Perched on the roof of one of the houses in the city of Egypt, Amon Raith, with cream-colored skin and eyes reflecting the turmoil within, stared out into the setting Sun. The crimson hues painted the sky, casting shadows that mirrored the depths of his solitude.
As the Sun dipped below the horizon, Amon's mind echoed with the haunting memories of his past. Two years ago, at the age of 12, he lost his parents to the merciless rampage of dragonkin from the Monster Realm – The Beastlands. The journey, initially hopeful as they sought refuge in Egypt, ended in tragedy, leaving Amon an orphan.
The city, where he sought solace among orphan children, offered no comfort. Branded an outsider, the other children cast him away, deeming him cursed. The absence of magical abilities, combined with his outsider status, became the heavy burden Amon carried.
Alone on the rooftop, as the city below bustled with life, Amon gazed into the distance. The setting Sun whispered the echoes of his past, the cries of the dragonkin, and the lost warmth of his parents. In this solitude, he clung to the fragments of his shattered life, yearning for acceptance in a world that seemed determined to cast him into shadows.
Amon fought tirelessly to fit in among the other children, a constant uphill battle against their rejection and mockery. He knew the odds were against him – without magical capabilities, he was at a disadvantage in a world where magic was revered. Yet, his determination manifested in the physical strength he honed to a monstrous state for a 14-year-old.
His body, a testament to relentless training, could lift oxen and engage with lions and leopards bare-handed. Amon became a living embodiment of strength, an attempt to compensate for the magical void within. But even his formidable physical prowess couldn't bridge the gap that magic created.
Among his tormentors were Raina and Sole, a pair of twins who found amusement in making Amon's life unbearable. Sole, with the ability to manipulate fire, delighted in burning Amon's belongings. Despite being well aware of his control over the element, Sole played the role of a reckless child. Raina, on the other hand, embraced the cold and heartlessness, freezing Amon to the brink of frostbite and causing him to lose consciousness.
The adults turned a blind eye to Amon's suffering, dismissing his complaints with indifference. In their eyes, he was cursed, an outcast who didn't deserve their protection. When Raina and Sole's cruel antics crossed the line, the adults merely said, "They're just playing." The city, once a beacon of hope, had become a battleground for Amon, where survival meant enduring the merciless taunts and abuses of those who deemed him cursed.
*Later on that night*
Amon opened his eyes, greeted by the play of shadows along the walls of the room he shared with the other boys. The stillness of slumber enveloped the space, prompting him to silently slip out of bed. With nimble movements, he crept towards the open window and leaped into the night, landing with a muffled thud on the dusty ground below.
Unbeknownst to Amon, his nightly escapades were not hidden from all eyes. As he dashed into the darkness, an enigmatic figure trailed behind him. The city slept, oblivious to the nocturnal ritual unfolding on its outskirts.
"I wonder if I can catch one tonight," Amon muttered to himself as he swiftly navigated the labyrinthine alleys. His destination, the city gates, loomed in the distance. But just as he began to scale the imposing gate, a sudden grip tightened around his shoulder. Startled, Amon whirled around, instinctively delivering a backhand that sent the unseen pursuer crashing to the ground.
With a snarl, the figure scrambled to its feet, revealing the sneering visage of Sole, anger etched across his face. Amon's eyes widened in surprise as Sole conjured two menacing flames in his palms.
"YOU'LL PAY FOR THAT," Sole roared, the flames dancing ominously, casting eerie shadows on the deserted streets. Amon, now confronted by the fury of a fire-wielding tormentor, braced himself for the confrontation that unfolded under the cloak of the night.
As Sole dashed towards Amon, he sidestepped just in time, causing Sole to collide with the gate wall, battering himself. Looking over at Amon, enraged, Sole unleashed a column of burning flames. With little time to dodge, Amon raised his hands in a futile attempt to protect himself from the flames. The scorching heat seared his flesh, and a scream of pain escaped his lips as he fell to the ground.
"One DAY, ONE DAY I WILL DESTROY YOU AND EVERYONE IN THIS VILLAGE," Sole screamed in his mind, teeth gritted in pain. Sole approached Amon with a sinister grin, "Wait until the adults find out about you sneaking out at night. Their punishment will be even more gruesome," he chuckled evilly, the shadows of the night concealing the malevolence in his expression.
Sole seized Amon, gripping the collar of his shirt, as the guards from the gate rushed down due to the flames and screaming. Sole's cold eyes stared into Amon as his icy grin spread along his face. Despite the pain and anger, Amon headbutted Sole, causing him to fall backward on his arse. Chuckling gently, Amon looked up as the guards reached them. Sole began to spin a tale about Amon attempting to sneak out past curfew. One of the guards regarded Amon with a cold gleam, then used magic to lift him from the ground and take him back to the city. Sole followed behind, his face bruised from the two blows Amon landed on him.
Unable to move his arms due to the burns, Amon lay motionless in his bed. The adults called upon the city's mage, Barak, to come and heal his damaged arms. Barak, an old grumpy mage with a disdain for children, burst through the room's door and hobbled his way to Amon with a disgusted look. "I don't even know why they keep you around," he muttered, rubbing some cold ointment on Amon's arms, instantly numbing them. Amon wrinkled his nose in disgust at the unpleasant smell.
After finishing the application of the ointment to my arms, Barak got up and whispered to one of the head adults. I overheard them, "It will be a few weeks before his arms are fully healed, which is unusual. I used my awareness, and his arms were already repairing themselves at an alarming rate." Barak argued, to which the adult replied, "Maybe your mind is clouded, you old drunkard. That can't be right; it is essentially impossible. I'll keep a watch on him until he is healed," the adult remarked. As I lay there, the head leader of the orphanage approached me and whispered into my ear, "Don't think you can avoid the punishment just because you hurt a little, cursed child!" He sneered menacingly into my ear, then delivered a sharp, stinging pain to my face with his fist before walking out.