The known world.
The wind was a slight breath, that tickled the freshly blooming flowers, the heel of spring brokered dashing strokes of greenery that stretched across the coiling mountains, and peeled the radiance of a thousand colors in a secluded valley.
Within the envelope of a dimly falling light, a young boy sunk within the earthly arms of a thick tree. His eyes slowly opened, and he quietly rose up. His movements were dull and tired. He gazed at the tree, his lips curved to a smile. He picked his parasol, and unfurled it. He gently stroked the thick trunk, his voice unfurling in a broken ripple, "Mom, Dad. I am again here. I apologise, I'm so troublesome. I just can't seem to be able to part with you, like I'm possessed I end up always coming here. I know I should be working hard, and placing some effort into my life, instead of reeling against the past. Yet it hurts to be without you, this lonesome misery. It's not that I'm estranged from the village, but it's not enough. Perhaps I'm too greedy. Please continue to guide and protect me. Today the envoy from the Magic Empire will arrive, and measure our talents. I hope this will awaken something in my weary heart, so I can make you two proud. I hope so anyway."
His hands slowly fell, his eyes flooded with tears, and he softly edged away, wiping his tears with his sleeve.
Past the valley, sunk into a barren cavern, with a thin river peeling past, stood a stack of civilization broken past the widowed trees that gazed longingly. A barrel of men with heavy muscles rode the earth carrying along a rich palanquin.
Sinking to the ground, the doors shot open. A bespectacled man, with long silver hair nested within a long curved hat. A thick robe with countless divine vigils dotting an elusive Heavenly prospect.
His thin face, wrinkled as he raised his lean hand to shield his soft eyes. The dashing wisp of the spring heat, seemed to affect him harshly.
Plucking the air, a condensed discus of water formed above his head.
His eye's spied on the native land far from his own, accustomed to aging practices that succumb him to a dangerous fright.
He sighed, and hummed in his mind, "Ah for the land of technology Sarfia to have fallen to such a state. This village is only a bit from the former capital, such that I cannot naively excuse their lack of modern powers, yet I was forcibly dragged into their ancient traditions and unfortunately spent ten days travelling here in that wagon, when I could have easily appeared in two. Yet as master said, it is important to respect the traditions of the ancients that passed down the way of magic. Insulting their tradition's is the same as insulting the lineage of Magic."
With a powerful front the young magic user performed a ceremony of easement upon his weary spirit.
He cradled a great boon of magic within his hands, and the spoil of gold and silver spilled into countless firmaments that ran through the village.
The magic user explained, "Please gather all who are touched by the wisp of magic."
The winds blew a whisper, dragging along a thinly branched splint of fate, it was a faded and indecisive flickering through the quagmire of the inept null of chaos. It pursed it's dimensions, and began to disperse.
Yet a thin finger raced forth, grasping between the nihility of end, peeling across the void, scrapping the nerve of the flirtatious allure of destiny, pulling forth a glistening ball of crimson flowers dancing across his hands up to his head. A fated thread stretched across the pathless frontier.
The young boys face doused in a wave of sweat, the heavy heat of his breaths drag against his chest.
The fiery sun clashed against his weak skin, and he anxiously twisted around scanning for his parasol. His hot blooded rush towards so distinct thought, now felt like parade of death as his mind began to numb.
His knees buckled and he collapsed, he dragged his way forward his skin tearing against the hard packs of rocks dotting the unkept path.
His eyes turned to the darkness, and with a sudden push of some performing force he jumped and grabbed the parasol. Covering his head, he breathed heavily.
He covered his face with his hand, his voice unfurling, "I'm so weak. A few seconds in the sun and I can barely move. What's wrong with me."
He sighed, eventually picking himself up, his weary and exhausted body felt like a bag of stones rolling down ready to strike a rock and shatter into a million pieces.
He stumbled softly downwards, was eventually met by a middle aged man with long black hair, his eyes wide and he hurriedly picked up the young boy, he exasperatedly complained, "Abascus you fool. Again you've trekked up this path, you're going to get yourself killed one of these days and send everyone in the village into a festival of sorrow. Imagine the heartache your parent's must feel, they made their beds in that far off valley without any thought, only to see their one and only son rush to his death every day trying to get there. How do you think they would feel. I told you I'd take you this weekend."
Abascus lowered his head, but said, "I know uncle Leon."
The middle aged man named Leon sighed, he smiled and said, "Well it's fine. Looking at this thread it means you're a destined one, you're a divinity. You're future is out there, beyond these enclosed hills and mountains. Your parents are so proud, and I'm sure this cursed physique of yours will soon too disappear."
Abascus nodded, he didn't rush to death, he rushed towards hope.
"What's out there uncle?"
Leon exaggerated, "All that may exist! A place of thousands of stars and Gods. Fear and awe exist in tandem, an unfeeling blade that is either used or robbed. Abascus remember that in the outside world you never give an inch to anyone else, look out for only yourself. Out there is the Land's Known."