Even in the darkest of times, one can still find light. They just have to look at the stars.
Humans have been blessed by the Divines. For centuries, civilization has flourished, and mankind has rapidly progressed with the use of innate magical power...
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Even thirteen years later, that night where darkness won still plagued Riarshi's dreams.
Laying on his back, with his fingers interlocked behind his head, he stared at his bedroom ceiling with wet, shimmering eyes. A cold sweat dripped from his brow and soaked his covers.
For a long time, he stayed there, motionless. The only sound in the bedroom came from his own slow, steady breathing and the chirping of birds outside the window.
Eventually, he slowly rolled out of bed. His recently trained muscles ached, begging for more sleep.
He couldn't go back. He refused to return to that dream.
Riarshi stood, bare feet plopping onto the shaggy, ripped carpet. He ignored the cold numbing his toes, the many holes and cracks in the bare drywall, the dark orange buildup of copper in the sink, and the dying cries of a failing refrigerator in the kitchen. These sights and smells were considered normal for an apartment provided by government assistance.
As an eighteen-year-old orphan, living the last thirteen years in such an abysmal state, Riarshi Thomas had become numb.
***
It was a beautiful late summer afternoon in the suburban town of Westray, a welcomed change from the previous week of constant rain and chilling winds.
The roads were clear of cars, allowing the sound of chirping birds and rustling leaves free to reach Riarshi's ears as he strolled down the sidewalk. The dying summer's air was undoubtedly refreshing compared to the stuffiness of his old and beaten apartment. For a few moments, he had forgotten about his bone chilling dream.
A satisfying breeze blew by now and then, carrying the woody scent of smoke from the grills of afternoon barbecues. Each house Riarshi passed was nearly identical: small, quaint, and pleasant. White wooden fences separated properties from the road, the paint fading and chipping from age and sunlight.
Riarshi stopped when his gaze landed upon a house to his right. A family of four gathered on their front lawn, huddled around a wooden picnic table underneath an open canopy.
With one swoop of her hand, the mother of the family levitated bowls and utensils onto the tabletop from her front door. The father stood off to the side and hydrated the lawn with sprinkles of water spraying from his fingertips, showering the plush green grass he worked very hard on to maintain.
As his feet carried him away, Riarshi imagined himself sitting at that table, laughing along with the rest of them, without a single negative thought flowing through his sluggish mind or a wicked dream haunting his memory. His chest tightened, and a ball formed in his throat. After a brief attempt at swallowing the ball down, a fresh breeze blew by his face and snapped him out of his trance. He was eighteen now - a full grown adult. It was childish to be jealous of two little children enjoying time with their parents.
