Kail's Memory-(1/2)

Twelve Years Ago-

"Not hungry?" Kail blinked as he looked up, slightly blinded from the roaring flames in front of him. He found his two companions sitting across from him. Each of them watched with movements with worried expressions carved into their faces.

Lunaira, the one who asked him, tilted her head, staring at him with her big purple, knowing eyes. Ori, the eldest of the three of them, lifted her hand, a knife instantly in her grasp a second later.

"Is the food too heavy for you? I can prepare something else, if you'd like?" Kail shook his head. In all actuality, there was nothing wrong with his meal. A stew full of hearty vegetables, meat bits, and marble-sized biscuits were swimming in bone broth. It was exactly what he needed to get his strength back, and from the few bites he managed to take, it was also delicious. That wasn't what was bothering him.

"No, no. It's fine. Thank you, Ori."

"There's no need to thank me, dear. I just wish I could do more."

"I promise you, you've done more than enough. You took me in when I had nowhere else to go. You-you and Lunaira both saved me when things truly went wrong." If it wasn't for them, and their intervention, chances were that Kail would be joining his mother…

Immediately he shook his head, ignoring the chills that penetrated his spine. Lunaira pursed her lips, but ultimately said nothing while Ori sighed. The older woman rose from her seated position, planting a chaste, motherly kiss on Kail's cheeks.

"Don't hesitate to ask anything of us, Kail. Once you join our little traveling troupe, we consider you family. We're here for you." She cleared her throat, placing her hands on her hips as she cracked her stiff back.

"Alright children, I'm heading to bed now. Enjoy yourselves, but remember, we're hitting the road the moment dawn strikes the sky, so don't stay up too late." With a fleeting wave, the raven haired woman gave a loving pet to her two horses before retreating into her rickety caravan. Leaving her companions to talk around the fire.

"I apologize for worrying the two of you, Lu."

"There's no need. After what you've been through, we're just grateful that you're up and about. Though, if you really feel bad, then you'll eat some more. Mama Ori's food will do you some good." At that Kail huffed, but still did as he was told. He took a few more bites of his stew. only to stop when he felt his stomach clench painfully.

"I'm afraid that's all I can handle."

"And that's fine." With a flick of her wrist, Lunaira levitated his halfway eaten bowl off his lap. It floated merrily towards her, dipping itself the moment it was under her own dish. His remaining stew slid like a lumpy waterfall, adding to her portion.

"I won't tell her anything if you don't.." She offered him a small smile along with a wink. He relaxed his shoulders, absolutely grateful. For her promise as well as the smile that accompanied it.

"I appreciate it."

"Hm? Appreciate what? The stew? Doesn't Mama Ori make the best food?" Kail could only chuckle, amused to no end. Satisfied with the uplifted atmosphere, Lunaira continued to eat. Somehow, she inhaled it all in one auditable gulp. A content sigh escaped her while she rubbed her filled stomach.

Yet even with her purposeful comedic antics, in addition to the warmth that spread through him, his previous thoughts returned with a vengeance. He locked his intertwined fingers together, resting his head atop of them just as his elbows in turn nestled on one knee. The other bounced with nervous energy, his bronze eyes peered into the fire.

His mind was unrelenting, replaying the events that plagued his dreams over, and over again. Like how he was strapped to his father's table, his magic painfully being extracted from his body to fill a long tube.

His mother's usually honey brown eyes turned ash white as her feral shrieks filled his ears while his father screams in joy while he cries in agony. The way her lengthened nails cut his chest open just kept hurting him because she wanted more, and-

"Don't get lost in your head, Kail. Very few people go in deep and return with themselves intact."

"I can't help it. I see them…from the moment I wake, to the moment I sleep, I still see what he did to me. And how my mother is some-some monster attacking people. All the while I'm unable to do anything!"

His crossed hands tightened and untightened as the tension gripped his muscles. Guilt then engulfed his being. He was about to apologize for his outburst, yet Lunaira shook her head at him, stopping him before he could even open his mouth.

"Well…until we can find your mother, and stop her from her continuous magic lust rampage, why not put those thoughts to more productive use if you can't stop thinking about it?"

"How?"

"How about with writing? You told me you always wrote down whatever held your attention. Perhaps it would alleviate some of your pain and anxiety…if for a few minutes." It was an absolutely ingenious idea.

He felt rather touched that she remembered that little tidbit about him. Of course, it wasn't so long ago that he told her. With the weariness in his bones on top of the fevers he had been fighting, it felt so much longer than just a couple weeks ago.

"It wouldn't hurt to try." Lunaira snapped her fingers. The sound echoed in the somewhat quiet night. Just as she rose from her own seated spot, Kail noticed several sheets of paper, a quill pen, and a little bottle of ink nestled in the grass on his left side.

"Alrighty. I'll leave you to it. Have a good night, Kail."

"Thanks, Lu."

"Anytime." Left on his own, he studied the materials next to him. All of them were tools he was more than familiar with, yet there was a hesitancy in his hand as it slowly shot towards them. This was the first time he had written anything since…things went wrong.

Despite telling Lunaira he would try, it didn't get rid of the cold seeping sensation that burrowed into his bones.

He felt them every time he allowed those thoughts to properly drift through. Kail loved writing, make no mistake. Marking down his observations, and expressing his thoughts was as simple as breathing to him.

Still...he wasn't sure if he could pull it off with such a painful topic. At the same time in spite of those doubts, he no longer wished to feel that way. Even if her plan didn't work, again this would still be a more productive use of his time. So, with a wet tipped pen to paper, he wrote.

'My father was a great man, perhaps too great for his mind that held so much information, broke from grief. I wonder when he had gone from a simple man who wanted to use both his medical, and magical expertise to help people transformed into a madman that sought to bring back the dead.

Was it when I was eleven years old, scrambling for help when my poor, sick mother collapsed, unable to be saved? Or was it sooner, when our human citizens of Skizzion constantly banged on our door, demanding his miraculous touch?

'You can command nature's powers. If you can bring rain to fill the crops, or summon flames to melt the winter's snow, then surely you can bring back my loved one!' I heard it all the time, and it always irritated me how ignorant they were. They couldn't use magic, or understand the rules behind it, yet they expected it to be the solution to everything.

The only ones capable of snapping their fingers to conjure whatever they desired were masters of magic. True sages of the arts to me were only known through story books. We were humble magicians who were well aware of the laws.

Whether or not he felt the same frustrations himself, he never said or showed any signs of it. Instead he always gave them a small, sorry-filled smile.

'I wish I could, however there is nothing more I could give besides my condolences.' That usually resulted in angry snarling curses, and stomping feet. Of course, despite their cruel words, and rude attitudes, they always came back.

There was no one else for them to turn to after all when it came to healers. My father each time listened to their woes, and pleas. Every single time he aided them without complaint. He was a good man, a great one.

When my mother died, he lost himself in his work. Hidden in an underground room full of containers, and notes, he spent all of his remaining time there. When there were no patients, he would be turning herbs into powders.

If I didn't leave food there for him to eat, he more than likely would have starved to death. The man I had come to love, and take pride in as my father was slowly, but surely fading away, and I didn't notice until it was too late.

I battled my own loneliness. And for over a year that was what I did, until an old rickety caravan strolled into town. A woman named Ori, and her adopted daughter, Lunaira had come. Sadly, they were not welcomed with warm smiles and open arms.

Rather they were met with hostility at every turn. Not a surprise in all honesty, for at the time there had been a series of incidents where people were disappearing.

'Another brat has run away.' and 'Seems we lost another one. Left with no intention of coming back.' were the most commonly heard statements. What I didn't know at the time was that these were excuses.

Little lies people told one another to make themselves feel better, or to convince the children that there was nothing wrong. The truth was that people were gone, missing without a trace for no good reason.

 We were not an overly superstitious bunch, however by that point my neighbors were heavily suspicious of anyone outside their closest kin. Again, it wasn't a surprise that they were treated this way, which was one of the reasons why I approached the pair in the first place…'