Different

The world in which he lived was not our own. There were elves and magicians, dragons and demons, but even then, there was something strange about the boy. Something . . . different.

He lived in a small, hazy village encompassed by snow-capped mountains which dominated the landscape. It was an isolated place, with no connections to the outside world; and the people of Bycastle liked it that way. Consequently, however, they were extremely superstitious. They had never encountered the wonders of the outside world, and therefore would be dismayed at the thought of adventure, or even leaving the border of the village.

Matthias was an orphan boy working as a farmhand at the edge of Bycastle. He had long, dark hair and ocean blue eyes. His clothes were dirty and torn at some parts, stained with mud and sweat. He lived with his uncle, a bearded, round-bellied man with hands like a bear. Matthias had never fit in: he had always found it hard to talk to others, preferring instead the company of his own thoughts.

"People can be false, but thoughts can never lie," Matthias would say when confronted on the topic. 

After a strenuous day's work shovelling large heaps of earth and fertilising the soil, Matthias began to make his way back to Bycastle, eating a meagre meal of bread and cheese on the way.

He reached the gates as night fell, striding down the narrow, rocky trail, careful not to lose his footing, passing through the gates mere moments before they slowly creaked shut. A long, wooden palisade with watchtowers at regular intervals wrapped itself around the town. Thick columns of smoke billowed out of brick chimneys, which were awkwardly attached to wooden houses with thatched rooves. The houses were makeshift; as Bycastle had no connections to the rest of the world, it took part in no trade, meaning that everything in the village came from the valley in which it lay.

He walked through the narrow streets, staring sympathetically at the many homeless people who cowered in alleyways, thin and pale, with sunken eyes, and long, greasy hair.

His uncle's home was at the other end of Bycastle, tucked away in a small cul-de-sac. It would take thirty minutes to reach. 

Matthias was in a long, dark alleyway when it happened. Two hooded men, dressed in black, approached him slowly.

"Boy," the first growled. "You'll be clever enough to give us any money you have."

"Over my dead body! We all work hard here; we all earn our money. What's mine is mine," retorted Matthias, striding forward.

"Bold words for such a small boy," the second one grunted. "Such a shame."

They lunged at Matthias, hitting him across the face. He tripped over and fell backwards, shouting for help. The two men advanced, smirking. Matthias scrambled to his feet and sprinted as quickly as his exhausted body could allow. The thieves darted after him, gaining on him with incredible speed.  Matthias tripped and outstretched his hands - a frantic effort to shield his face - and a beam of pure energy shot from his hands, throwing one of the thieves to the floor. He screamed in pain, staring at Matthias, whose eyes had turned a brilliant blue. 

"What are you?" the other demanded, terrified.

Matthias did not hear him. His eyes were vacant; the noises around him seemed distant; his senses were consolidated into one. He no longer had control of his body, but was instead guided by an invisible force. He shot another blast, this time hitting the second man. He screamed in agony, and everything went white.

When Matthias awoke, he was in a damp, dirty cell with bare walls and no light. The floor was hard and cold, and he saw that his clothes had been ripped at the sides so much that his skin was visible. He peered at the gaps between the iron bars, at the sight of a flickering light and the sound of voices.