The End of a New Beginning

In the small town of Vlasgar, Felix wandered aimlessly around the populated fountain that flourished with life; water splashed around, not too quiet; not too loud, forming a relaxing feeling to float around the area. Around him, many were dressed in regular clothes, with regular auras; nothing special. Perhaps the odd one would be dressed in a slightly fancy attire; the lords. Yet, the white robes they wore symbolised the skill they had in the major arts, or rather their lack of it. Everyone else wore ragged robes passed down from ancestors that had a little more skill, enough to actually earn a robe. Torn holes and vicious scratches displayed the sheer age of the attire, reflecting the ages it had been since a talented mage had been born into their forgotten families. Vlasgar was the home of the forgotten; the grave of once prosperous maging families who's decline in skill and drive had plunged them into the ground. Only history books would remember them, if they were lucky enough. As for Felix, he was all that was left of his pathetic family; the sole survivor of the Tyver house.

Looking at the villagers dancing aimlessly around the fountain, waiting for their final day where they'd be free of their own disappointment, Felix displayed a grimace.

'Pathetic' he inwardly thought. Whether it was for the villagers lack of ambition, or the fact he could see his future as one of those sad humans isn't known.

Quickly, he stormed off to his small dump of a house to find a letter laying on his bed of rags. It was a letter anyone would assume were for royalty, with a perfect red wax stamp sealing it shut, and a lack of any marks or scratches that yelled it was protecting an important letter. Except, it was open, the letter poking it's top outside the envelope. Unlike the envelope, the letter displayed hundreds of finger prints, scratches reflecting how much it had be grasped, and a crumpled texture suggesting it had been clenched tightly in frustration.

Lifting the letter from the fancy envelope, Felix's expression dropped further into misery. Unfolding it, the words written were soon legible.

'Dear Felix Alexander Tyver,

Upon review of your skill…'

After many words that lacked much proper meaning, the fatal blow was revealed.

'You have been rejected from Python Academy'

Python academy, infamous for it's low expectations from students with a 87.5% acceptance rate, had rejected Felix for lack of skill in the arts of magic. In essence, he was deemed so terrible with magic that even one of the lowest ranked academies decided to reject him; an academy that will accept practically anyone so long as they can conjure at least three basic spells with reasonable accuracy. Yet, even at the age of 16, Felix could not even do that. Private academies would expect a greater feet from mages under 11, and yet five years older, Felix could not even do that. In the end, he was considered one of the lowest of the low, placing him within the town for just those kinds of people; Vlasgar.

His room was nothing special. A bed made from a pile of rags, a hand-crafted desk formed from a pile of small, uneven wooden planks, and walls made from the wood of demolished houses from places up north. To put a title on the Vlasgardians, I suppose you could call them scavengers; that's what they had become when everything they had was stripped from them as their family declined. With no new talents, they were deemed useless; they received no funding, no help; they were indirectly destroyed by others due to their lack of new talents.

Felix's grey hair danced around in the cold breeze that blew through his curtain doors, as his dark brown eyes lost tension, his body dropping down onto his 'bed', falling into a state of deep sleep. Felix could utilise two spells; the spell of slumber and his innate, birth-marked ability. However, I suppose it isn't correct wording to say he could utilise this innate ability, as he could never seem to use it. Sure, he could activate it, but unlike when everyone else did, nothing happened. Even the other Vlasgardians could at the very least utilise their innate abilities, yet Felix couldn't. I suppose that's where he garnered the title 'black sheep of Vlasgar'.

Bang. Morning came. Felix held the same dreaded expression as he always did.

'Another day' he sulked.

As he jumped up from his scruffy bed, the town lacked the noise of a good morning. Of course, he wasn't actually welcomed with words so kind, but instead his good morning was the sounds of others delving into pleasures around the fire. And yet, nothing. Nothing at all.

Curious, Felix tore away the black curtain doors of his little shack, peering into the outside to discover what had stripped the town of it's morning noise; perhaps he had simply woken up early, considering there were no alarms to tell the time.

In his vision, all he found was death. Death so viciously produced the town aired the same eerie feeling as a graveyard. Beneath his feet was wet pours of crimson blood that streamed from the mutilated corpse of a villager. Each body was torn apart, all bearing the same, blood pooled hole in their chests. It was a small yet powerful strike that must have hit them. Yet, he hadn't heard a thing the whole night. He'd always awoke later than the rest, used to some noise but a strong spell being cast like that? Surely he'd have heard it. Or at the very least the agonised screams of the dying villagers. Unless, they all died at once; murdered by a group numbered the same or one that easily outnumbered them. Felix was uneasy. Could they still be here? Perhaps the spell had awoken him and the group had simply hidden soon after. The streaming blood was far from dry; fresh. Yet how fresh? He couldn't tell. Anxious, he stealthily creeped around the village, looking for any answers he could find. Yet, all he discovered were piles of corpses; no signs of a struggle, like they would have ever had a chance anyway. But the lack of any indication they even saw an attack coming was startling. Sure, they didn't have the best security, but they had watchmen nonetheless. Watchmen with innate sensory abilities; there was no way they wouldn't see it.

Then he found it. A white skull, stripped of any flesh; blood pouring through every hole and seem; eyes that seemed to have been torn from the body; a lifeless body with only a cloak to it's name, and the red marking on the right shoulder of the cloak to indicate that this poor soul was a watchman.

[-]

From this scene, Felix was sure these weren't any ordinary mages. Out in a dark street, where no one would see them, their screams likely cloaked by a sound cancelling spell, these poor souls were tortured for hours as the hunters waited for the other villagers to awake. As it appeared, the hunters had got the jump on the watchmen, Felix unable to work out just how, and dragged them all into one alleyway in order to have some fun with them until their bodies gave out. It was a dreadful scene that twisted a past dagger in Felix's stomach. Without a known reason, these innocent people were tormented and killed; much like Felix's family. He still wondered why he was the only one to live, why he had to be left behind. And now, that same question pierced his heart as he attempted to cry, yet only a loud, passionate howl blasted, lacking any tears. Perhaps it was an expression of his frustration and grief; or perhaps it was a cry to the hunters, in hopes they would end his misery.

In a final attempt to not be alone, he placed his hand on the lifeless, once joyous, body of the watchman and activated his innate ability. Suddenly, the tattoo on his right arm lit up a deep blue, and this time, unlike any other, it jumped out of his tanned, white arm, forming a black, inky snake that bared two sharp black teeth which pierced the perished watchman's remaining flesh. Abruptly, the sable snake grew in size, though only slightly, returning to Felix's right arm, then…nothing. After all of that, the watchman was still lying dead, motionless; hopeless. After all of that, the mutilated corpse remained a corpse. After all of that, nothing seemed to have changed: he was still alone; the hapless watchman lay dead; Felix was once again, the sole survivor.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------It won't let me put images in the chapters so for now I'll arrange them in a discord, link will be in the book's description. I'll try find a better way to present them for the chapters but for now they'll just be posted in the discord, labelled with whichever chapter they are from. They are images made for the book, utilised as another method to show progression in the story and to bring it to life so checking them out is recommended to feel more a part of the story. But, of course, not a necessity to enjoy the book, just something extra I thought I'd add for people to enjoy.

[-] will be the indication of where an image would be, you can find the image on discord, they are all spoilered so just click on the one for your chapter and it will come up. Link is in book's description.

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