This is a continuation of my story piece. Please give me feed back on my sentence structure, descriptors, and overall flow.


Chapter One

Xeran always felt alone. Many times had he climbed to the top of this particular peak and gaze off at the golden sunset. Often would he stay there until the very last rays of sunlight had disappeared and he was forced to go back home. He didn't quite understand why the villagers all treated him the way they did. His skin was the same dark hue as theirs; and his hair dark and long with a wavy curl, just like they all had.

But, then again, there was something very...unique about him. There was some power that dwelled within him, constantly he could feel it moving through him. Ever since he could remember he was able to do extraordinary things, things that both his foster-parents and the other villagers regarded with a mix of awe and fear. He was able levitate, and move objects through the air such as spoons and plates simply out of concentration. He could spark a fire with force of will by holding the kindling in his hands or even wrap his body in roaring flames. The heat of the desert's noonday sun could not stop him from going out to play or make him thirsty like it did the others. And even to this day he has never been burned before.
It's like the heat just seems to melt into him which he stores like a battery.

His foster-father, Antel, a local medicine man, guide and tribal leader, is the only one who does not completely shun Xeran. Though Antel does not fully return Xeran's love, Xeran regards him has his only friend and lavishes him with affection. The rest of the village however, including Xeran's foster-mother Serena, avert their eyes when they see him walking their way. He pretends not to notice; he pretends that they are not even their, but they always watch him as much as he watches them. They only talk to him when it is absolutely necessary, or when the other children feel it is their duty to remind him that he is a "Demon-boy," or a "Redmoon reject."

He remembers clearly, as the rest of the villagers a certain occasion when things got a little out of control. It was during the Celtamere Rite of Passage Festival. All of the village boys, from 13-14 seasons old who wanted to enter manhood were to undergo three perilous trials. The Trial of Bravery, The Trial of Concentration, and the Test of Pain. The trials change from season to season so there was no preparation possible.

The Village chief and master of ceremonies, Mebban was conducting the trials of his son Kalan. Kalan, who liked to lead his friends in Xeran's relentless torment, was exceedingly prideful and arrogant and was stockier, bigger and tougher than all of the others his age, much like his father. Having completed his Trial of Bravery, and barely passing the Trial of Concentration, Kalan was ready for the third trial. Equally ready for the third trial was Xeran who thought it was time for a little revenge.

The Trial of Pain was almost always the same unlike the other trials. The participant stood in the Diam defarii, a sacred kiva-like fire pit which had a constantly maintained fire. Inside the pit, the boy was to be branded by his father with the Mark of the Village. The mark, which looks like two "V" shapes inside one another, is burned a place of the boys choosing and scabs off in a couple of days leaving a permanent white scar.

Kalan was braced against the walls of the Diam defarii. He had decided to receive the mark on his back and was completely focused for the first touch of the hot metal stylus. After his father recited the customary vows and ritualistic mantras, he lowered the stylus, ready to trace the mark. The instant before the tip touched Kalan's skin, Xeran transferred some of his power, which made the air shimmer with heat, into the stylus. Though his timing was perfect, Xeran let out to much energy and the stylus, now white hot, horribly seared Kalan's back and made the glove worn by his father burst into flames. There was steam, a violent hissing sound mingled with frightened shouts from the village folk, and above it all was a great howl of agony from Kalan who was distorted by pain. The sudden commotion, made everyone draw back in shock, including Xeran who fell back, unable to move due to the guilt that surged through his body.

Mebban lay over the body of his unconscious son. He turned Kalan over and everyone gasped at the grisly, bubbling wound. For a moment he wept, then he rose and hurled himself at Xeran in a bestial rage. The blows all hit Xeran with as much force he could muster. A punch to the ribs, and a viscous uppercut took Xeran off his feet and flattened him onto his back only to be greeted on the ground by the full weight of Mebban's body crushing down on his chest. Mebban sat there and repeatedly punched the stunned boy's face into the ground, as if he were trying to split his skull apart.

It took a group of five of the strongest warriors to pry Mebban off him. "Monster!! Demon-spawned wretch! I'll kill you with my bare hands!! You will NEVER have peace again, I'll pay you back a hundred fold! I swear it! I swear it..." His voice trailed off as the men hauled Mebban away. Two others later came back and took Kalans limp body over to Antel's home for treatment.

No one helped Xeran to his feet. He got up slowly, warily, half expecting someone else to come at him. He glanced around at the disgusted, shocked faces of those in the cirlce around him. Though no words were said, each of the faces said the same thing in a their own way "Monster..."

A wide path was made for him as he shuffled out of the group. He stumbled at first, then he walked, and then ran, and then sprinted with all his might with a desperate longing to escape the nightmare he had just made. With tears in his eyes, he made his way up to that same familiar mountain top and let out a sorrowful wail. An explosion of heat and flames leaped outward, blackening the earth around him while stone cracked and burst with telekinetic force. Charred rock and crackling embers were all about him as flames danced along his body and boiling tears ran down his cheeks.

No one came to look for him. At dawn, he found himself among the ashes, and slowly made his way back down to the village. The sun heralded his arrival illuminated his path. Out of the corner of his eye he could see faces secrectly glance at him from behind windows and open doors. They were surprised to see that Mebban had left no noticeable marks upon his face even after he had been brutally attacked. Neither did he seem like he was in any physical pain. Xeran made his way back to the Diam defarii, the scence of the crime, and buried his face in his hands.

Ever since then, Xeran had been treated with even more contempt than before. He hardly ever showed his face in public anymore. When he had to go out, it was at night and he always wore a tarnished blacked cloak with a hood. Though he is mocked and cursed more than ever now, no one dares to do it to his face. They need only look at Kalan to remind themselves.

Over time he has becomed hardened and stoic. He rarely speaks, even to Antel. In the day he stays in the shadows of the mountains. He openly practices using his powers shooting balls of fire at self made targets and bathing the cliffs in cones of fire. Eventually, he learned how to force the heat out of objects creating icy formations that looked very out of place in the Khulrabbian Desert. Disciplined, independent, and self-motivated, Xeran no longer seeks the approval of others. He has missed his Rite of Passage several times now but is a man in his own eyes, more so than any who dwell in his village. He stays in the outskirts of society watching everyone form the shadows. He is their guardian. A self appointed protector of the only place he has ever known as home.

Yet still the most valuable lesson he has learned is his most painful one; all the power in the world cannot replace the need for a friend.