Chapter 1: The Abandoned Child
Clear, bright light cascaded down from the full moon above, illuminating the figures of two adults walking down a shabby dirt road. They walked past the crude wooden shacks lining the sides of the street, as they chatted merrily in heated whispers.
"Benji, remember when I told you that we should build our shack in the main village? You didn't listen to me, and now we have to walk back by ourselves in the middle of the night every time we attend a celebration!" A middle-aged, kind-faced, yet confident, woman said to a man next to her in a hushed tone.
"Lyla, it's nice being isolated, just the two of us. Besides, if we lived in town, everyone would hear you whenever we're being intimate…" A middle-aged man with long, bushy graying hair and a thick, prickly beard replied in a mirthful tone.
"Benjamin Fletcher!" Lyla yelled back before gasping in shock at the volume of her own voice, as it was the middle of the night. Her cheeks turned a deep crimson due to the embarrassing words her husband was speaking out in the open. Though, she couldn't retort as it was the truth.
After looking around carefully to ensure nobody had been nearby, Lyla looked back at Benjamin and sighed. She suddenly turned despondent.
"How else would we conceive a child? But no matter how hard we try… All we have left are gray hairs and premade baby clothes."
The two walked in silence for some time, only the sound of rustling leaves and the occasional scurrying of an animal could be heard.
Benjamin turned to face Lyla. Seeing the dejected look on his wife's face, the woman he had once declared to the world that he would never let worry or cry, he quickly tried to brighten her mood.
"Look, Lyla, if we can't…"
"Wait, hush for a second!"
"No, Lyla…"
"I said shut up! I can hear something."
The two figures stopped in their tracks and listened carefully. They heard the sound of wind rustling the leaves of the big cypress tree planted at the village entrance. They heard the sound of an owl hooting as it hunted in the night. Suddenly, they also heard a soft cooing noise coming from near the base of the tree.
"What's that? Quick, let's have a look!" Lyla hurriedly ran toward the tree a short distance away, with Benjamin trailing behind her, keeping a wary eye on the surroundings.
When they arrived, they saw a small bundle of cloth wedged between the large roots of the tree. Lyla gently picked up the bundle, peeling back the cloth to glimpse the face of a tiny baby boy. His skin was pale and plump with a healthy flush. He looked up at the middle-aged couple with large eyes brimming with only curiosity and not a hint of fear or hesitation.
"Aah! Aah!" The baby grinned and cooed at the sight of the two emotional faces.
While the baby blew bubbles, Lyla looked at Benjamin and asked in a desperate tone, "Can we keep him?"
"Lyla, he's not a puppy we found wandering on the streets. What do you mean, 'can we keep him'? Stop being silly, we need to ask around tomorrow and see if anyone has any information as to why a baby was left here."
"Okay, fine. But if nobody knows anything, can we keep him?"
Lyla stared at Benjamin with a pleading look, gripping her hands together and pouting. Benjamin looked back at her and couldn't help but let out a wry chuckle. Almost 50 years old and still acting coy. Well, that's one of the reasons I love her.
Benjamin gave a single nod in response, to which Lyla grinned in wild delight. He had not seen her smile so brightly in many years, possibly even a decade or two.
"But what do we name him?" As Lyla asked this question, she noticed something else wrapped up in the bundle, shining as it reflected the moonlight. She placed her hand within and gently took out a small metal badge made from a material she had never seen before. It was engraved with an impressive-looking insignia, featuring an oak tree. She flipped the badge over and could make out a small word etched into the corner. Damon.
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Damon was promptly adopted by the couple the next day, and years passed peacefully under their care. Benjamin continued his work as a fletcher, eking out a living crafting arrows for the few hunters living nearby. To subsidize their meals with fresh meat, he also went into the mountains to hunt occasionally, as he remained sturdy despite his age.
A young Damon, still only around 8 years old, watched as his father trekked into the mountains alongside a group of hunters. He fully expected his father would be able to return with some pheasants or rabbits, as he had never seen him fail before.
Standing next to Damon and holding his hand was Lyla, his mother. She was very proficient at needlework and made a lot of the clothing the villagers wore. Though she was now also getting advanced in her years. So, she stopped doing as much needlework and mainly managed the household in her husband's absence. During her spare time, she liked to make simple necklaces and bracelets out of different materials.
Later that evening, Damon's trust was maintained as his father walked down toward them, a wide grin on his face, the two poles of the travois he was pulling scraping noisily on the gravelly ground. The travois was holding a small roe deer. It seemed a deer feast would be on the menu tonight, one of Damon's favorite meals. He watched with wide, curious eyes as his father butchered the animal in their courtyard. He had never been very squeamish. Once the meat was separated, he followed his mother into the kitchen to watch her cook.
Damon had always been very intelligent from a young age, learning incredibly quickly. Watching his parents as they worked always brought him such happiness. He wanted to grow older quickly to help his father fletch arrows and help his mother cook food.
After their hearty meal, they all gathered up and cuddled together on their bed. Damon smiled contentedly as he snuggled into his mother's arms. The blankets were so warm, and his parents were so loving. There could be no better life than this. He was proven wrong immediately, as his parents each brought out a gift that they had made for his birthday. On this very day, it was the eighth year since they had discovered him under the cypress tree.
Although Damon knew how to keep track of the year and the months, he didn't make a habit of following the exact day, so he was surprised every year. In actuality, he chose not to track the days as he always looked forward to the joy on his parents' faces when he became surprised.
His father had gifted a hand-crafted wooden sculpture of a sparrow, and his mother had gifted him a jadeite button hung on a handmade hemp necklace. Damon cried out in elation and jumped around atop the bed, messing up the bedsheets. Still, his parents only smiled and laughed at his antics, never getting angry at him. Not once in his entire childhood.
Seasons turned on Pinemist Mountain. Two years passed by as Damon grew taller, and his parents became shorter as they hunched. He enjoyed a happy, albeit modest, life in this small wooden shack. He imagined this happiness would stretch on forever. A life filled with the smell of wood shavings, the sound of his mother humming a tune as she did her needlework, and the comfort and warmth of the shack. But this peacefulness was short-lived. The change did not come with a warning. As the birds in the forest flew away in a noisy rush, and the smell of smoke overpowered the scent of pine, a group of bandits descended upon the village. When the Fletchers' home was discovered by one of these bandits, the 10-year-old Damon's life changed completely.
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As Damon and his parents prepared to turn in for the night, they heard a sound. It was the tolling of a bell. It could be heard resonating from the village center. They huddled together on their bed, listening to the ringing of the bell. One by one, the ringing continued. It rang five times.
Benjamin's face immediately hardened when he heard the fifth ring. He quickly grabbed his bow and arrows out of a storage closet before approaching Lyla and whispering into her ear.
Lyla's face paled, and she began looking around in a wild panic, her arms floundering and unable to decide what to do.
Benjamin grabbed Lyla's face between his rough, calloused hands and said, "Lyla, focus. We must keep Damon safe, no matter what."
Lyla's trembling pupils abruptly stopped, and her breathing swiftly calmed down. She now had her purpose.
Damon's face was filled with fear and uncertainty as his mother frantically shoved him into the closet, now able to fit him as the bow and arrows were taken out.
"It's okay, dear. Everything will be okay. Just stay in here with your eyes closed. Don't make a sound, like we are playing hide and seek. Just stay here. Don't come out no matter what." Lyla urgently whispered to Damon with a trace of despair leaking through.
Once Damon was inside the closet, he tried to follow his mother's instructions, but couldn't help but peek through the crack between the closet doors when he heard a loud bang followed by a thunk.
Thwack!
"You almost got me, old man. Almost," a raspy voice rang out. "But you only had that one arrow prepared, didn't you?" The harsh voice chuckled.
Damon could clearly hear the gruff voice of an adult man. He couldn't see what was happening properly through the tiny crack. He saw the sheen of metal as the man brandished his sword, and his father standing protectively in front of his mother with his trembling hands tightly grasping the weathered hunting knife he used to skin animals. He heard the creaking of the old wooden floorboards underneath the heavy footsteps of the bandit as he approached. He was shaking in terror, not even noticing the wetness in his pants, dripping down his legs.
"Run, Lyla! I'll hold him off somehow!"
"I can't! How can I just run away by myself!"
Damon could hear the desperate yelling of his parents. They were intending to protect him until the very end with their own bodies. The last thing he saw was a flash of a blade, followed by the sound of two thuds caused by his parents collapsing.
The bandit heard some muffled sobs and was drawn toward the closet. He opened the door to find the young Damon sobbing uncontrollably, but still covering his mouth and nose with both of his hands. Despite the gruesome scene before him, Damon still had his eyes, filled with rage and killing intent, fixed on the bandit's face. The bandit did not strike immediately. He looked down at the crying boy, the corners of his mouth stretching. It wasn't a grimace of effort or guilt at taking another human's life; it was a smile. He was enjoying this.
As death loomed over Damon, his vision narrowed and focused on the crooked and dirty teeth enclosed by dry and cracked lips. Gripping his fists so tight his palms turned white and clenching his teeth so hard his gums started to bleed, he stared at the smiling mouth with bloodshot eyes and tears flowing down his cheeks. You… are smiling? After killing mother and father… After killing the incredible parents that took in an orphan like me… How can you smile? Please, anyone, help me. I want to wipe that smile off his face. Please… If only the chest hidden above fell on his head right now… Filled with fury and faced with his own helplessness, he could only curse and plead inwardly. All the hatred and desperation coalesced into a single wish. Fall.
The bandit began to swing his weapon down when, at that exact instant, the air above the bandit seemed to shudder. The small, yet heavy, wooden chest, hidden on top of the closet, abruptly toppled over, as if pushed, and crashed into the bandit's head. The man collapsed, and Damon slowly walked over to pick up the knife the bandit dropped. He looked down at the bandit. His wish had come true. At this moment, the tips of his lips stretched upwards. A smile eerily similar to the bandit's could be seen on his face.
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Damon hid in the nearby misty mountain until the sun came up before venturing his way back down to his home. When he arrived back at his home, he saw that the bodies of his parents had disappeared, along with anything of value. The entire shack was a mess, covered in blood. The bedding had been ripped up, the furniture broken and lying about, and even one of the walls had partially collapsed.
Fighting back the tears forming in his eyes, Damon hurriedly ran to the village, where he saw a large group of people gathered near the village entrance. A lot of them were kneeling and wailing at one side, while the rest were silently standing motionless nearby with their heads lowered. As Damon drew closer, he saw that the wailing villagers were kneeling and clutching at bodies covered with bloodstained cloth. The village chief noticed Damon approaching and quickly ran forward to embrace him. He did not speak any words and slowly brought him toward the bodies of two adults. They were his parents. He collapsed on the spot and broke down crying until the sun set and a full moon rose high into the night.
Three days later, the burial ritual was completed for all the villagers who had passed away. Although the burial was completed, the mourning ceremony would last another three months.
Three months passed in a blur: the daily mourning ceremonies, being force-fed by the villagers, sleeping in a room at the Chief's house while the adults helped rebuild his home, and the numbness that wouldn't disappear. After the three months had passed, the village chief called Damon aside in his house to talk.
"Damon, I know it is still very hard for you to think about that night, but can you tell me what happened? How did you survive? The bandit who attacked you was found dead inside your home. How did he die?" asked the village chief.
"Chief… My mother and father hid me in the closet and… defended me from the bandit, but he… he managed to… kill them and find me. When he opened the closet door, I just stared at the bandit in the eyes, and all I could do… was wish that he would die. Then I made the chest of valuables on top of the closet fall and hit him on the head. After that… I just left them all behind and ran into the mountains… I… I shouldn't have left my parents all alone and run away…" replied Damon while looking down and holding back tears.
The village chief just gave a small smile and assured Damon that fate has a way of giving back what was taken and that it wasn't his fault that the bandit died. Although Damon was still convinced that he had caused the chest to fall and kill the bandit, he didn't bring it up to the village chief. During this conversation, the village chief's son, Jon, was listening in from the next room and heard what Damon said.
The next day, as Damon was slowly walking through the village to reach the burial grounds where his parents lay, he heard some children discussing him as a topic.
"Did you hear? Damon said that he can move a chest using his head," said one boy.
"Using his head? I can do that too! Although I might not have the smarts to learn how to read or write, my head is definitely hard enough to move a chest!" replied a skinny boy with a big head.
"No, dummy, he said he can move the chest by thinking about it, not touching it!" replied the first boy.
"Just by thinking about it? Wow! I wish I could do that. I would smack my older brother on his head when he's being mean to me without getting caught!" said the skinny boy.
"Idiot, how can anyone move something with just their thoughts? He must have gone crazy after watching his parents die in front of him," said a third boy while slightly sneering.
"Hey, hey! Be quiet! That's Damon walking past us right there!" whispered the first boy.
Damon did not pause his steps or even raise his head to look at the three boys. His shoulders remained drooped low, and his facial expression did not even stir. His eyes, though, started to burn with a ferocious glint. They don't believe me? They think that I've gone crazy? I will show them who's crazy. Unbeknownst to him, the mind of the immature Damon latched onto this thought as a coping mechanism to distract him from his trauma.
After visiting his parents' graves, he ran straight up into the mountains. He found a large clearing against a cliff face about halfway up the mountain where the mist was a little less dense. "This is a good place to try it out," he thought to himself as he picked up a small stone and placed it atop a boulder that came up to his chest.
Damon stared at the stone for a few minutes without anything happening. He suddenly opened his eyes wide and let out a small roar.
"HAH!"
The stone remained completely still, and the only change was his shout echoing down the mountain. Slightly embarrassed, Damon scratched his head while frowning.
"Maybe it's not as easy as I thought it would be?"
Time flew past as Damon obsessed about making the stone move, the sun gradually dipping behind the mountain. Frustration turned into desperation as his attempts yielded no merit. There was nothing he hadn't tried: shouting at it while pushing his arms forward, glaring at it while holding his breath, even yelling 'up, up and away!' while touching his middle two fingers to the base of his palm, yet nothing worked.
Were the village boys right about me? No! The chest fell JUST as I thought of it! I caused it. It can't be fake. It must be real!
In his irritation, he grabbed the stone and threw it at the cliff. After dusting his hands on his pants, he decided to go home for the day and come back tomorrow morning to try again, still adamant to prove he was not crazy. As he started walking, he came to a sudden stop while a shiver ran down his spine.
"Something is strange… I threw that stone at the cliff face earlier, but… how come I didn't hear any sound?" Damon turned around to look at the cliff. It looked like any ordinary cliff face. He slowly approached the cliff and reached out to touch it. His hand passed through the rock wall as if there was nothing there. With his eyes and mouth wide open in shock, he slowly walked through the illusory wall, the rock melting away before his very eyes.