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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Riarshi couldn't control the key in his ghostly white hand, it was shaking too severely. At the top of a rotting, wooden set of stairs, he finally popped the lock open after a half-dozen tries. Using the near dead weight of his body, he pushed against the heavy door and limped into his cramped, one-bedroom apartment.
A dirty-brown color stained the rug, despite being as clean as possible. Small chips and holes riddled the light-gray painted walls.
The coolness from the chirping air conditioner slapped Riarshi in the face as he threw his groceries to the floor. His bloodied hand swung the door closed, leaving him alone and broken in the dimly lit studio.
His family room TV, the clock on the wall - each sound in the apartment began merging into an incoherent gurgle, flooding Riarshi's ears as though he were underwater.
He limped toward his bathroom, one leg dragging, with a single goal in mind.
"I... have to get it..." he gasped while clutching his burning chest.
Riarshi had bought a bottle of "Cure-All" - an elixir created by strong healing magic casters, the week prior in case of an emergency. Consuming the contents would heal any wounds or injuries in a manner of seconds. He assumed that buying a bottle could make up for his lack of healing magic, and today, he was ever thankful for the thought.
For Riarshi, it wasn't unusual for verbal harassment to promptly escalate to physical violence. Bullies, city kids, and other people who thought highly of their strength would often pick fights with him. These mostly ended with Riarshi on the receiving end of some nasty injury.
Over the years he had suffered burns from fire magic, bruises from punches, and had bled more times than he could count. The list detailing the various beatings he had received throughout his life could go on forever, making even the most seasoned healer wince. But today's bloody injury was one of the most severe he had fallen victim to.
Dragging his broken body toward the bathroom door, the tall stained wood blurred together with the gray walls into a swirling mix of colors. He went pale, and his remaining strength flushed from his limbs. Knowing what was coming next, he braced the side of his head with his hand. His legs finally gave out, buckling his knees.
"Ah, shit." he murmured, before his stiff body crashed to the hardwood floor.
***
13 years ago
One day, I went on an adventure, but not an ordinary adventure. I was looking for a sacred pen to draw a holy picture that would help save the masses of the world - well...that's what my childish mind told me. Alas, I spotted the pen, sitting on a kitchen counter like a sword in a stone. Its cap taunted me by peeking over the edge, almost out of reach.
I stretched my short and stubby arms to grab it, but fumbled with the cap, as my small fingers didn't quite have the coordination yet. Despite my valiant efforts, my clumsy hands dropped the pen into a large blue bag laid out on the floor beneath the counter. This duffel bag belonged to Mr. C, my childhood caretaker.
