"Amongst philosophers, there had often been discussions on whether the nature of one's lineage or the way one was raised affected a person more as they grew up. As one who had often dealt with the human mind, I would say that it was not the circumstances of your life that formed a person into whoever they are.

Instead, it's the decisions they made within those circumstances that did so." - Gillian Orwell, head of the Psychiatry and Psychology department in the Levain Institute of Higher Learning, circa 627 FP.

Wondrous sights.

Colors.

Light.

All those things were absent from the girl's life. Hers was a world of darkness - a concept she doesn't truly understand either - and sounds, of scents and touches. Where the sounds and scents carried by an errant breeze told her more of the world around her.

When others spoke of her, praised her for the color of her hair or her looks, she never had an idea what they meant. The girl child was born without sight. She had eyes, pretty eyes of a silvery-gray hue, yet those eyes beheld nothing at all.

It was not uncommon for such children, born with deficiencies, to be discarded by their parents as if they were trash. After all, not even healing magic was capable of healing deficiencies one was born with, and such children were often considered burdens, if not worse.

The girl was fortunate that she was born to a mother who loved her regardless. She had no father, at least, not one she knew of. They were poor, but even so they led a decently happy life, at least for a time.

But like all things, the good times came to an end.

It all came crashing down when she was five years old. Despite the time that had passed since then, the girl never forgot the events of that day, and it remained as clear as if it happened yesterday in her memories.

That fateful day, her mother had an unusual timbre in her voice - one the girl later recognized as panic - and had fussed up her hair, and smeared something smelly on it and her face both, before dressing her in some clothes that felt rough and told her to go out, and no matter what, not to return close to their home.

The girl was blind, true, but she was also active, and she had mostly memorized the roads around her home. She did as her mother bid, yet also hid herself in a corner not too far away. Close enough to hear what was happening in there.

She heard the sound of wood breaking apart, as if someone had broken their door, from the direction of the shack she and her mother had lived in. It was followed by angry shouts from what sounded like two, maybe three men, and some sobs from her mother.

It took everything the girl had to not go to her mother, as she remembered the desperate way her mother had pleaded for her to not return no matter what. The shouts escalated, though from the distance the girl didn't quite catch what they were about.

Then she heard her mother's screams. Screams which were brought to an abrupt end a moment later. The girl heard some rustling. Windows and doors were opened as people peeked out of their houses to see what the commotion was about. With that, she emboldened herself to move past the corner she had hid behind, so she could better listen to whatever took place.

"Fucking wench!" she heard one of the men curse. She also caught a whiff of the smell of a burning torch. Strange, it should not be dark yet, since she could only smell the one. There were always several torches lit in the streets when it was dark.

"Leave it be," said another voice. This one sounded… harsher, as if the speaker had some damage to their throat. They also sounded older to her. "Even if the wench hid her child, what can a child that young do in a city this big, on her own? At most she'll be a beggar, or more likely starve to death."

"We dealt with the wench, brother," said another voice, this time a younger one. "Let us leave already. I can't stand the stench of this dungheap any longer."

"Fine, fine. Just let me put that bitch to the torch just in case," said the first voice. The girl then heard the sound of wood falling on wood, and before long, a growing roar of fire, as well as a wave of heat against her skin.

She had failed to notice that the onlookers had closed their doors and windows by then, and hid themselves inside their houses. She was the only one who still dared to peek at the tumult.

"What are you looking at, brat!?" scolded the first voice as he walked by. Then the girl felt something strike against her chest, felt something inside break painfully, and found herself tossed against a wall where she lay coughing.

Fortunately the three men ignored her after that and left shortly after. The girl had laid against the wall while coughing wetly for a while, before she crawled towards where her home was.

Every breath felt heavy, and the side of her chest that was struck burned with agony, but she crawled nonetheless, and only stopped when the heat was too much for her to close further. She was certain by then. The small shack which she and her mother had called home… was burning.

And her mother burned with it.

The girl had not known how long she sat there, on the muddy road, in a daze. She had not resisted when someone picked her up and carried her. The soothing voice was one she recognized, a neighboring grandma her mother often helped.

She felt the grandma lay her down on a table, winced when her fingers proved the sore side of her chest. The old woman's soothing voice told her to relax, then she gave the girl something to drink. It tasted rather odd, and soon after she drank it, the girl fell asleep.

When she woke up, the grandma had kindly told her that her mother was gone, and had asked if she had anyone else to rely on. The girl shook her head, even as she fought back her tears, an effort that proved futile.

After she cried in the grandma's hands, she told the girl somewhat grimly that she would take her somewhere. The grandma said that at least there, she would have food, and a place to sleep in. The girl could tell that the grandma was feeling less than pleased with it, though.

While they walked, the girl noticed that her side didn't hurt as much as before, though she still found it somewhat hard to breathe, and found herself short on breath after a distance she'd usually walk through without issue.

The old grandma had allowed her to rest when she was winded, and apologized to her, saying that it was the best she could do. The girl thanked the old grandma regardless, as she knew that the grandma did something with the pains in her chest.

The grandma explained in terms she could understand that she tried her best to heal the girl, but that the injuries to her insides was not one she could heal properly, hence the shortness of breath the girl was experiencing.

Eventually they reached a larger building, the sort her mother had often warned the girl to stay away from. It was a place where bad people gathered, her mother had said.

There the grandma had handed her over to another woman, whose voice just sounded tired of everything. The girl was kept occupied with some food while the two had talked about what had happened yesterday, and the girl heard a loud sigh from the other woman.

From then on, the other woman had taken the girl. She was allowed to sleep in a large room, with many other children her age. In the day - she could tell because she felt the sun's heat on her skin - she was made to sit in a corner of the street with a small bowl before her, and told to beg for alms from passersby.

It was not pleasant. Because the girl was blind, many of the other children often mocked or hit her. She grew used to the mockery and the pain after a while, and just tried to keep on living. At least where she was she had food to eat and a place to sleep.

After all, where could a blind girl like her go to? It was not like there was some philanthropist that would suddenly scoop her up and give her work. What work could she even do? She who was not able to see?

The girl endured a year like that, swallowing insults and beatings. The words honestly stopped hurting before long, as for the fists, it was just pain. The girl knew pain well by then. Even so, she still had no idea what she could have done differently. She had grown somewhat weaker over the year, her shortness of breath a liability, as it made her tire quickly.

At least, until one night, something the girl had not expected happened.

Her magic awakened.