Fate woke up to the sun bearing down on him from the window of his bedroom.
Rather than open, it was shattered, one of the many victims of his dad's rages. He grinned like a kid on Christmas morning, throwing the tattered blanket off and standing from his hole-filled and maggot-infested bed.
He grabbed a shirt off of the floor – a brown tunic with only two finger-sized holes in the back, the nicest one he owned – and slipped it on, having slept in his pants to ward off the chilly night.
He then put on his shoes, leaning against the wall and ignoring the twinge of his scars as he put covered his feet with sturdy leather boots. The boots were by far the most valuable thing he owned, a gift from his late mother.
They were enchanted with an increased durability by the town's only Adept, so Fate could do whatever he wished without the worry of them tearing or getting holes. His father had tried several times to pawn them off for booze money, prompting many a fight.
Fully clothed, he left his room and entered the 'kitchen,' which was just a stove and a knee-high tub to wash dishes and laundry. The only food on the table was being chowed down on by Fate's father, Terna. Terna was a beefy middle-aged man with a full head of black hair and cold blue eyes, the same as Fate's.
Typical for a father and son, they looked remarkably alike. Fate could easily pass for a younger Terna, sent back in time by a Space Mage for some great journey. The only thing separating them was Terna's short beard and Fate's black sclera.
Fate's eyes were the source of much anguish when he was a child. He was always teased or shunned by children and adults alike. Their fear of the unknown he represented was replaced by fear of him when he turned sixteen.
Having trained by a cave in the old forest for months, Fate was a taught cord of lean muscle, a physique he was quite proud of. He wasn't a hulking brute like his father, nor a scrawny wimp like the Gerretson's kid, but instead a lean machine that could run just as easily as knock your lights out.
Now no one, not his peers nor the adults, or even his father, tried to fight him anymore. Instead, they kept plausible deniability, goading him with their words while ready to run to the nearest Guard at a moment's notice. The Mages of this town were the only ones that treated him humanely, especially the man who had made the boots he wore now for his mother.
Old Man Travis was the strongest man in the village, and the only person Fate could call a friend. Travis, the only Mage of the town not stationed here by the Guard, was not frightened by his eyes but intrigued.
He told Fate that his unique eyes were a sure sign of a Mage Seed, a latent Facet that could change his life for the better, giving him access to the Spells and the lofty Royal Mage Academy.
"Any food left?" Fate asked his father.
"You know the rules. You cover you, I cover me," Terna replied between bites.
Fate was well aware of the rule, but there was the occasional day – once or twice a month, when Terna received a bonus for the hard work he put in at the lumber yard – when Fate's father brought something for him. Today, it seemed, wasn't one of those days.
Fate nodded, unperturbed, and moved to leave. As he opened the door, his father called out behind him. "Turn your shirt around. I can see that eyesore you got on your back."
Fate complied without a word, sliding his arms inside the shirt and twisting it around before poking his arms back out, then left, closing the door behind him.
The 'eyesore' his father referred to was his scar, a nasty X-shaped mark he had 'earned' during a moment of desperation. Four years back, when he was a small lad of only fourteen, he had been mugged on his way home from a long day of work at Old Man Travis' cobbling warehouse by another group of kids.
Bereft of pay that was supposed to feed him for the next two weeks, he turned to stealing. Three days before his next paycheck, he got caught stealing from Ms. Appleton's apple orchard and was swiftly detained. The Empress' Guard, the police force and army of the Settan Empire, sentenced him to thirty-six lashes.
Tradition dictated that the flogger swap hands after every six lashes to avoid injuries that ran too deep; after all, the aim was to wound and humiliate, not kill. The change in trajectory from such an action is what gave criminals the iconic X-mark, another thing Fate was shunned for in his youth.
Personally, he considered the beating his father gave him when the old man learned he got caught to be much worse than the whip. The Guard at least had the courtesy to stop before nightfall.
But all of that was in the past, and nothing could ruin Fate's good mood. He stopped by Barry's food stall and bought a bite to eat, munching on a loaf of bread filled with chicken as he made his way to the town's church.
He stopped a few feet away and bowed, paying the traditional respects to the Ascended before he wiped the crumbs off of his mouth and went inside.
He went inside the two-thousand-foot-wide church and was greeted by the entire town: all three hundred and twenty citizens of the village of Brergan, minus his father. Even Old Man Travis was here, giving Fate an affectionate wave from the front row of the church's pews.
Fate walked confidently between the pews, which were separated down the middle for the double door entranced. He ignored the stares and silent sneers, refusing to allow these selfish people to ruin his big day. He strode confidently toward the steps of the raised dais, stopping respectfully in front of the village's priest.
Today was his 18th birthday. As customary in the Settan Empire, it was his Empress-given right to be tested by the church for a Mage Seed. If he failed, nothing would change. But if he passed the test, he would have the chance to go to the Royal Mage Academy and get a fresh start away from this village.