You were raised by your grandma when your mother died so young you can’t remember her. Or maybe you just block her out. Oh how your grandma would tell you stories about the sphere. How she once came from there before being thrown in the pit for being accused of being a witch.

All because of a book, a book they threw with her. A book she gave to you. A spell book they accused, and that accusation was enough to throw her here. You never questioned how she survived the fall. You never questioned how your mother died, why you didn’t have a father. None of that mattered when you had her.

But as grandmas do, they die of old age. You were just 10. You aimlessly walked around the city dissociating and clutching onto the book she left you with. So much “thought” into that book. Mindlessly bumped into a man.

“You alright kid?” He looked down at you and noticed all the energy coming from your book.

Some years later

It annoyed you, Ejin was usually chill with everyone. Always giving praise to Zanka and Rudo about potential and how good they were. Yet when he saw you all he could say was

“You should train more,” he said blankly. “But you did well enough.” He gave you that usual calm grin he gave everyone