Chapter Text
Freed Justine was the only child to the chief of Betula, a small village in the country of Bosco. Despite his father's disdain for magic, Freed had found a love for it and the academics that followed. On sleepless nights where the only comfort was the various sounds of the surrounding wilderness, the young mage would sneak out of the house and into the village library, where he'd been slowly working his way through reading every book in there.
Little happened in the time Freed lived in his home village, the most excitement coming from rain storms that ravaged the land in summer. He was content to spend his time fulfilling the duties his father expected and going through the entire library, at least until he would be old enough to set out safely on his own. When that would be, he wasn't sure. But alongside sword training, he had begun practicing magic in secret. There was a particularly old book that Freed had found in the library, and though he could hardly read it he was learning about Enchantments, something that greatly interested him.
But all that familiarity was lost come the year X774.
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The damp cobble muffled the thud of Freed's paced footsteps as he made his way through the village. It was near the end of spring, evident in the rain showers. Glancing at the sky, he thinks it'll rain again soon, and he frowns to himself. He continued through the village quietly, enjoying the chilly night air. Drawing his coat closer to his form, he made his way around the back of the library.
The librarian was someone Freed had become acquainted with from the many hours he'd spent reading there. She was a kind girl, only slightly older than himself. She'd taken over care of the library in recent years when her father's health declined after her mother's passing. In these years, she's done a lot to entertain his time; bringing him books when he was sick, notifying him whenever new books came in from the rare adventurers and traders that visited the village. His favorite was on his seventh birthday when she gave him the key to the basement of the library.
Freed stepped down the slightly hidden stairs to the basement door, unlocking it as he'd become familiar to. He held his breath a moment before he took in the musty air, his nose disagreeing with the damp scent that was soaked into the dark room. Closing the door quietly behind himself, he let the strips of moonlight peeking through the floorboards guide him to the stairs.
He paused, squinting into the darkness of the basement. A soft glow was barely visible between the shelves and stacked boxes, and Freed's curiosity got the best of him. Stumbling through the storage in the basement, he made his way around a shelf to see the object producing the light; set atop a wooden box was a book he'd never seen before.
The book looked terrible, the hide cover tattered and writing on the front faded beyond readability. Despite the dark appearance it had, there was a magical aura that drew him in. Delicately, he reached out to the book, feeling the rough exterior as he lifted it. The glowing followed his movement, never leaving the book to the darkness. Holding it to his chest, he hurried quietly albeit clumsily to the stairs, ascending to the library.
Winding through the darkened bookshelves the way he'd done many times before, he made his way to a desk in the back of the library, a window above letting the full moon look down upon it. He placed the book in the moonlight to be able to get a better look at it, taking a seat.
Freed froze, staring at the book. As if healed by the moon, the book looked to be in perfect condition as if newly written. The now legible title looked like gibberish to him, and he reached out to touch the book, confirming that it wasn't a mind trick and the book actually was, by some miracle, in good condition.
He traced a gentle finger over the cover, feeling the smooth and foreign shapes making up the title. He thinks he may have seen this language before, and he glanced around the darkened shelves surrounding him. Blessing his luck, he stood and reached for the book he'd been looking for, opening it and flipping through the languages. He sat back down, pausing at a page on ancient languages, and he successfully recognized the letters on the cover.
The Art of Dark Écriture.
The art of... what?
Curiously, Freed opened the book.
And that was what changed his life.
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Freed gasped awake, sitting up too quickly for his aching head. His body went cold when he realized he was in the middle of nowhere.
No. Worse than that, Freed was in the middle of his village.
Pain swelled in his right eye, and he raised a hand to hold his head, freezing. His hand had taken on a demonic appearance, covered in dark scales. A scream involuntarily left his throat, the horror of his situation settling in as he looked down to the rest of his body.
The entirety of the village seems to have vanished, leaving behind little bits of rubble smoldering with a dark energy. He could see the same dark energy rolling off the scales on his arms. He fell back, staring up at the stars and feeling sick.
He destroyed his village.
His home.
He didn't deserve to stay alive. Not when everyone he knew was dead. He'd never get to smell the fresh baked bread from the bakery again. Never feel his father's hands on his own as he corrected his sword stance. Never get to see the librarian who made his life better, letting him sneak into the library in the night.
Freed cried, the tears streaming and making him itchy. He thinks he may have fallen asleep again, but he wasn't sure; all he knew is that it was morning by time his vision wasn't blurred. He sat up reluctantly, part of him just wanting to lay there and cry until the earth brought him home to the rest of Betula. He was exhausted, scared and frustrated. A sour relief came over him when he saw he was back to normal, his pale skin showing through his tattered clothing.
He could've convinced himself nothing happened, but the silence of the debris around him was far too loud. He pushed himself to his feet, wobbling as his legs tried to give way, and looked around. There was nothing left to indicated that just last night there was a lively village here, the half buried stones of former buildings giving the impression of a history long past.
Freed felt numb, wandering listlessly.
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Some time had passed since he left. How much time, he isn't sure. He'd been wandering the forest for what's felt like years, growing to learn the way of the land. He used his prior knowledge from reading to forage, and eventually was able to catch fish. He'd passed many creatures in the wilderness, having to flee from a few monsters, and was sure he could get better nutrition from the animals. But the thought of hunting them was sickening, reminding him of the tragedy he'd caused.
Since the destruction of his home, Freed was scared to use his magic. He'd tried small enchantments to test the waters, but found his eye to ache each time. When resting by a lake, he inspected his reflection but appeared normal. Attempting to use his magic again, he noticed his right eye changed; turning dark and glowing purple, reminding him of The Art of Dark Écriture, that cursed book that ruined his life.
Freed tugged at his hair, parting it to cover the right side of his face. His hair had gotten longer now, reaching just below his shoulders. It was tradition from his father to keep long hair, as it showed his nobility in the village, and he'd had long hair that touched the floor, often braided to hang over his shoulders. Freed blinked when his reflection was disrupted, the tears he didn't notice dripping onto the water and creating ripples.
He sniffled, scrubbing the tears from his face as he stood up, walking along the edge of the lake towards where it broke off into a river. After hours of following upstream, listening to the rushing water and song of birds, Freed noticed a distant smokestack blowing over the treetops. He soon found himself upon the outskirts of a town, taking a deep breath before he started to head in.
He cautiously stepped through what appeared to be land belonging to a blacksmith, rounding the corner of the building and finding an older lady pounding iron. He froze, nervous as she stopped her work and looked up at him in surprise.
"Oh, dear me, are you alright?" She set her hammer down, wiping grimy hands on the apron she wore. The motherly calm she had washed over him, and he felt his shoulders slump. The weight of everything he'd been through hit him all at once, and he felt tired enough to fall asleep then.
"What's your name, sweetie?" She questioned gently, guiding him into her home. He mumbled a response, but he isn't sure it was his name at all. He felt himself start to sway, but she stayed steady beside him. Before he knew it, he was being laid upon a soft bed, a heavy hand brushing aside his hair and feeling his forehead.
Freed wasn't aware of much for a while, slipping in and out of consciousness as this kind stranger took care of him. He vaguely recalls being fed soup and made to drink a disgusting tea, eventually having enough strength to stay awake longer.
He felt weak, his whole body burning. The kind lady draped a cool cloth over his forehead, allowing him to relax into the mattress and breathe. He blinked, his vision remaining blurry but clear enough to see the lady moving stuff.
"M.." Freed cleared his throat, licking his lips. "My name is Freed Justine," he coughed, feeling sore. The bed dipped as she sat down, giving him a comforting smile.
"You can call me Mama J, sweetie." She brushed some of his hair aside. "Would you like some water?"
He nodded, sparing his dry throat from further words. She left for a moment and returned with a tall glass full of crystal clear water. She helped him sit up, and he gratefully drank. The water refreshingly washed down some of the remaining tension in his body.
"Do you know where you are? Are you lost?" Mama J asked carefully, taking the empty glass from him. Freed fought back tears, his lip quivering, and she sighed sadly. Freed was surprised when strong, warm arms wrapped around him, squeezing him gently as her hand began to brush over his messed hair. He sniffled, burying his face in her shoulder.
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Freed yawned as he carried empty boxes through town. A few months had passed since he arrived in Freesia Town, and he was welcomed kindly.
After he recovered at the blacksmith Mama J's home, he was directed to the church. The building itself was historical, a looming aged building. The priest of the church had a small sort of orphanage, and Freed was accepted among the few others. He felt a little out of place, being the youngest of the group, but they kept open arms for him.
He'd settled in relatively quick, falling in pace alongside the others. He did a lot of daily chores, all upkeep for the church. It was rather boring work, but Freed was just glad to have something to hold his attention that would otherwise dwell on the past.
There was an archive beside the church, functioning as the town's vast library. Freed went there with any free time he got, and was often assigned to organizing shelves. He sometimes found himself alone in the back of the archive, surrounded by old books about magic, and he'd been tempted to practice his runes again.
Freed still felt pain in his eye every time he used magic, but with his determined practice he was eventually able to use small enchantments with no issue. However, one day he had been caught by the priest and reprimanded. Magic wasn't allowed from then on, but it didn't stop him from secretly practicing.
If he was cursed, he may as well use it to his advantage, right?