The Rise of Sigmund the Sorcerer

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Strong Hands

"My god! My dear child, how did you do what you did?"

"Please, tell us Sigmund!"

My mother and my sister stood in the kitchen, watching me eat my supper. My father quickly hushed them both, waving them down to settle in.

"Let the child eat!" He grumbled. "Go on, finish the cooking."

As they turned away, my father sat next to me. I cleared my throat of toast and raspberry marmalade before I spoke.

"Papa, are you proud of me?"

"Of course, my son."

I smiled towards the positive response.

"I'm just like you now Papa!"

"You will be my son." My father nodded, rustling my hair as he stood from the table. "You will be..." 

I remember him looking dazed as he spoke, somewhat lost in deep thought over the situation unfolding. He walked over to my mother and kissed her, leaning in to whisper to her afterwards.

"Tomorrow, we start."

She gasped in an instant and shook her head in protest.

"So soon? He's much too young!"

"We must."

My sister turned to me, giving me a cold glance before leaving the room. I shuddered and looked down at my toast. At that moment, something in my gut told me something wasn't right. But I didn't mind the odd feeling. My father, he was proud of me. That's what mattered at the moment. I didn't hear that praise from him very often. I scarfed down my food as quickly as I could and rushed to my father's study once I'd finished. 

I opened the door to the space carefully when I noticed him meditating in front of a crackling fireplace, something he did now and then whenever he was a tad stressed. I entered quietly and closed the door behind me.

"Sigmund."

I jumped when my father suddenly spoke my name.

"Papa? Ja, it's me."

"Sit with me, dear son."

I did as he asked, taking a seat to the right of him on the floor. The heat of the fire softly touched my fair skin. I couldn't help but feel a slight sense of uneasiness in that moment. Especially after the display in the marketplace.

"What do you request of me Papa?" I asked, timidly.

He looked down at me for just a second before returning to his meditation.

"I would like for you to promise me something son."

"Yes Papa?"

"Promise me that you will never give up. No matter how rough things begin to get. Promise me you will push through and handle your own like the young man I know you are."

He spoke this not to me, but to the flames that burned brightly in front of him. With every word he spoke, the flames almost seemed to rise and crack louder. It was as though he was connected to it, his energy. I wasn't sure how to respond straight away. I looked down at my feet.

"I-I promise Papa. I do."

"That's my dear boy. Now go, rest. We have a big day ahead of us!"

"YES PAPA! I WILL!"

I rushed out of his study. A smile spread across my face as the relief washed over me. I thought I'd be scolded. I thought I'd done something wrong. With the anticipation of a new task ahead and the approval of my father, nothing at that very moment could have taken the feeling of pride away from me.