A fucking sewer rat… That’s the beast the world had chosen to end Valar’s short life? It just wasn’t fair, but was anything in life really?

  The children of noble families were probably eating lavishly right then, their parents and relatives doing their absolute best to prepare their children for their eventual awakening. What had anyone done for Valar? His parents had gone and died when he was three, not even leaving a picture for the child to look at, and nobody else had even attempted to help him afterwards. At least he remembered the face of his mother, his father being only a blurry image in his dreams.

  As for other people, the other children of the orphanage had ostracised him for years. Admittedly, he could at least somewhat understand their behaviour toward him, but the matron… She had been the worst of them all.

  “I’m doing this for your own good,” Valar had heard those exact words countless times, and he hated them from the bottom of his heart. Those words had often been accompanied by humiliation, isolation and physical abuse. Even worse, he was halfway sure that the matron had thought she was speaking the truth…

  Ophelia, The head matron of the orphanage, was a self centered, righteous and profoundly mean woman who desired control over all else. She ruled the orphanage with an iron fist, and the city guard could not do anything to her as the children were hers to discipline as long as nobody adopted them. In addition to that, her methods actually worked somewhat well. Ophelia's cruel lessons on manners and refined speech molded the young children into prime candidates for adoption, although those lessons only seemed to stick when potential foster parents were visiting the orphanage.

  Valar was one of the unfortunate children that had grown up in the orphanage, and he hated that prison with a passion. The difference was that most of the other kids got rescued from there by families desiring someone to foster and benefit from in their later years. That had not happened to him.

  Valar was afflicted with frequent, often debilitating, bouts of pain. That made him undesirable in the eyes of both parents and the head matron.

  She had tried the minimum amount, taking Valar to the city infirmary when he was younger. The few healers they had met had been completely stumped on his condition. Frankly, nothing was physically wrong with him, and that made Ophelia furious.

  In recent years, Valar’s pains had been disregarded and he had been punished or talked down to when he had tried to ask for help. He could have withstood the punishment, but the continued disregard for his condition had felt even more horrible. The young boy had felt powerless, so he had started looking for some control of his own life. That’s when Valar had started his grand attempts at escape.

  The matron was furious each and every time he tried to escape. Even though she wanted to be rid of him, Ophelia desired control over each child in the orphanage. Valar willingly challenged her rule, and was punished harshly each and every time.

  The woman still wanted him to be adopted so she always limited the worst of her punishments to his back, where potential foster parents wouldn’t see the damage the boy had faced.

  After all, nobody wanted a broken and bitter child.

  Valar started walking back slowly, the rat's eyes tracking his every movement. The small twitches of the rat’s nose and its gaze spoke of confidence that he did not have. Both knew who was the predator and who was the prey, and Valar’s instincts screamed at him to run as fast as he could.

  That would be useless anyway… I can’t run fast enough in these sewers to escape that beast. Better to retreat slowly. Maybe it won't-.

  Valar stumbled, a broken tile catching his bare foot, and yelped with fright.

  The rat needed no more encouragement. It saw its opportunity and pounced, its silhouette approaching Valar’s falling form as fast as a charging bull. The teenager barely managed to regain balance and refocus on the rat, but he was too slow. His eyes told him that the rat was less than a meter away, and its massive yellowed teeth were approaching his neck faster than he thought possible for such a gangly creature. Oh fuck…

  Valar managed to cross his arms against his chest before the rat's bulk crashed against the boy’s lighter body—as if that helped. As the beast impacted him, Valar expected to fly back from its bulk, and perhaps even hit the sewer wall behind him. That did not happen.

  The red eyed beast landed at an angle, crushing him against the stone flooring. Valar felt the air leaving his lungs, every bone in his upper body creaking from the impact and subsequent weight on him. He tried to scream, but he had no air, so only a weak grunt of pain left his mouth.

  Valar tried hitting the rat’s face. The only result of the weak punch was a more irate rat on his chest.

  As the rat started biting, trying to find a spot to crush Valar’s neck, the situation truly dawned on him. I’m going to actually die, aren’t I? I can’t harm this creature, and all my struggling is only delaying the inevitable…

  Every attack the rat made impacted Valar like the guards’ batons and its claws dug into the skin on his chest and arms like the makeshift whip of the matron. When he regained some of the air in his lungs, he started screaming. That only seemed to annoy the rat more.

  As Valar fought, he rapidly became more and more tired—the small wounds accumulating faster and faster. I’m actually going to die… I’m actually going to die to a fucking rat! No… no no NO!

  For the first time in the ‘fight’, Valar felt something different than the rat’s claws and teeth piercing his skin or his own growing exhaustion, and it was much, much worse…

  An awakening was supposed to feel painful but euphoric in its intensity. The pain resulted from the child’s gate to their soul opening, the overflowing magic carving pathways into their now magical body. Valar had been told that he would enjoy the pain of awakening, and that some even tried to make drugs that simulated the feeling as people wanted to feel that euphoric feeling again and again.

  If that was the feeling of awakening, Valar knew this pain wasn’t it. If the pain caused by an awakening was euphoric in its intensity, this was not. There was no euphoria, no feeling of the overwhelming bliss of magic brought from the soul. This was the pain of something in Valar’s soul going terribly wrong, and it burned just like his usual bouts of pain. But much worse.

  In that frozen moment in time, Valar stared at the predatory eyes of the rat, its teeth ready to sink into his neck. His vision of the rat faded to black as he felt something tear deep inside. This wasn’t like tearing a muscle, the pain going much deeper, touching his very soul and inner self.

  Valar’s hearing was completely dominated by a sound like the fabric of his shirt tearing—a deep ripping sound originating from the depths of his own body.

  The feeling wasn’t only auditory, his every sense trying to depict what was happening to his inner self. His eyes were assaulted by visions of tearing fabric, crumbling walls and quaking earth. All of the visions were united by their outcome: The landscape or item being permanently altered and broken.

  Every single cell in Valar’s body rebelled at the feeling, a sense of wrongness and pain suffusing the eternal moment of suffering he was going through. He wanted to scream, but no sound came out. He wanted to move, but his limbs wouldn’t obey his orders. Most importantly, he wanted the pain to stop by any means necessary, even if it meant his own death. That sweet release was denied from him.

  Just then, in that frozen moment, Valar’s visions changed. Valar saw what had been torn open. It was his own soul, its gate still shut tight but a small hole on its side. The torn wound looked hauntingly wrong—like something that was never ever supposed to happen.

  Valar could just watch in shock as light erupted from the wound, rapidly followed by its source. He saw the purest flame, unmarred by the intent of the beings who wielded a pale imitation for their magics. He saw it, and he felt it.

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  The frozen moment was shattered by Valar’s guttural scream, bright orange flame erupting from every single orifice of his body for a brief instant. He felt a new kind of pain, not soul deep but in his body. For the briefest instant, the boy burned alive. He was a torch that burned everything around him including himself. If anyone were to see it, they could have sworn that a second sun appeared in the Lyndale sewers that night—burning bright and incinerating everything that dared to enter its presence.

  A dazed silence followed the experience, Valar feeling the wound in his soul as a constant small pain. The burning flame was gone as well as the deadly beast.

  The ash covered boy looked around distractedly, seeing the embers dance around his prone body. The pain wasn’t gone, but it was like comparing being poked by a needle to being sawed in half. He had been torn open and burned alive, so everything afterwards felt negligible. Horrendous, but negligible.

  Valar let out a small chuckle which slowly evolved to a manic laugh. The past few seconds had been so traumatizing that his mind tried to reject even the idea of the events ever occurring. His mind tried its best, but it couldn’t destroy the images—the memory of a soul going deeper than mere thoughts.

  He couldn’t stop laughing until he started coughing, the ashes of the beast falling in his throat. As he finished hacking out his lungs, he took deep breaths, laying on the sewer floor, an occasional manic giggle escaping his mouth.

  I… I need to get back up. I’m still within city walls, and the guards could find me in mere minutes. That fight… Valar shivered, the memory of the tearing fresh in his mind. It would have alerted anyone above the sewers.

  Valar found out that getting up wasn’t an easy task, as his body was not obeying his orders at all. He felt a lingering pain all over his body and a dull one deep in his chest. It was his soul reminding him that he was wounded and hurting, and he could not do anything but heed that simple warning.

  As he lay there, Valar became more and more frustrated. Minutes ran by, the boy trying his best to just get up, but he was only recovering slowly. The stress caused by the brief second of being a human torch was wrecking his whole body, so feeling and strength were returning at a glacial pace.

  Valar was finally able to move his arms after an indeterminate time of just laying still and recovering. He felt his body, his clothing more like rags at that point. The fire had burned his clothes, but it had clearly been directed at the rat that had been attacking him. Only the front of his shirt was totally destroyed, and his pants seemed relatively whole after the incident.

  As Valar felt around his aching body, he found tens of little wounds scattered across his upper body and arms. To his surprise, none were bleeding, as all the wounds were seared closed. It seemed that his open wounds had acted as an exit to the fire erupting from his soul and had burned closed when the fire passed through them.

  This was not normal. Valar had been taught the basics of awakening in the orphanage, the absolute basics of magic being mandatory information for all citizens of Leoria.

  All magic any sapient race used required runes or something similar to guide its flow—that’s what he had been taught. In addition to that, all magic a being could use was supposed to come from their gate, and Valar was fairly sure the gate to his soul was still locked shut. In addition, he didn’t know any runes, so even if he had been awakened, he wouldn’t have been able to cast any spells.

  At least there’s something positive to grab from this experience. Now I know what was wrong with me... Valar remembered the wounds opening clearly, and there had been a small hole in the wall of his soul.

  For some twisted reason, Valar’s soul had been punctured for his whole time at the orphanage, but he had no idea on how that could even happen. That doesn’t help me right now though. I really do have to get up, as much as even the idea of moving sucks…

  The process of getting on his feet was neither fast nor easy, but it was something Valar could definitely do. He had already rested for quite a while after the beast encounter and felt himself ready to move. He supported himself with his hands and pushed his rebelling body to obey his orders. At least I’m not bleeding. That would be even worse.

  Valar started limping towards the source of light, the limp rapidly turning to a walk as he started regaining his strength. The soul deep pain never left him, nor did the stench of burned waste, but he progressed steadily.

  When Valar reached the source of the light, he sighed in relief. It was a drainage exit outside of the city, just like he had thought. He approached it carefully, cautious of any potential threats. When there were none that he could see, he took the final steps carefully, and finally reached the exit.

  Tears came to Valar’s eyes as he gazed at the sparsely populated forest—streaks of sunlight piercing the trees at an angle. It was sunrise, and Valar had somehow made it out of the city.

  Valar had no memory of ever seeing outside city walls, so when he exited the sewer, he couldn’t help but just look around. He had of course heard about forests, as had everyone, but actually seeing the forest, hearing its ambience and smelling its scents… It was simply too much. He fell to his knees, just touching the grass covered forest floor and taking everything in.

  Tears were flowing from his eyes freely, small sobs escaping his wrecked body at an unsteady pace. I made it out, didn’t I? I actually succeeded? Having practically no memory from before the orphanage apart from snippets of bedtime stories told to him by his mother, Valar’s memory of outside was from the small courtyard of the orphanage, which honestly wasn’t much.

  He could not process what he witnessed, so he wept instead. He wept for lost years, he wept for pain endured, but most importantly, he wept for freedom.

  Many a restless night Valar had laid on the sandy ground of the orphanage courtyard and dreamed about freedom. He didn’t remember much of the life before his imprisonment, but some bedtime stories stuck in his young head.

  His favorite had always been a story about a boy, in many ways similar to him, who had asked for help from the stars above. In the story, the boy had been saved—the moral of the story being that hope was never lost—and Valar had hoped for someone who could save him too. They had never come, so he had saved himself.

  “I wish upon a star, make me free…” I guess it came true eventually. Valar let out a small chuckle, his joy marred by the constant dull pain from his soul. That boy never paid a price for his freedom, did he? Valar had hopefully paid his price, and he was going to damn well enjoy his freedom now that he had it. Time to go.

  As Valar got up and started walking through the bright green forest, surrounded by plants and the sounds of small animals he had no way of identifying, he started feeling for his soul. Unsurprisingly, he could do so, the experience of it being wounded making finding its location at his very core easy.

  His soul was obviously wounded, but when he felt it, Valar found out something new. In addition to the domineering feeling of pain, there was an inherent knowledge associated with the wound.

  Valar knew that if he wanted the fire to resurface, he could draw it out, the feeling being frankly obvious once he found what to look for.

  The mere idea of drawing the fire out made Valar shiver, his memory of the recent painful experience both intense and fresh. Only if it’s absolutely necessary. That kind of pain is what makes people go insane.

  Valar wanted to promise to himself that he would never use that power again. He truly did. The pain wasn’t even worth comparing to the meager punishments of the orphanage or his usual pains—the intensity overpowering those experiences exponentially—but he just couldn’t let go.

  For his whole life, Valar had been powerless, forced to bow to his tormentors. Now that he had power, however small it was, he just could not promise himself to never use it. In his eyes, forsaking that power would have been like raising himself from under those who tormented him, only to lower himself back below them.

  Even the idea of lowering himself like that, just to be trampled further down, was disgusting.

  Valar retreated from his introspection, focusing on his surroundings once more. It was morning, the birds chirping and sun rising, and Valar basked in the peaceful nature of it all.

  He walked without a specific direction, his only aim to be further from the city. Valar had not been able to prepare for the forest since the orphanage didn’t have maps to research or books to read. Still, he knew that there were towns all around Lyndale, growing food for the fortified city. He needed to find his way out of the forest, and the first step was finding a road.

  As Valar continued his way in the forest, oblivious of his surroundings, a shadow followed him. It followed him carefully, used to stalking its prey.

  This was not a rat, hiding in the sewer and scrounging scraps, but a predator, confident it wouldn’t find a challenge this close to the walled city.

  After all, who would challenge a bronze rank umbral terror in its own territory? A challenger wouldn’t even know what struck them, as the panther attacked from magical darkness at the perfect moment.

  It stalked and it watched, its mind telling it that the unawakened child was easy prey.

  Its instincts however… They told the beast to turn tail and run, as a bigger predator had entered its lands.

  For the boy certainly had claws—even if he didn’t know how far they could reach just yet.