The legend of a child, a seventh child of a seventh child, born in a time of strife and darkness had been passed down among families for generations. That such a child would be born with incredible magical powers, he would be able to go against the forces of darkness in order to save the people from the forces which oppressed them, and bring light once more to a land which had been starved of it for far too long. Every family in Anelia was familiar with the story, and it was not uncommon that these families would strive for seven children, in hopes that they would be saved from the monarchy that ruled over them, proclaiming death upon innumerable people for unknown reasons, and sending the rest tirelessly into the fields and mines to collect resources that they never saw again after turning them in.
The king of Anelia did not believe in such legends. His own family had ruled for as many generations as the legend had been passed down, and in that time they had seen hundreds of seventh sons of seventh sons. Not a one was capable of standing against them. For a time they had slaughtered these children, both to ensure their own lineage and to strike despair into the hearts of their subjects, but they eventually found that letting these children live, unable to fulfill any mystical prophecy, was a far better deterrent against any possible rebellion.
Dran was one of many seventh sons of a seventh son. He was different than others, however. He had, in fact, begun to develop magical powers at a young age. His parents were ecstatic, and put everything they had in to training him and keeping him a secret from the king's men. If they ever discovered him, Dran would die by the end of the day, no questions asked. This, they knew for certain. Dran struggled with his lessons, however, developing his powers slowly, but his parents showed no fear that he would not be able to take on the king. They believed so fully in the legends that, even if they died before he could, they believed that their son would be the one to save the kingdom.
Dran was not so sure. He was frightened, by the weight of the load being loaded on his back, by the pressure his parents were constantly forcing onto him, by the slowness of his development, and by the long nights that he had to spend training and studying, followed all too closely by the days of working in the fields. He was constantly tired, lagging behind all the people around him, which resulted in often being punished by the guards. His body was weak by the lack of sleep and the tearing pain of the whips on his back. This did not help him catch up.
Dran was not the youngest child in his family, however. A year after he was born, his parents had an eighth child, who they named Rolan. Rolan was not as loved by his parents, who spent the majority of their time with Dran, attempting to train him so that he might fulfill the legends. Accordingly, they did not realize that Dran was not the only one to develop magical powers. Rolan's magic, in fact, was far more powerful and quick growing than Dran could ever dream of. He had attempted to explain this to their parents, but they had simply set him aside to continue with Dran's training.
At nights, Rolan would often stay up, watching his older brother's training and secret, and mastering the skills Dran struggled with with ease. While his brother struggled, Rolan experimented with the powers that he was devloping, and found that he could invent new spells on his own. He created his own powers of healing, enhancement, and elemental mastery. At one time, he discovered the book from which his brother was being trained, and was surprised to see that the things he was able to do were nowhere to be found within its pages. He had long since surpassed what his parents could teach.
During the days, as he worked in the mines, he observed the people around him. They were weak, tired, and scared, but they each also held a small scrap of hope that the legend would be fulfilled. They yearned for a child that would be able to save them from the hardships that they so frequently faced. They spoke in hushed whispers of a seventh child whenever a new one was born. "Perhaps this will be the one," they would say, "who will finally develop the magic to save us."
They had no idea that there was one who stood among them who would soon be capable of far greater things than they could imagine. He was simply the wrong number for them to care.
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