Warning: Mentions of child neglect, bullying, and use of dark magic.
The rain poured down mercilessly.
On the border of a congested stone sidewalk, a little boy-no—more than four years old—sat barbareer himself. Mud scabbed his legs, and his wet clothes stuck to his shuddering body. Strangers hurried past him with no notice, umbrellas held high, feet moving fast to heat and safety.
But the boy didn't budge. Head down, tears commingling with rain, he simply sat there, ignored.
Then, the creaking sound of slow, deliberate footsteps.
A great, tall man came up, his long black coat flapping open a little with every step. A wide-brimmed hat covered his face, the shadow beneath making his expression impossible to see. He halted in front of the child and knelt, craning his head in a curiously comical pose.
"Ah, well," the man breathed with a soft laugh. "What a poor kid. Nobody's assisting you?" His voice was oddly warm, amused, but tender.
The boy gradually raised his gaze. His mouth opened, but nothing emerged. Instead, he poked his hand into the fabric of his shirt and tremblingly produced a tiny, wet.
"Sebastian," it said.
The man examined the tag, then reached out his hand toward the child.
"Do you want to go with me, Sebastian?"
For an instant, the boy wavered. But the smile of the man didn't falter. It was odd, not warm in the normal manner, but there was something about it that seemed safe. The boy extended a hand, small fingers closing around the man's gloved palm.
And he stood up. And left with him.
—
Years went by.
Now, there strode a tall young man — hardly nineteen — down the muddy woodland track under a grey sky. He wore a deep black cloak with the hood up over his head, and it hid most of his face. Biting wind rushed through the trees, but he didn't stir.
Suddenly, irate voices boomed close by.
Up in front, three older boys pinned someone smaller — a child, no more than ten, already on the ground. His arms quivered uncontrollably, and one was stiffened over, crystal-blue ice crawling up his skin.
The man stopped, observing quietly as one of the bullies cocked back his fist.
"Hey!" one of them growled, seeing the cloaked form. "You wanna get beat too?!"
Without a word, the man moved forward.
One of the bullies laughed and sent a lash of scarlet magical energy. It cracked through the air, only to miss entirely. The man had shifted, quick as a ghost.
"What the—?"
"Let me attempt," another said. He lifted his hands, calling on fire magic, but the stranger lifted but one finger.
A dark pulse ran through the air.
In a heartbeat, their magic warped—going pitch black—and disappeared. As if it had never been.
The bullies stood stock still in shock. "What sort of magic is that?!"
The man said nothing. Instead, he stepped forward to the injured boy and knelt. With one touch, a warm, dark glow enveloped the boy's hurt arm. The ice dissolved. The child winced, scared, but the hurt dissolved from his body.
The bullies stood, their eyes wide.
"—he's a dark magic user!" one of them shouted.
"Let's get out of here!"
They turned and ran, slipping in the mud as they fled without looking back.
The boy, still shaking, looked up at his savior — but this time, in fear. The man's cloak shifted just slightly, and in that moment, his dark eyes flashed — cold, unreadable.
The boy backed away.
Wordlessly, the man turned. Didn't apologize. Didn't request thanks. He merely vanished into the trees, the darkness drawing up after him.
The wind was the only thing left behind.
—
The door groaned open with a low sound.
The man entered the still house, wiping his soggy boots at the doorway. The smell of smoldering herbs and parchment ink was barely perceptible in the air. Within, another man reclined in a big wooden chair beside the fire, reading from a pile of scrolls and papers.
Without raising his gaze, he spoke quietly, "You're back early."
Sebastian yanked his hood over his head. His dark hair stuck to his forehead. He took off his cloak, draping it on the hook beside the door, and went to sit on the velvet-upholstered sofa opposite the man.
"Trouble?" the man queried, turning over another page.
Sebastian reclined and laced his fingers behind his head. "Not particularly. Just… collided with something in transit."
The eyes of man swept over the scroll in his hand as he talked. "News from the council. Kingdom of Lunaris is strengthening — some say we've finally caught up with the Empire of Dravencia in magical commerce and military status."
Sebastian arched an eyebrow. "Why are they even competitors? Our borders are near enough to strike. Why not just end it?"
The man smiled softly and finally met Sebastian's eyes.
"It's not a matter of strength, Sebastian. We're not at war… not yet. Nobody wants to be the first to draw blood. That's why both sides remain silent."
Sebastian's face twisted in a scowl, and he looked down at his hand. A slight glimmer of magic danced over his fingers. The older man saw it immediately. His eyes grew narrow, and he extended a hand, taking Sebastian's.
"My, my," he said softly. "You've used your magic again."
Sebastian paused and then nodded curtly. "Some guys were beating up a kid. I couldn't just leave."
The man breathed out and let go of his hand. "You know dark magic is prohibited in this world."
"I know," Sebastian said, with guilt swelling his voice. "I'm sorry."
The man leaned his head to one side. "Did anyone witness you?"
"There were three of them," Sebastian said. "But they fled. I don't think they'll be believed."
The lips of the man curved slightly into a smile. "Good. Nobody trusts street punks to begin with."