THE WANDERING SORCERER
+ BG MUSIC
In the massive and wide hallways of Lord . . . 's estate, two young boys quarreled. One with short, round brown locks and the other with blond, wavy, unkempt ones. The blond boy was on the floor, eyes wide with shock and his cheek hardned with a pink bruise from the brown boy's knuckles.
"Stop following me around like some slow brat, would you? It really pisses me off." the brown-haired boy cursed, his fists clenched and a looked of revulsion and malice filling his glowering eyes. He stood over the downed blond with unrelenting hatred swirling in his gaze, his lips pursed as if he could pit on him at any moment.
The blond boy watched him, rubbing the bruise as if he couldn't believe that it was there. "K-Kirnon?—" the boy, Fane, called out to him but was interrupted by the tightening scowl on Kirnon's face.
"And don't call me that, you piece of trash! I don't want to be dragged down to your level. . ."
. . .
. . .
. . .
It wasn't always like this between Kirnon and I. Aside from my Mother, Kirnon was always the kindest to me. Whenever I made a mistake, whenever I messed up, he would never condemn me for it or hit me like Lord . . . would. He was the best at everything that he picked up—cooking, cleaning, singing and whatnot. There was even a time where our Lord suddenly had a taste for Desiertian coffee whose beans were tough in the sense that it was difficult for even the most seasoned of baristas to bring out their best flavors. So when our Lord told Kirnon to brew him a cup, he was able to do it perfectly and with no practice at all. He impressed even the eldest of our family members, which was an impressive feat to accomplish.
That incident and many others alone were enough to make us wonder if he was able to do all of these things because his life depended on it—which it often would—or if he simply had a natural affinity to pick things up and master them. Many of the young Howler children were compared to him and were told to look at him as a role model. Many of my aunts and cousins brought up their children to be carbon copies of Kirnon, and even more began to regard him as the "Howler Family Prodigy" or something along those lines. But I didn't mind any of that. My family pushed me to be more like him, and while I did, it wasn't because they told me to. The admiration was genuine and existed even before our family suddenly began to compare us to Kirnon. I'm not sure what it was, but I just wanted to be like him.
Our Lord was one that could be hard to read at times. Sometimes, we could never really tell what he was thinking. Ever.
WHATEVER AM I TO DO WITHOUT MY MASTER?