Ezekiel Joziah Hunt is the last Descendant of the Stars.
As the bastard son of the King of Evimeria, he was shunned by his Grandfather Andreas when he was a small child and forced to rip off his supernatural powers.
Seeking sanctuary, Ezekiel moves...
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The glistening ivy remained intertwined in a passionate dance with the wasteful wallflowers, as if they were forbidden lovers suspended in time. Their dazzling hues nuzzled each other affectionately, the gray bricks behind them amplifying their vibrancy.
Silverman sighed, forcing his gaze away from the foliage creeping on the drab wall in front of him. The excited, high-pitched voices of his wife and the caretaker of 'Tender Hands Orphanage' were audible as they talked inside. He started pacing slowly, taking in the dullness of the place which was magnified by the angrily thundering clouds in the sky.
Since it was day time, most students were in the classrooms. The air was rife with the faint collective voices as the unfortunate children sang along with their teacher. A part of him had been saddened by the fact that he and his wife could never have a child of their own. However he had to admit, the satisfaction of adopting one in need seemed gratifying.
He crossed his arms in front of his chest and gazed into the courtyard in the middle of the building. It was a simple, rather lacklustre one with nothing but a massive tree in the centre of unkempt grass. Not a single ray of sunshine illuminated the emerald as the tempestuous skies raged above like a monster preparing for combat. The courtyard was bordered by the four massive dilapidated buildings of the orphanage.
He glanced at his wristwatch. It had been a quarter of an hour since his wife had started discussing matters of the adoption with Miss Whitman. He had considered themselves lucky. The heavily pregnant woman had staggered into the orphanage mere weeks ago and would soon deliver the baby they were to adopt. The poor mother was a young girl. She had clarified she wanted nothing to do with the baby when it came.
As he was gazing unseeingly into the courtyard, he suddenly spotted a small figure walking towards the middle of the ground. The figure sat on the grass under the tree with a wooden board that he could hardly carry in his skinny arms.
Silverman gazed as the child started scribbling something onto the board. The sky above rumbled angrily. The first drops of rain were already starting to descend. The lightning seemed to increase manifold all of a sudden. The drops of water were falling harder and faster, steadily growing in pace and intensity, like a serpent was slowing rising from a deep slumber and preparing to strike the earth with devastation.
He called out to the child, knowing that sitting under a tree under such a storm was far from safe.
"Hey! Hey, get inside!" His yells were almost drowned under the deluge of the resounding thunder. A streak of lightning split the sky and lit up the earth for a few seconds. Silverman saw the pale skin of the child as he remained engrossed in his sketching, astoundingly unbothered.
He walked closer, but his voice was hardly audible over the gradually rising storm. The raindrops pelted harder towards the ground. Silverman ran to the other side of the corridor and decided to go outside and escort the child in. The temperature around him was dropping rapidly, and he was stupefied as to how the boy still hadn't lifted his head from the drawing board. His own breath came out in thick fog in front of his face, his teeth almost chattering.
