Chapter Text
Once upon a time in a small village lived a twelve-year-old boy named Peter. Although he seemed like any other boy, albeit with rather thick eyebrows above his crystal blue eyes, he was anything but. In fact, Peter was the youngest member of the Kirkland Clan.
A notorious family of wizards.
Wizards were common and their reception was different depending on what their ability was. For example a wizard who could read minds, control people or had full control over dark magic wasn't likely to be as liked as a wizard who could create objects out of thin air or control light magic.
Peter couldn't do any of those. He wasn't all that impressive really. He was a mere water wizard. But he didn't let that stop him. He was going to be the greatest wizard of them all. After all his brothers were all great. For example his brother Alistair had proved himself a capable fire wizard and expert archer, his brother Connor could control plant life and his brother Dylan, well he was a light wizard. One of the strongest Peter had ever seen.
True he hadn't seen much outside his mundane village, but he didn't let that bother him. After all he had three big brothers who loved him.
And yet Peter had moments where he felt like an outsider. His brothers were all quite older than him, Alistair being thirty years old. He couldn't shake off the feeling that his brothers knew things that he had no access to.
The thing he hated most was how little he knew about his mother. After all, Clara Kirkland was considered one of the strongest witches of her time. And yet all Peter heard about her was "She was great, kind and powerful."
That wasn't enough! She was his mother and yet he knew nothing about her! What did she like? What didn't she like? What was she like? Was she temperamental like Alistair or was she kind and friendly like Dylan? Or perhaps she was a jokester like Connor? Or maybe she was once a confused kid like Peter? Who cared that the young boy had questions about his mother? Certainly not his brothers. They would get a funny look on their faces, every time Peter asked.
"Well not today." He told himself, staring at his reflection in the mirror. Today was his twelfth birthday. He was a big boy now. He would insist like a man to know about her. They wouldn't deny him on his birthday. With that in mind, he went downstairs for breakfast. He was ready.
"Good morning, birthday boy." Dylan's cheerful and soft voice greeted. As usual he was already up preparing breakfast, while setting the table. His smile had always been very contagious and Peter couldn't help grin back.
"Good morning, Dylan." He greeted back already sitting comfortably at the table where delicious breakfast was waiting.
"Any plans for today?" Connor asked, who had just woken up and had dragged Alistair along. Alistair's hair was even messier than usual. Peter had no doubt that had it not been for his birthday, Alistair would have slept longer. He did after all work frequently when everyone else was long asleep.
Peter was sure that one day he would be as hardworking and selfless as his brothers were.
"I do have something in mind." Peter spoke innocently.
"Oh, is that so?" Alistair raised an eyebrow.
Peter smiled, he had their attention.
"I am a big boy now, aren't I?" He asked.
Alistair and Dylan hesitated and Connor noticed that. He smiled and ruffled his brother's hair.
"Whatever you say, squirt. It's your birthday."
"So anything goes?" Peter continued. Connor nodded, not at all suspecting what was to happen.
"In that case can you guys tell me about mum?" Peter inquired. Connor's grin fell and his eyes darkened, while Alistair looked at Peter with a look that was clearly a warning to drop it. Well Peter was going to give up. Not anymore.
"Well?"
Dylan collected himself and tried to fix the tense atmosphere.
"She was very...kind and sweet." He replied.
"Too kind." Alistair muttered, only to be kicked under the table by Dylan, whole Connor stayed quiet.
"Yes, yes. I already know that. But I want to know more. She's my mother after all." Peter insisted.
"She's dead, Peter. The least we can do is leave her rest in peace." Alistair spoke, trying not to yell. Peter felt his anger build up.
"That's not fair. You all knew her. I was a baby when she died, I barely know anything about her. I deserve to know."
"Drop it." Alistair warned.
"No!" Peter yelled, stubbornly. Alistair lost his temper and hit the table with his fist.
"Enough! I have only one rule, is it that hard to follow it?!"
"It's a dumb one!"
"Well, you live under my roof and will follow my rules!" Alistair yelled. His eyes widened when he saw Peter's eyes watering with anger.
"Fine. Whatever." He got up leaving the cottage to get some fresh air. Alistair looked down, disappointed at himself. Dylan and Connor softly patted his shoulders. Peter just needed time too calm down. It was going to be alright.
Oh how wrong they were.