Coalescence

Chapter 1: A Boys Fear

Rolling in his sleep, Malcolm was cursed with a recurring nightmare. He laid on the ground helpless as the world burned around him, covered in rubble and debris. Through the roaring flames walked a man, tall with wide shoulders and a threatening gaze. He lifted his sword in front of him, revealing a corpse skewered on the end of it. He lazily shook the body to the ground and looked at Malcolm.

He slowly approached where he was trapped, each lumbering step shaking the ground. Malcolm struggled beneath the rubble but couldn't manage to shake free of the heavy rocks on top of him. The figure finally reached him, pointing the tip of his blade at Malcolm's face before plunging it downwards and startling Malcolm awake.

He quickly sat up and began to shed tears, crying out for his mother and father. They quickly appeared in the doorway, his mother coming in to sit beside him and his father standing tall in the doorway. His father had reddish-brown hair, a tall and wide stature, and a constant complexion of soothing calmness. His mother was similar with lighter brunette hair, a tall and thin frame, and the same calming aura as his father.

"Did the nightmare strike you again Malcolm?" His father asked as his mother cradled and soothed him. Malcolm finally managed to choke a response through the tears.

"Yes, but this time..." His nervous speech trailed off, almost as if he was afraid of the figure hearing him. "He found me, and tried to kill me." His mother embraced him tighter as his father approached him, kneeling at his bedside.

"It's okay son, he'll never reach you, not with me around." His father held out his hand which Malcolm took. "Never forget, your father's a knight, and one day you will be too; one even greater than me." Malcolm managed a smile in response.

"You promise?" He asked. His mother gave a cool and refreshing smile, as did his father.

"You'll have to work for it, are you sure you have it in you?"

"I'll work harder than anyone else!" Malcolm said enthusiastically. His father patted his knee, brightly smiling.

"Then I guarantee you can be a knight. Now get back to sleep, you need your rest. Remember, if you call for me I'll be there."

"Ok dad, I'll remember." His father ruffled his hair before leaving the room, followed quickly by his mother. Throughout the rest of the night, Malcolm slept without issue.

When he woke up the next morning, he was the last one awake. Everyone else was in the kitchen, his mother and father already at the table with bowls. He scratched his head as he walked out and sat down.

"Good morning Malcolm, I've made something special today." His mother announced as she put three bowls on the table. "Spiced oats, in commemoration of your father's promotion a year ago to the Bronze knight." Malcolm enthusiastically climbed to his seat at the table, ready to eat.

"Even though it's quite expensive, I'm happy you had it in your heart to make something for me, I sure as hell didn't remember." His father gave a hearty laugh as he picked up his spoon and began eating. The conversation stopped as the meal began, but Malcolm's mind began to race as he stared at the empty seat at the table.

A year ago, on the same day his father was promoted, he had a little sister. By the end of that meal, she was gone. He was seven years old, and his sister was six; they were playing in the backyard just trying to pass the time until their parents were done eating. A cart rolled down the street behind their home and they thought nothing of it until it fired an arrow that pierced into his sister's chest.

With a gleaming rainbow tip, it seemed to paralyze her as soon as it pierced her skin. Malcolm caught her as she fell and she looked up at him with innocent confusion.

"Malcolm... why... hurt? Why... cold?" She spoke in her young, broken statements. Before Malcolm could respond, a group of masked men came and pushed him off of her, taking her into the cart. As the cart quickly took off, Malcolm ran down the street after it with no regard for his own safety.

"Give her back, stop!" He held his hands up in front of him and aimed at the cart, focusing what little mana he had into his hands. "Air Art: Compression Bullet." He shot a concentrated blast of air towards the cart, just missing above it and blowing himself back in the process. His parents came out into the backyard to find him in the street in tears, hopeless.

To this day those events haunted his memory every time he ate breakfast, his inability to help holding him hostage a year later. He lazily dug into the bowl with his spoon, lamenting that day. He promised himself that once he found her again, he'd defend her to his dying breath.