time too, because she stopped screaming. Father went stiff looked up like he was trying to look through the ceiling, like he was also an actual mage.

They could both still hear her heavy breathing. Malcolm heard the midwife say something he couldn't hear. Father rushed up the stairs. Malcolm didn't know if he wanted to see anymore.

Father ran into the upstairs room. He forgot to close the door behind him, and Malcolm could see the light from the room from his chair. Malcolm got off the chair and went to the stairs. He could hear Father and the midwife talking quietly.

Then, it screamed.

Mother said something and Father laughed. Malcolm rushed upstairs. It smelled strange upstairs, but he kept running. He ran to the room and crashed the midwife's white dress. He looked up, and for a moment her face was sharp, like an eagle's. He gulped.

Her eyes sparkled, and her face lit with mirth. "Go and meet your brother," she said.

Malcolm ran past and into the room, where Mother laid on the bed. Her hair stuck to her face in clumps and she was still breathing heavy. Father sat beside her, cradling something bright reddish pink.

Malcolm ran up, put his hands on Father's leg and looked close at it. It was a lot smaller that Malcolm thought it would be. He couldn't ever have been that tiny and fragile. Tiny cries came from its wrinkled mouth, and its eyes were closed.

"Is he okay!?" Malcolm asked.

Father laughed. "He's fine, Malcolm."

Malcolm grinned. He wanted to touch the baby, but didn't want to hurt him. "What's his name?"

Mother turned to him, a weak smile creeping up her face. Father handed the baby back. The baby stopped crying.

"His name is Duncan," Mother said. "He's perfect."

Present Day

It was summer on the island when his mother died.

Keldor supposed he should have remembered more than that. Remembered her grip on his hand, the look in her eyes, or the smell of her hair as illness claimed her. However, he only vaguely understood that these things had happened. They were mentally remade images to which he had no emotional attachment. He remembered barely anything of his mother's passing, but he remembered the island. The smell of salt on the waves, the heat crashing down and tanning his skin indigo. Sand in his toes, sand in his hair. Sunset turning the sand to the gold of Captain Miro's beard. Captain Miro's hand sheathed in a thick glove, one he would later learn to be the military standard for swordsmanship. That day was the last day he saw his island. The first day he saw something more.

He had peered out the backseat window of Captain Miro's ship, hands pressed against the glass and wooden swords in his lap as the world moved by faster than Keldor thought was possible. It was humid, and roar of the engines was deafening, but Keldor couldn't contain the grin that spread across his face. His mother had been sick a long time. In some strange way, he was relieved that she was finally gone. And with her passing came a new era, promises of grandeur, fighting mythical creatures to protect the entire world. That village, the sun-bleached whale bones and inescapable feeling of grains between his toes, became a distant memory with every passing wave and every clatter of the ship's engine.

Years had passed since that moment, years that had changed him from a weak youth to a strong young man, but he still looked upon it fondly. Captain Miro's kindness and generosity lead him to where he was today, the most skilled warrior in all of the Elders' forces. Side by side he had trained with Miro's own son- A boisterous boy who grew to be his closest friend -and boarded in Miro's home, and the captain had never asked anything more than that he be respectful and hardworking. And both of those requests Keldor had fulfilled to the fullest. Emboldened by his gratitude, Keldor had always tried his hardest in every endeavor his captain ordered of him. Even the most menial of tasks he performed with passion. And so, Keldor rose among the ranks. Despite his strange appearance compared to the brown and peach skins of his fellow soldiers, Miro ignored racial disgruntlement and promoted him based on merit.

Keldor owed Miro a great debt. He owed proof that Miro's efforts had been fruitful. Most importantly, he owed Miro to do goodness, to protect and defend Eternia. Unbeknownst to his fellow soldiers, Keldor had a gift. He could summon energy from nothing, and he was getting good. He sought out ancient libraries in the Dark Hemisphere and studied from them. One day, he would be strong enough to quell all those who dared stray from the Elders' rule.

This was his destiny. And as the golden color of sunset on the sand crackled through his fingers, he smiled. Under his breath he whispered.

"I have the power."


AN:

Hello! I've wanted to try writing for a long time, and eventually I decided to stop being a perfectionist and just get on with it. I was inspired by Hooked's epic stories, as well as Sidekicks-Anonymous, Evelyn CMB, Airam2moons...okay, pretty much everyone. This is my very first story, so please leave feedback, criticism, or tips in the form of reviews: I will try to reply in the comments. Thank you for reading!