I Want to See Colors again

"Aurelius, take those boxes in there. I'll give you a few silver fennings and some bread when you're done."

A young boy, no older than twelve, smiled and nodded eagerly. His brown hair was untamed, falling messily over his brow as he began moving the heavy boxes into the building. The wooden crates creaked under his small frame, but he managed, gritting his teeth with determination.

Inside the alchemist's workshop, rows of glass vials and tubes filled with all sorts of colorful liquids lined the shelves, reflecting the dim light that flickered from a nearby lantern. Aurelius paused for a moment, his curiosity piqued by the strange contents. He scanned the room, taking in the vibrant hues of the fluids, and his eyes—though clouded with blindness—seemed to settle on a particular vial.

He reached out, running his fingers along the smooth surface of the glass. The liquid inside was a bright, radiant green, almost glowing in the dimness of the room. It looked so pure, so... inviting. His lips curled into a smile.

"Green is my favorite color," Aurelius muttered to himself softly, marveling at the way the liquid swirled inside the vial. He could almost feel its energy, its promise of something beyond his reach.

With a contented sigh, he placed the box down near the shelf and continued with his work, unaware that the alchemist had left the room to attend to another task.

As Aurelius set the final box on the ground, a faint hissing sound broke his concentration. His heart skipped a beat as a ripple of energy surged through the air, and the ground beneath him seemed to tremble.

A violent reaction had occurred. A flash of blinding light erupted from the glass vials, followed by an ear-splitting explosion. The force of it hurled Aurelius through the air, sending him crashing into the cobbled streets outside. The building collapsed in on itself, chunks of wood and stone raining down from the sky.

The alchemist—who had been out of sight—rushed back into the chaos, his face paling when he saw the devastation. He was an older man, with wiry hair and a weathered face, but there was no time to react to the sight of the ruins. His focus immediately shifted to the boy, whose small frame lay motionless among the wreckage.

Aurelius was covered in burns, his skin scorched and blackened. His face, once whole, was now charred, with deep burns stretching across his entire body. His thin chest rose and fell weakly as he breathed shallowly, ribs visible beneath the scorched skin. His arms, once fragile, were now more so—reduced to little more than sticks, a testament to the damage done.

The alchemist knelt beside him, eyes wide in disbelief. "A divine miracle..." he whispered under his breath. The boy had survived the explosion, but only just. The wounds were so severe, it was a miracle he wasn't already dead.

With urgency, the alchemist scooped Aurelius up, his frail body almost weightless in the man's arms. "We need to get him help—now!"

A Court healing mage was able to save Aurelius's life, Although he was left permanently blind the cost of the treatment came with a heavy price. His family was saddled with a mountain of debt, and the money they received from the Court, which could have been used to pay off their bills and start anew, was swiftly taken by his father. He vanished without a trace shortly after, leaving Aurelius and his mother to face the consequences alone.

Before he left, however, his father did one final act—he had a metal plate grafted onto Aurelius's face, covering the horrific burns that marred his skin. The metal was cold, rough, and unyielding, welded over his face in such a way that the only visible part of his features was the lower half of his nose and down. Aurelius would never see his own reflection again, and the world would only know him by the cold, metallic visor that obscured his face.

Over time, the magic sealing the metal plate to his face weakened, allowing him to remove and attach it at will. However, he kept the mask on, not wanting to scare children with the sight of his burned face.

Aurelius stirred awake as the rhythmic clattering of the carriage wheels slowed to a halt. His eyelids fluttered, and he let out a soft groan, stretching his stiff muscles. The journey had been long, but he had managed to sleep through most of it. The scent of fresh air, tinged with the earthy aroma of the academy's surroundings, filled his nose as he gently reached for the mask that had become a constant part of his life.

The carriage door creaked open, and the coachman's voice rang out, lighthearted and teasing.

"Didn't sleep through the whole trip, did ya? Really blind, or are ya just being dramatic?"

Aurelius didn't respond at first. Instead, he slowly raised his hand to the metal mask grafted onto his face. The cold surface of the plate felt familiar beneath his fingertips as he lifted it, revealing the grotesque burns that had once been hidden. His face was a patchwork of scarred, raw skin, darkened from the explosion, but the most haunting feature were his eyes. They were a pale, milky white—completely blind, completely sightless. The vacant, empty stare of someone who no longer had the ability to see.

The coachman fell silent, his joke fading into awkwardness.

Aurelius, unaffected by the man's reaction, placed the mask back over his face, the metal clicking into place with a finality that had become second nature to him. His steps were slow as he moved toward the door, using his cane to steady himself. The black wooden staff, worn at the tip from use, clicked against the ground with each careful stride.

When he stepped out of the carriage, Aurelius paused for a moment, taking in the feeling of the new environment beneath his feet. The cobblestone path of the academy felt solid and real, the academy's grandeur looming around him. He was tall, his build wiry but strong, hardened by the challenges of his life. His hair, a messy brown, hung loosely around his face, though a few strands were tucked behind the edges of his mask.

Clad in the academy's uniform, his posture remained stiff and reserved. His appearance was striking—not just because of the mask but because of the way he carried himself. Despite the injuries, despite the pain he had endured, there was a quiet strength in the way he walked, head held high as though the world could judge him as it wished.

He stood tall, unbowed, and with every step he took, the sound of his cane tapping against 

As he stepped, his cane tapping against the ground, a thought left his lips. "I Want to see colors again, Im sure the Academy is full of them."