Brunnhold Dormitories | Hamis 23rd, 2708 | Evening
Hewondered how his parents spent their day. Each year, on the 23rd of Hamis, the same question came to mind. Was it like every other day for them; a day spent perhaps visiting Vienda, or simply enjoying the views from home? He hadn't been to his home village of Dorhaven in six years now, but surely it couldn't have changed drastically since his final departure. His parents had always loved the place, having moved there years before Lars was even an idea, and though his family had never enjoyed large groups of humans, they had settled into Dorhaven with ease. Their manor was admittedly out of place in the village, but it had been home to the galdori parents and their little child.
His first ten years of life were spent in complete luxury. His parents were well-off even for galdori, and Lars had grown up expecting everything from life. Never was he to wake up before mid-morning at earliest, and breakfast was always served on a shining tray in bed, made by his own personal butler--yes, each of the three had their own. His had been an older gentleman, a fellow galdor that had come across hard times and offered his services to their family in exchange for residence on their manor. What had been his name? Lars struggled to remember...
Aldiron. Aldiron Kipling; a galdor of short stature, a balding head, and an ever-caring gaze, even when Lars showed arrogance and acted as if he was above the man simply because of his servitude. As a child, Lars had never cared. The world was his oyster, but everything was meant to come to him easily; without resistance. He was meant to be a leader, a forward-thinker and innovator for all of Anaxas, and his parents groomed him into that attitude from a very young age. Not once could they consider their son not reaching his full potential--no, they expected him to rule one day.
Funny how things ended up going, that day he took his test. Ten full years of build-up only to unleash the harshest of disappointments upon the world. None of them had ever considered the option that their dear Laurentius wouldn't be all-powerful. He could still feel the weight of the silence that descended upon them. Still felt the complete humiliation that had brought a redness to his face, and tears to his eyes. His parents' continued silence, even as the test administrators explained that Lars would be taken into Brunnhold, just confirmed that he was no longer to be a part of their life from that point onward. The last time they spoke, it was moments before the test; words of encouragement mixed with laughs from his father, who insisted that he would need no luck.
"Laurentius, dear, just do your best. Alioe is with you."
"Son, even without Alioe's help, you'd blow this test away. Now get in there and show them what you've got."
No words from them as Lars was told that he was passive. No words as he had to be dragged from his parents by force; little hands clutching at his mother's dress and holding on for dear life. Throughout his years, the same mother that had always wiped away his tears then turned her faraway gaze from him. He couldn't understand why the gods would make him this way, why they would bestow such a curse upon his devoted and committed parents. Why was he made such a waste of life? Why was life suddenly so cruel? Why?
Questions he never cared to ask anymore. Six years ago he struggled with his new truths, and searched desperately for answers when none existed. Still they didn't exist, but his days were easier.
Lars sat upon his bed, wrapped up in his thoughts. Dim light from the oil lamp illuminated his face; his expression one of almost melancholic curiosity as he recalled his days with his parents. It was what brought him to wonder how they kept themselves each year on Hamis 23rd. Surely they couldn't have just forgotten about him in only six years, though he imagined they wouldn't ever mention his name these days. They probably wouldn't even be able to recognize him in a few years or so, as the light of youth that had once stirred within him was slowly replaced with a dark... bleakness. A submission towards his fate; knowledge that he would never again return to the manor in Dorhaven.
The gated passive finally moved, pushing himself off the bed to instead lean down and reach underneath. Moments later he pulled out a small, crumpled piece of paper, and returned to his place on the bed. He moved so that his back was against the wall of the dorm and pulled his knees up to his chest; cold, bony fingers straightening out the little note to look over it.
Though he wasn't extremely literate, never having learned to read or write in any level past his tenth year, he knew the words his parents had written upon the old note in impeccable handwriting.
"We love you, Laurentius."
Beneath the words were scribbled imitations; where Lars had attempted to copy them and better his own writing anytime he'd had access to a quill. To anyone else, he was sure it looked like a sad excuse to simply see the words written over again, and relive the moments when they rang true. Although if anyone paid attention to the way the passive spoke--the tendency to refer to himself in the third person--they would know that he simply wasn't well-educated, couldn't recall basic grammar, and wanted to better himself in that regard. He wouldn't admit that the former was also true, and that his heart often longed just to be reminded that someone, at some point in time, had loved him.
"Lars loves you too," whispered the passive, eyes fixed upon the note, before correcting himself.
"I loves you too."
His first ten years of life were spent in complete luxury. His parents were well-off even for galdori, and Lars had grown up expecting everything from life. Never was he to wake up before mid-morning at earliest, and breakfast was always served on a shining tray in bed, made by his own personal butler--yes, each of the three had their own. His had been an older gentleman, a fellow galdor that had come across hard times and offered his services to their family in exchange for residence on their manor. What had been his name? Lars struggled to remember...
Aldiron. Aldiron Kipling; a galdor of short stature, a balding head, and an ever-caring gaze, even when Lars showed arrogance and acted as if he was above the man simply because of his servitude. As a child, Lars had never cared. The world was his oyster, but everything was meant to come to him easily; without resistance. He was meant to be a leader, a forward-thinker and innovator for all of Anaxas, and his parents groomed him into that attitude from a very young age. Not once could they consider their son not reaching his full potential--no, they expected him to rule one day.
Funny how things ended up going, that day he took his test. Ten full years of build-up only to unleash the harshest of disappointments upon the world. None of them had ever considered the option that their dear Laurentius wouldn't be all-powerful. He could still feel the weight of the silence that descended upon them. Still felt the complete humiliation that had brought a redness to his face, and tears to his eyes. His parents' continued silence, even as the test administrators explained that Lars would be taken into Brunnhold, just confirmed that he was no longer to be a part of their life from that point onward. The last time they spoke, it was moments before the test; words of encouragement mixed with laughs from his father, who insisted that he would need no luck.
"Laurentius, dear, just do your best. Alioe is with you."
"Son, even without Alioe's help, you'd blow this test away. Now get in there and show them what you've got."
No words from them as Lars was told that he was passive. No words as he had to be dragged from his parents by force; little hands clutching at his mother's dress and holding on for dear life. Throughout his years, the same mother that had always wiped away his tears then turned her faraway gaze from him. He couldn't understand why the gods would make him this way, why they would bestow such a curse upon his devoted and committed parents. Why was he made such a waste of life? Why was life suddenly so cruel? Why?
Questions he never cared to ask anymore. Six years ago he struggled with his new truths, and searched desperately for answers when none existed. Still they didn't exist, but his days were easier.
Lars sat upon his bed, wrapped up in his thoughts. Dim light from the oil lamp illuminated his face; his expression one of almost melancholic curiosity as he recalled his days with his parents. It was what brought him to wonder how they kept themselves each year on Hamis 23rd. Surely they couldn't have just forgotten about him in only six years, though he imagined they wouldn't ever mention his name these days. They probably wouldn't even be able to recognize him in a few years or so, as the light of youth that had once stirred within him was slowly replaced with a dark... bleakness. A submission towards his fate; knowledge that he would never again return to the manor in Dorhaven.
The gated passive finally moved, pushing himself off the bed to instead lean down and reach underneath. Moments later he pulled out a small, crumpled piece of paper, and returned to his place on the bed. He moved so that his back was against the wall of the dorm and pulled his knees up to his chest; cold, bony fingers straightening out the little note to look over it.
Though he wasn't extremely literate, never having learned to read or write in any level past his tenth year, he knew the words his parents had written upon the old note in impeccable handwriting.
"We love you, Laurentius."
Beneath the words were scribbled imitations; where Lars had attempted to copy them and better his own writing anytime he'd had access to a quill. To anyone else, he was sure it looked like a sad excuse to simply see the words written over again, and relive the moments when they rang true. Although if anyone paid attention to the way the passive spoke--the tendency to refer to himself in the third person--they would know that he simply wasn't well-educated, couldn't recall basic grammar, and wanted to better himself in that regard. He wouldn't admit that the former was also true, and that his heart often longed just to be reminded that someone, at some point in time, had loved him.
"Lars loves you too," whispered the passive, eyes fixed upon the note, before correcting himself.
"I loves you too."
