A fiery beginning

Tevaloon grew up in a small, oddly cozy household. It was one of the few houses to have a granite fireplace given the cost of the homestead. Of course it being a residence in the unlit city, often the needs of Tevaloon and his father were overlooked. Ragged clothes, wooden bowls and cups. Forced to eat with their hands at times. Meanwhile his mother ruled with absolute authority. Did Tevaloon hate his mother growing up? Its hard to say. He looked at her with awe, yet envy. Her speech caught into his juvenile brain, teaching it to speak with presence. His movements and body language mirrored hers precisely. Yet, he moved in a strangely masculine way. Another habit she taught him was the value of reading, but not reading itself. That was a skill he learned from his father, who himself was trained as a library assistant by one of the matron mothers. Tevaloon's father did not find a passion for reading, to him it was just a job. Something with utility, something needed to survive, but he loathed it. Eventually, after spending his entire life underground, fate finally caught up with him as it does with so many others. It was a fire that spread throughout the dry mold of the community. Thick, white and gray smoke billowed into the caverns. Then the flames whipped their tongues into his abode. Washing away his past life. He found himself alone with nothing more than leather shoes, a bag and a notebook. The stars greeted him along with the fresh surface air. Grief hit him strongly and he didn't know what to do, then he recalled a quote Life is what you make it. Luckily for him he understood it and had the motivation to carve out his own life.