It was another white night in Lower Cordor. A layer of snow rose up to the ankles and muffled every sound, the streets echoing with distant whispers, ghostly conversations that had happened many moments before they were heard. Fat snowflakes drifted lazily, heavily, from a thick black sky.
On a small alleyway, far away from the noticeable figures of the city, far from the sight and thoughts of the adventurers and heroes of the island, there gathered a group of dark silluetes. They huddled together, naked feet red against the frozen stone, clouds of vapor fleeing with what little heat they had, sneaking out between chattering teeth.
Street urchins, orphans of a thousand wars, beggars from countless ruined families, the forgotten consequences of all the heroic moments celebrated by Cordor. Hidden, freezing and starving.
Apart from even them, a small boy, no older than six, crouched in the corner. With the splinters of ruined crates, tissue torn from his already sparse clothing and an odd assortment of trash, he had built a small shelter for himself. But he was not happy. Not yet.
At his feet was a pityful ammount of tinder, thin scraps of wood stolen from the nearest carpentry station, and absolutly nothing to set them on fire with.
His mind, though, was alive, swirling with the memories of stories he had heard, of words written in old tomes and, above it all,the arcane runes he had spied on a wizard's spellbook, runes red like fire, runes that danced like flames, runes that promissed warmer nights.
He drew them on the floor with the only thing he could do it with, the partialy congealed blood of a dead rat. He knew them by heart, but something in his mind made him pause, made him consider the dark red writting before him. An overpowering desire, an intuition that called from within his very bones, told him, commanded him, to change the last rune ever so slightly. A wider curve, a straighter line at the top, a thicker circle around the inner do-
The fiery explosion that followed was not expected. In the blink of an eye, the boy found himself upside down, glued against the wall. It took even less time than that for a wide smile to form on his dirty,snot covered face. The tinder was burning, as well as his shelter, and he could already feel the gentle, warm kiss on his skin.
Thinking Differently
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