"Why is this happening to me?" Klaus asked himself, even as another kick to his stomach lifted him a few inches from the floor.
"I already told ya this morning, not to disturb me when I have guests around." Renn's voice, firm and vindictive, cut through the pain.
"Hey, Renn, stop wasting time and play!" the man across the room yelled.
Renn dusted off his hands, his chest rising and falling in a deep, almost ritualistic breath. Klaus had seen it countless times – the calm before the next storm, or perhaps just the settling of dust after a particularly satisfying blow.
"Get off the floor and wipe that off, would ya?" Renn gestured to the blood and vomit staining the wooden floor. "Now, be a good bastard and fetch your mom for me. She should be somewhere by the tavern." He turned and walked towards the table with three other men.
Klaus picked himself up, still dizzy from his father's beating, and stumbled towards the door, catching himself on the wooden handle just before falling.
"And bring us back some ale this time, would ya!" Renn shouted as Klaus stepped out.
Ever since the Ash family adopted him and moved to the town of Kragnir sixteen years ago, all he had known from his foster parents was wrath and disdain. Though he reciprocated the same feelings, Klaus never acted upon his urges, fearing harsher treatment.
As he walked through the street, he felt the townsfolk's gazes, their whispers, and gestures indicating he was the topic of their discussion. For Klaus, these were the same people who would turn a blind eye whenever Renn and Eirlys disciplined him in public. In Mira's bakery, Klaus had received a cut on his face from Eirlys's ring after merely stumbling at the entrance. In Rowan's farm, he'd gained a huge bruise behind his thighs from a paddle after Renn failed to borrow money from Rowan. And in the local fish market, when Eirlys tried to cause a scene to get a lower price and failed due to a guard's intervention, she blamed Klaus, bruising and cutting his lips for not "warning her earlier."
The thought of those events sent a radiating pain from the back of his head, slowly inching its way forward, giving him a headache.
'Why can't these people just mind their own business?' Klaus thought. 'They seem to have no problem doing so when I get disciplined in front of them.'
Just then, a familiar face popped into his vision.
"Hey, Klaus." The boy's voice was light. "You know you don't have to pay them any mind. That's all they're good for: gossip." The boy laughed, slinging an arm over Klaus's shoulders as they continued to walk together.
"Hey, Remy," Klaus replied.
Remy, also eighteen, had a boundless energy that often translated into minor town disturbances – a mischievous glint in his eyes, a quick grin that promised trouble. Yet, he always kept Klaus clear of his antics. Both boys shared a similar height and lean, muscle-toned build. Their main differences lay in their hair – Remy's long, untamed curly brunette strands fell to his neck, while Klaus's were a similar style but black – and their scars. Klaus bore the visible roadmap of his abuse: cuts and bruises crisscrossed his body, face, arms, and legs. Remy, conversely, was a tapestry of burnt scar tissue, covering most of his body and a significant portion of his face, though miraculously, his senses remained sharp.
"So, where are you off to?" Remy asked.
"To fetch my mom," Klaus said in dismay.
"You know you don't have to call them that, right? When have they ever treated you like their son?"
The thought of calling them 'mom' and 'dad' appalled Klaus, but to him, this was part of his long-term plan: hopefully, eventually, if he treated them right, they would see the error in their ways. That, and the fact that both Renn and Eirlys demanded to be called that, otherwise it would provoke another beating.
"You know why," Klaus gave a slight chuckle. "How about you?"
"Me? I'm wandering around town in search of a sorcerer passing through. The town is practically buzzing about them!"
Sorcerers are people who can control mana and shape reality through spells and incantations, known as magic. They wield tremendous power and hold the highest positions in society. Mana manipulation is quite rare and easily undetectable to the untrained eye; when it occurs, if not nurtured, the baby loses its gift. But when mixed with the correct bloodline, a sorcerer can produce another sorcerer as offspring, and their capability to manipulate mana can be diagnosed early on and maintained.
"A sorcerer, really?" Klaus asked sarcastically.
"I know, right! The town hasn't had a visit in a while. What if it's a scout from a prestigious house or college? Can you imagine being brought out of this godforsaken excuse of a town and getting to live a lavish and carefree life?"
Remy went on, talking and daydreaming about what he would do if he were ever in a position of power, similar to, if not that of a sorcerer. Klaus just enjoyed the walk alongside his enthusiastic best friend, laughing at the jokes and descriptions of the imagined magical spells Remy would conjure against his enemies, and the girls he would bed.
Their laughter soon died when they both arrived at the local tavern 'The Rusty Goblet'.
"I guess this is me," Remy said with a sigh. "I'll see you tonight, Klaus. I'm off to look for that sorcerer; maybe I can plead in front of them to make me their apprentice."
Klaus nodded and watched Remy leave, disappearing around the corner of a building down the street. Remy still had his jolly walk, still stuck in his daydream. This image made Klaus chuckle a bit. He wasn't always happy in this town, especially with the kind of foster parents he had, but one thing he knew was certain: he was always happy around his bestfriend Remy.