The Rise of Sigmund the Sorcerer

Prologue

Prologue

"Help mama in the farm. She's raising the chickens."

"Yes, sister."

"And while you're out there, here, take this basket and bring a snack back for us both."

"Raspberries?"

"Please do."

"Yes, sister."

Out I went, into the family farm to do as my older sister asked of me. My dear mother stood in the barn, feeding the young chicks. She turned to me when she heard the rustling of hay on the floor.

"My son."

"Hallo, Mama! Look! I've got a basket!"

"I see. Have you come to help me while your father is away?"

"Yes, Mama."

"My son. My good son." I placed the basket down and cupped my little hands as my mother poured the chick feed into them. I sat on the floor and watched the chicks gather around me. One by one, they felt comfortable enough to take food from my hands.

"Look Mama! Look!"

"I see~!" 

I smiled up at her, proud that I could help her as my father would. Once the feed was done, I picked up my basket.

"Mama, I'm going out to the patch now!"

"Okay, darling!"

"Tschüss~!" 

I ran down the steep, grassy hill, tossing my basket to the bottom so I could roll down. Blades of grass stuck to my hair and stained my clothes with the fresh scent of the outdoors. My socks had fallen down below my knees now as well. I collected myself before grabbing my basket and heading through the daisy field. I'd completely forgotten about my original task by then. The mind of a youngster, I suppose. The field lead me to a path that took one to the town's marketplace. That's when I saw him, my father.

"HOW GLORIOUS!"

"OH MY!"

The towns people watched as my father performed for them, something he did more often than not for money. He was a sorcerer. A skilled one at that, self-taught. I watched his every move, dropping my basket to my side once again to mimic his motions from the sidelines.

"Does that burn your hand?" A young boy asked. My father looked down at him.

"Only if you are an idiot!" He joked. 

I giggled at the joke from afar. With his bold tone, my father continued with his sideshow.

"NOW WATCH!" My father announced. "For I will now form a ball of pure fire from my very hands!"

I studied my father's every move as he performed that very trick. The crowd cheered when the ball of fire appeared, just as he said it would.

This was the day I copied my father, as most young children would. I followed his actions. I felt the rush of power and pain run through my veins. With a flick of my wrist, the fire spewed out. The towns people looked at me. Necks almost snapping in the direction of the small blonde boy with the fire in his hands.

"WHO IS THAT CHILD?" They cried.

My father faced me. Tears instantly took over as he watched me. He watched me dance with the flames burning in my hands.

"Father! Watch me father!" And he did. He watched me dance.

That day, I became one of few in my family. My life would never be the same. Never. But at that very moment, I had no clue as to what this meant. I had never seen my father cry from sheer joy before. I made him proud, and he made me what I am today. 

Thank you, Father.