Being here is not the same. Sure the people are the same, but with the things he’s heard recently, he cannot see this place the same. Except his mother. Practically throws himself from the horse in an urgency to find her. Bare feet slap against sand and pebbles. No one dares to make eye contact. The whole village is eerily quiet. The other children don’t even approach him. One foot in front of the other. Whipping wind scratching and clawing around his face. The sight of home slows him. A ring of black sand surrounds it. The symbol of death. Frowning, he stops outside the ring. There’s a hammering in his ears and then silence. Everything fades away. With heavy heart, he forces his feet to cross the black material and into his forsaken home. All the decor is now black. The absence of life.

“Mother?”

Calling for her won’t change the reality of what he’s looking at. Yet he can’t bring himself to believe it. Eyes whisk wildly about the place. Fingers fumbling to open room doors. Feet seeking for a light at the end of a tunnel. Stumbling into her room, it finally it settles on his skin.

“Mot-ther…”

Her form is covered, but there’s no denying it’s her. Both knees thunk against the hardwood floor by the bedside. Left alone in this world. The bathroom starts to flood, a pipe bursting, as a loud sob shears its way out of his lungs. Instinctively, he pulls the sheet away. Begging for her to come back. More water springs forth from the kitchen as he pulls her against his chest. All he can do is rock back and forth. There’s no warmth coming from her. And for another moment he begs. Realizing that he’ll never hear her tell another story. Feel gentle overworked hands on his face. Or even smell her cooking again.

“No matter what happens to me, you mustn’t get angry.”

His throat is raw by the time anyone dares to enter the small home. He knows they’re there. Tehir feet sloshing through the water to where he is. No one comes in the room. Simply watching him, pity from their presence. Along with fear. Beneath it all is agitation.

“Saiyel, you’re disturbing the deceased.”

“Shh, mother… is sleeping.”

He simply glances back, all his features slightly normal. Eyes where they belong, hair no longer an endless waterfall on his head. His voice is broken and cracked.

“Saiyel-”

“She’s sleeping!”

The hushed yell is enough to keep them from pressing the matter. One by one they make their exit. Muttering amongst themselves. It doesn’t take long for the front door to slam. The fragile boy turns back to the lifeless body in his arms. Setting her gently back in the bed. Covering her once again before getting to his feet.

“Take her if you must, but she will not be the only one you collect.”

An outline of a body in the corner of the room shifts so slightly. It has no visible form. Yet to Saiyel this is death. And not very many have ever seen him unless on their deathbeds themselves. That is except himself. For as long as he can remember he has always been able to see this figure, brushing it off as something to with do who he is. Or rather what he is.

“I take it you’ve learned the truth. What this place actually is. And by the way, I’m not Death.”

Bare feet march back through the flooded home, recalling how welcoming it once was. In doing so he spots an envelope on the tiny living room table. His name scrawled across it in his mother’s familiar scribbling. Curiously he picks it up and slides out the yellowing parchment. Something else falling onto the tabletop. After several moments he skims the letter again. Siblings? It didn’t seem right, but who is he to say. This woman who, in fact, had not been his mother, did everything to protect him. And in the end, chose to suffer the same fate as he when the village had turned against her. The picture shows two kids, both far too young to probably even remember this woman.

The entire place will burn. It’s time somebody did something about them.

“What good will killing them do you? There are plenty of people in the world doing this. Barteslene is full of those who would turn us, children, into soldiers. This isn’t the first place it was done.”

“It must be done.”

“Says a fountain. But I guess you’re right. Now isn’t the time. Wait more. They’re wary of you. Just as they were with me.”

“With you?”

The silhouetted figure nods their head. Saiyel lifts a single brow watching this person with pure astonishment and questions. He’d never heard of another child being capable of much besides himself. Then again, he’d never heard of the village having a use for any of the mutated children. They’d never been concerned about the wellbeing of any of the children until he himself showed signs of being capable of controlling it.

“So you can control it?”

“Of course I can. And if they’d had their way. Violent Valier would have found out. Not that he cares.”

“Violent… Valier? You mean the King?”

“No, my mother. Yes, the King.”

He’s never heard anyone title their ruler as such. Not that anyone in the village talks much about him. Considering how out of reach they are from the castle.

“You don’t have to believe me, but if you went into the city which I’m sure you did. Recall what you saw. How many of them were like you and me. Different, not exactly human. Your elders are cowards.”

“They are, but I don’t understand what Lord Valier has to do with it.”

“Do you want to die on the terms of your so-called Elders? Or on your own terms when the time is right? Are you willing to let them sacrifice you to save themselves?”