I just stared at the small fire that was burning in front of me, staring at the small flame, I didn't even feel tired or sleepy.
I couldn't feel any pain or sadness, but all I was feeling was joy and anticipation.
I could feel the power pulsing through my body like a pulse,
I looked down at my legs the flame moving from toe to toe as per my wishes I only needed to think and the flame would dance and then dance again and repeat
the flames moved faster and faster until it was dancing all over my whole body like water flowing through a river.
The fire danced up the length of my arms and then stopped right in front of my face,
I closed my eyes tightly observing the feeling of the power surging through my veins,
It didn't take me very long before I realized that it was very easy to control it, using my magic was as easy as breathing, taking no more effort than moving an arm I hadn't had before.
I didn't need to concentrate hard or anything like that, I just thought about it and it obeyed me like a dog obeying its master, it started to spin around my arm then my hand then the flame danced over my fingers until it reached my palm.
I opened my eyes and stared at the flame in awe but the flame never showed me how it was supposed to work.
Click with a thought the flame transformed into a speck of lightning dancing and twirling in my chained hands.
I smiled wide letting the lightning run over the chain as I imagined it doing so. I then took my wrist and let it float above my head, a ball of electricity now dancing around my finger.
I snapped it off and the ball of lightning disappeared,
"Wow" I whispered to myself
With a single thought, I cut off the energy
I was excited and happy but also terrified and scared all at once, the fact that I had powers meant only one thing
I am a Radiant
A bloody motherfucking radiant
I am the most hated thing in this world, the most feared thing to this side of heaven and earth, and I am the evilest thing to come from the other side. The perfect analogy for my situation would be I was a jew living in Nazi Germany during Hitler's glory years.
Fucking hell
I was screwed no I am screwed.
I had gone through the rites that meant there was no magic of any kind left inside of me, none at all,
All the energy that was running through my body was gone taken and resold,
I was only supposed to breathe, There was still blood inside me. That was about all that was supposed to be left.
But here I was able to do this shit and the only people on whom the rites had no effect were the bloody radiants, the pariah the untouchable, the most hated people of this world
the situation was way worse than I could ever convey it was like
'SEE ONE KILL ONE'
no,no,no
it was like
'Suspect one kill one'
"You're a fucking radiant" I whispered
just my rotten luck
Here in this world, this was the worst thing to be.
In this world where magic was not only possible but actually used to help the world survive.
It made things much better, I mean if you want to live, you must use magic to do so you have to be able to control a portion of your magic because otherwise you will die,
or at least you won't last for very long,
but even so, being someone without magic was a much better option than being a radiant.
If you were a radiant, they would just eat you alive;
they wouldn't allow you to live, no doubt about it.
They wouldn't even bother making a fuss about you being a human they just would kill you as fast as they could.
Being radiant is dangerous, and it means you are basically a monster.
If you are a radiant, there is no going back, no going back from being a radiant you are a killer and your existence was nothing short of a sin, so you were a danger to society, because being radiated you were automatically seen as evil, and being associated with a radiant meant you were automatically killed.
I shuddered thinking about my bleak future,
it seemed almost certain I wasn't destined for a bad life,
there were too many horrible possibilities to count for me to think I was going to live long.
Even the previous me had figured out he was a radiant and had planned for it,
he had decided he would fake being a warlock,
which meant he was planning to use his magic to deceive everyone,
he would just use one aspect of his power absorption and emission of heat with that he could it was an instinctual power of a warlock instead radiance of a radiant.
In the old times when radiant ruled the world, there was a lot of fear of radians,
Now they were nothing but hunted dogs no not dogs wolves would be a better analogy
they were seen as the greatest enemies and thus in today's world, they were hunted like animals.
It was a good plan, a solid one,
but it won't work in my situation,
the moment I showed even a lick of magic, people would know I was a radiant cause only radiant can use magic after going through the rite.
I would be hunted like a wolf.
"Why are you doing this to me?" I asked aloud
He said nothing. He never spoke.
"Answer me," I demanded.
Again, he stayed silent, and I was starting to feel irritated at him, but what could I do he was after all the all-mighty GOD.
I just closed my eyes and
Tried to forget everything that happened in the past few days. I focused on my breathing, which calmed me instantly, trying to push away the feelings, the memories, all my fears, and insecurities.
I felt something brush against my leg I felt another tug on my hair, I knew exactly what it was, and I tried to ignore them. But soon the tugging intensified to the point I was unable to keep the memory away anymore, it became real.
It was like a memory that was locked deep within my subconsciousness that had been hidden since before I could remember, a memory from a faraway past...a dark period of my life.
My mind went blank, my breath hitched and my heart thundered against my chest. I could feel sweat dripping down my forehead
I sat on the ground frozen, paralyzed. My stomach twisted and turned with nausea and I vomited, covering my face from the smell of rotten food and the stench of the waste that filled every crevice in my stomach.
The sickening sound of a dry heaving breath filled the empty air like the cries of a dying child, the ghosts were back.
I just closed my tightly and cried.
...................
Hours later I was climbing the back stairs of Aleksander's magical tent which was practically a Palace
carrying a monstrously heavy tray filled with a platter of peeled fruit, cinnamon-dusted pastries,
a round of stinking Azhaki cheese, and an urn of scalding nazrheel;
their tea that smelled like burning hay.
Every few steps I had to stop and let my muddled head clear, my churning stomach settle,
and the throbbing firestorm in my cheek subside.
I was dressed in a plain white sleeveless tunic that reached from shoulders to knees,
a concession to the Prince's distaste for seeing open wounds or excessive scars.
I was wearing loose black trousers and my feet were wrapped in thick leather sandals that kept my toes comfortably warm while keeping my feet from getting cold.
The prince had insisted on sending clothes to my cell.
I was grateful he did, although I hated the idea, but earlier I was basically covered in filth,
I couldn't help but feel dirty, not only filthy physically but mentally, and emotionally, my skin was tainted and my thoughts and feelings tainted, I felt tainted.
The slave master had done his job well, he had stripped the dirt from my skin leaving behind the pale smooth skin that was so rare, so beautiful to look at.
The tattoos were still visible around my arms, they had been burned into my skin and etched under the surface of the flesh to leave a brand forever imprinted on my skin, a small parting gift from Her the Baron's daughter.
Strangely enough, the slave master's biggest dilemma was not my scars but had been my hair.
I had no beard—The slaves weren't allowed to have any facial hair.
But, unlike the usual custom in slave houses, the Baron's daughter had commanded my hair be left long.
Durgan wanted it off but was afraid that would leave the burn marks on my face too prominent and expose the swollen, bloody lump where the men had laid the iron bar.
So instead, he had me tie it loosely to one side in the Nerzhi style—not braided, of course;
only blooded warriors wore it braided—hoping it would cover the folly.
He also put salve on the burn, a gesture I could not have mistaken for kindness.
The slave master was praying to see the next sunrise just like me.
As I climbed the staircase, my feet felt weak, I stumbled forward but caught myself each time, feeling the hot liquid on the palms of my hands.
My heart was beating quickly and erratically against my chest and I felt dizzy,
I needed to sit down.
I finally got up the final three flights to Aleksander's room where he was waiting.
"Ah, supper!" said the Prince as I walked through the gold-leaf doors and into a sumptuous sitting room.
I bowed—awkward with the tray—and congratulated myself when I managed to straighten up again without passing out.
There were seven or eight people in the room.
Three men and two women were seated on cushions around a low table playing Khusrat,
a Nerzhi gambling game that involved painted stones and wooden bowls and not a few lies.
It was a famous according to my memory a game where they checked it how good of a liar you were or how smart you were to catch liars.
I studiously did not look at anyone as I set the tray on another low table surrounded by blue and red silk cushions.
The slave master had been very specific about keeping my eyes down.
I wasn't sure if it was a household rule or just a way to keep my swollen, seeping cheek out of view.
"Look, all of you. I've got myself a new slave. A Marzaki who can read."
Marzaki was a common slang used to mean something foreign and highly undesirable; an impure or a beast.
A woman laughed, "How does it read?"
"Well," the Prince started, "it looks as though he can spell," he said, picking up a piece of paper that was lying on the floor next to the tray.
"here boy read this"
he threw the piece of paper but instead of obeying the law of physics the paper curled and twirled as it floated to my hands,
slowly drifting across the floor towards me.
I took it, careful to hold my wrists and fingers away from the object,
the slave had told me how dangerous it could be. Slowly,
I lifted my hand holding the parchment to the light,
I squinted my eye to try to see it clearer, my hand shaking slightly.
Slowly, ever so slowly, I brought the parchment closer to my eye and then gasped.
I didn't understand it at first but then it made sense:
The parchment had the words 'Kiss The Princess' written in huge block letters along the top edge in black ink.
Below that, the paper had more writing, a series of lines running down the middle, then two vertical rows with smaller lines running below them.
The characters were small and neat and yet incredibly complicated and hard to decipher at once.
"What is it?" one of the other two men asked impatiently
I quickly cleared my throat and replied, "It says here "kiss The princess".
"Speak up," said the prince. "How can you read if you can't speak clearly?"
I hurriedly repeated the words in a loud and clear voice.
'HA HA HA' the room erupted into laughter
"See I told you he could read" the prince joyously announced as he stood up and pulled the parchment out of my hands
"Yes yes yes, he's a natural. Just look at those arms!"
"Oh my, such strong biceps!"
"And that hair, it's like a lion, you would never see one this thick in these lands"
"That'..............."
but suddenly the prince stopped speaking and Before I could be properly afraid,
a hand reached under my chin and jerked it up.
By the time my eyes could focus after the nauseatingly sudden movement of my head,
they were looking straight into the hot amber gaze of Prince Aleksander.
"Get Durgan!"
"NOW!!!!"