Ashur’s face was red with anger while his father watched him stripping laces. It was hard working for a peasant cobbler and even harder when he’s your father.

“I can’t keep the knife straight long enough, Da,” Ashur growned.

Fed up with his insolence, Adrian glared at the brown haired child, “You’ll do it and give me no lip boy.”

“I won’t do it! I hate being an apprentice, I hate working in this shop, I hate that you’re fixing boots for filthy farm hands.”

Adrian grabbed a fourteen-inch work boot within arm’s reach, whipping it at the boy hard. He regretted it immediately. Clearly the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. Having been a little older than Ashur in his memories, he remembered the awful violent fights with his own father. Flashes of the old man, drunk with fists balled up and screaming, crossed his mind. More than once the mean bastard took his frustrations out on Adrian’s body while his younger brother watched.

“He’s five years old god damn, ye,” Adrian thought to himself. “I wouldn’t want to be strippin’ no damn laces either.”

Adrian turned to his son, embarrassed by his actions and determined to do better. He could tell Ashur was boiling mad, unhappy with his situation in life and frustrated with his lack of choice. At five-years-old, decisions are often made for you, like when to wake up, eat, sleep, work or play. People even told you when to feel happy or sad. An unusually bright child, the boy had told him more than once:

“I’ll feel what I want to feel and I’ll do what I want to do.”

Ashur’s face changed suddenly, like the boy had just swallowed a frog. While still holding the knife, he started waving the hand around in front him in slow movements.

Bosse, an eight-month-old mutt Ashur had begged for going into his fifth birthday, jaunted into the workshop. Adrian had agreed to get the dog for Ashur but was set on using the animal as a conduit to learn responsibility and gaining a sense of duty.

“I won’t feed your dog, Ashur. I won’t teach him right from wrong. These are your responsibilities and it’s part of owning a pet. If the dog gets in trouble, you’ll be the one to blame,” Adrian told his son when he presented him with the puppy.

And Ashur had met the task well. Bosse had been house broken for months and knew several commands. Dogs will be dogs, however, and Adrian’s workbench was strewn with tools, old hides, and most importantly that day: the remains of Adrian’s lunch. Being oddly distracted with his hand waving, the boy did not notice the animal’s trajectory in time.

“Bosse, No!” Ashur yelled as the dog jumped toward the plate.

In his hurry to correct the mutt, Ashur had yelled, dropped the knife and lunged at the dog. Adrian could feel some sort of pressure building up in the room, and thousands of tiny goose bumps emerged from his arms. Ashur’s knees suddenly gave way as if exhaustion overcame him, and he collapsed to the floor. Shaking, Ashur got back to his feet and saw Bosse lay on the floor lifeless.

“Bosse!” Ashur knelt beside his dog confused about what had happened. The child had no idea why there was an expanding pool of blood growing around the fallen animal. “Da, I don’t understand. What’s wrong with Bosse,” he cried as he crawled through the sticky red circle to hold his dog.

Adrian had seen it though. After the boy dropped stripping knife it hit the ground, bounced and immediately flew towards the dog as fast as if it had been thrown. Adrian had heard rumors of this happening occasionally but never thought to see it himself. His son had just used mana.

“My god,” Adrian thought. “The boy’s a mage.”