Connor Pallitan isn't normal, he's known that since the day he was born. Left alone in the woods, cloaked in protective fire, its a wonder the boy survived for a year. But eighteen? A miracle.
But then, all hell breaks loose, and it's up to Conner t...
⠀⠀⠀⠀His bones felt like metal, his blood like cement. Everything was heavy and hot, his eyes practically sewn shut with how tightly they were closed.
Was he dead? Dying?
He focused all of his strength on opening his eyes, and finally succeeded. Seeing, though a the slits of his eyes, the bars of a cell. He groaned, his stomach churning, as he tried to remember what led up to this moment.
He was bleeding, somehow. His magic had sealed his wounds and yet they were tearing open like stitches. He'd collapsed, his legs like jello, knees like balls of steel. It felt like someone was physically pulling him into the depths of hell.
"I'll get help," a calming, familiar voice promised. Even though the voice itself seemed filled with terror and uncertainty, it still brought him peace of mind. "Stay here!" It ordered.
'Well that's a redundant request,' he thought, 'how does he expect me to move when I'm in such a state?'
A shadowy figure had appeared before him as soon as the calming presence faded. Now replaced by something cold, cruel. The smell of rosemary and earl grey tea wafted his nostrils and he immediately knew who it was.
"Mother..." He groaned, forcing his elbows to help him sit up, and he fell onto his back, suddenly made aware of of the shackles chained around his wrists, bounding him to the floor beneath him.
"Emile, my boy." The voice replied, and his head fell to the side to see his mother, dressed in tight leather pants, with boots of the same black shade. She wore a dark purple feathered shirt, hair pinned up magnificently. He hated seeing her in such a state while he, himself, laid helplessly on this floor. "It's been so long, look how you've grown." Her youthful voice said with the utmost of pride. In any other situation, this might have sounded like a typical reunion between mother and son.
If it wasn't for their history, and his disheveled state.
"What have you done..!?" He managed to say, his voice horse and almost inaudible.
"I could ask you the same question, Emile. You left me, your own mother, to die." She reminded him, pulling his chains and forcing him to stand. "I'm only helping those who saved my life, while you run around with those teenagers, allowing them to treat you like a dog."
"They're my friends." He said before his head rammed into the walls. His insides were shaking as his back pressed against the cold wall of his oversized cell.
"One of them hates our kind, the other would gladly pick and poke at you, and that knight...I thought you'd choose better than that Emile." She insulted, "the only useful one you've come in contact with has been that failure of a prince."
