"Fly, boy." The words echoed in young Hejdrik's mind long after he took
the plunge from the top of the castle's central spire. Being no more than
six years old, he did not understand the implications of what had
transpired, but the fear... Oh, the fear... That could be neither
misinterpreted nor forgotten. He understood the war as well as any boy his
age could understand something of the sort, but probing its deeper meaning
was as futile for young Hejdrik as the hours he spent trying to develop
proper sword form with the royal weapon master.
When he arrived in the bustling city of Seringale, Hejdrik remembered what
he had learned of the common people and did his best to blend in. He found
a niche as an apprentice to a wizened magician and showed a true knack for
illusions. He enjoyed the days spent learning and perfecting new
prestidigitations. As the first year of his new life in Seringale came to a
close, Hejdrik began to consider for the first time that he might not return
home someday to claim his inheritance.
