Raoul

The village was alive, a symphony of movement and sound. People danced and laughed to their own music, children chased each other through sunlit streets, and the scent of fresh-cooked bread and roasted meat filled the air. Every corner shimmered with life and beauty a celebration of what it meant to be Avascar. Many had powers, gifts that marked them as blessed, but I had nothing. I was powerless, a nobody, invisible in a world built for the extraordinary. I never had a childhood. Every day demanded labor, every mistake punished, every pleasure forbidden. Even the most basic needs sleep, hydration, food had to be earned. I was forced to receive the sacred tattoo marks of the village, etched into my skin as a symbol of honor and respect, a public declaration that I must obey and pray for permission to roam its streets. Each line burned into me, each prayer whispered over me, a chain reminding me of my place. Yet, there were small mercies. My brother softened the harsh world for me. Though I had no power, he comforted me with his. Flames danced along his hands, fireflies swarming me, warming my bruised body, soothing aches left behind by lashes and endless labor. For the first time, I was granted a sword a chance to train, to protect, to earn a place among the others. I had prayed for this moment, and they had prayed over me, binding me to duty and hope. Yet I was still so tired. My body ached, my spirit faltered, and the weight of being a powerless nobody pressed on me like a mountain. Sometimes, I stole little joys: rawring to scare children, laughing as I ran, exploring secret corners of the village or forest, fleeting freedom that reminded me I was alive. Even in this beautiful, glowing village, where music and laughter filled every street, I carried exhaustion, bruises, and the heavy knowledge that survival was never given it had to be earned, every single day. But duty drew me and my brother apart