The fire was not a large disaster really. It was only a couple of village cottages, and would only be a tragedy for the few people who’d been trapped beneath a falling beam.
Orin was only seven, small enough to be kept back by his mother, and far too small to really haul buckets with the older villagers.
But one of his friends was crying beneath the fallen roof, and fire hurt, and no one was making it go away fast enough!
The fire needed to go away!
The dragon-sigil of elemental fire traced itself along his arm, blazing red and orange before fading into black as the instinctive power of a runeweaver flared for the first time, bending elemental energies to a child’s will.
The blazing thatch flashed into a cloud of pyrotechnic sparks and smoke and vanished – leaving it’s near-victims scorched and coughing, but fundamentally unharmed.
Orin was suddenly very, VERY, tired.
While he napped, the discussion was quite urgent: an untrained intuitive mage – particularly one who obviously controlled elemental fire – was extremely dangerous to begin with. Orin was far too young to control his impulses. THIS time he had saved three lives – but what would happen if he threw a tantrum or was frightened?
By the time Orin awoke, a decision had been reached. There was a small monastary of the YuMiir order nearby – and some of the priests there had powers of their own (although many were simply learned men devoted to the service of the light). Surely they could handle the magic of an untrained, child – and ensure that his nascent powers were turned to the service of the High One, rather than falling to the service of darkness. The powers of evil had many masks, and many lures for those powerful enough to draw their attention.
Over the ensuing years, Orin learned control – of both his developing powers and his emotions. He earned the theology and rituals of the High One. Along with some of the other novices with more combative powers, he undertook some martial training as well.
Routes to ten thousand thousand worlds lay across the boundaries of their dimensional crossroads realm. Guardians were always needed, to guide the lost, to aid those fleeing perils, and to drive back the horrors that trespassed upon the borders of the High One’s realm.
Orin accepted that power had been granted to him for the guidance and protection of others, to be used in the service of the light.
When the local shepherds and villagers reported that a nest of minor evil spirits had taken up residence in a small cavern, it seemed like a suitable training mission for the novice guardians.
It turned out to something far darker and more powerful than a few noxious wood-spirits.
Orin attempted to hold the demonic monstrosity back while his friends got the older priest who was shepherding the group to back them up – and the runes of sacred magic responded to his call, the sunburst-circle of the light branding itself across his hand.
Orin could not hold the demon-creature back for long, even with sacred magic. He was not yet a strong enough vessel of the divine essence for that – but the holy light burned and enraged the demon in ways that mere elemental fire never could. When Patera Zhanel’s strength failed him during the confrontation, Orin struck at the demon again – luring it into chasing him across the dimensional boundary and onto the fathomless paths beyond.
There the demon was easy enough to evade – and to lose among the infinite worlds – but finding his way home again was far beyond his skill. Still, the Myriad Worlds surely had many places where the barriers were thin – and people who could us his aid.
His teacher’s faith is firm; their student walks in the paths of the High One, and – wherever he has gone – there his service will continue, whether in this life or in the higher realms. Perhaps, some day, by the grace of the One Above All, he shall return to them – or they shall hear of his doings.