The Everburn Mage

5. Scorched Memories

In this cruel world, a certain truth remained: The weak were devoured by the strong.

Even at a young age and without anyone ever telling him, Rune was fully aware of this undeniable fact. He was taught this whenever he saw the hunters return from the woods bringing with them a carriage filled with corpses of dead woodland creatures. He saw it around him as commoners were forced to abide by the wishes of noble-born swine. And he experienced it as he was knocked to the floor, the striking pain of a fist crashing into his cheek cascading across the entirety of his face.

Helplessly huddled on the grime-infested floor of the alleyway all that he could do was wait until they grew bored of him. Creaking open his eyes, he watched as the four of them, each boasting crooked sneers, stomped and kicked him without a hint of concern or compassion. What possessed them most, other than a cheap sense of enjoyment, was none other than spite.

"How does it feel to be the son of a traitor?!"

"You and the rest of your scummy family should just leave town already! Nobody wants you here!"

"The military should've locked you up for helping a criminal! My dad told me if he was a general you'd be rotting in a cell right now!"

As harsh as their insults might have been, they were nothing Rune hadn't heard before. If it wasn't coming from them, they originated out of the mouths of the other townsfolk. When they weren't constantly gossiping behind his back, they directed to him their looks of hate and disgust. It was like they weren't even staring at a human but a monster who betrayed their country. Still, true though it may be he'd grown numb to this treatment, it meant not that having such provocations lashed at him didn't rile him up on the inside, didn't kindle his already untamed flame of indignation.

Glaring up at his abusers, Rune managed to sputter, "You've got it wrong...my dad isn't a traitor! This is just a big misunderstanding!"

One of the boys, a slightly overweight kid with ginger hair and a blubbery face, planted the bottom of his boot atop Rune's scalp. "A misunderstanding? As if! Everyone knows what happened so there's no point in trying to cover for him. The Everburn Mage went on a massacre at the Military High Command! Do you have any idea how many people he killed for no reason?!"

"That's not true!"

"It is!" shouted the bully, kicking him in his stomach. "Whether you like it or not, your dad's a filthy traitor and a murderer!"

"Do yourselves a favor and disappear," said another kid as they left him wallowing in pain and headed for the alley's exit. "You Ransfords have shamed Primrose more than enough."

Quivering on the ground, Rune watched as they turned their backs to him and departed without a care to be had. Carnivores satisfied with their meal left the remains of their carcass for the scavengers. A wise man would've allowed them to leave. Had he chosen to do so, he more than likely would've spared himself from further anguish.

Instead, however, he rose on his brittle, trembling legs. Replacing his former scowl, a smirk emerged. "Hey," he grunted. Each of the bullies stopped in their tracks and turned to face him. "Love him or hate him, my father's blood runs through me. As does his magic."

The tip of his right finger illuminated, a bright, archaic light radiating from it. The young mage took a breath and closed his eyes. Every ounce of his concentration he poured onto the spell he longed to manifest. Unveiling his burning, orange iris, Rune drew the shimmering magic circle in front of him. The glowing symbol hovered in the air for a short period of a few seconds prior to disintegrating into specs of twinkling dust. Rune could feel his essence exit his body, however, as his eyes rested on the puny flame dancing in the palm of his hand, his smile couldn't have been wider.