I look up at the glittering
twilight sky, the light switching from the sun to the moon. I feel
the sorrow of loneliness sinking deep into my broken, cracked
heart. I’ve been on the road for around three years now,
traveling from place to place, leaving only when they find out
about my powers.
And yes, I said powers. They’re not common and as far as
I know there aren’t many of us left. We are the survivors. No
one of us is the same, but the reason that almost none of us are
left is because of one foolish, weak survivor, for he was the one
that doomed our fate. By showing the people the extent of his
powers he destroyed a whole village, turning everything in it to
ash. The people came after him with vengeance and his thoughtless
mistake got him killed. Once he had paid for his mistake in full,
they came after the rest of us, claiming that we would kill them
all if one of the more powerful survivors lost control.
Not many of us made it out, and the ones who did decided that
it was best if we went on alone, for if they caught us as a group,
there would be none of us left to continue on with our practices.
So we split, and this is where I am now standing in the crowded
market area avoiding death, as usual.
