3 MoonShadow

As Jayce grew older, the abuse and taunting from the main branch of the Stormcloak clan only intensified, like a relentless storm that refused to subside. At the tender age of ten, he had already become a target of their cruelty. One fateful day, as Jayce clutched his cherished wooden carving of a lion the bullies descended upon him.

With a malevolent sparkle in their gaze, they swiftly seized the toy from his tiny fingers, their laughter cutting through the crisp morning air. Amidst the ensuing chaos, Jayce lost his balance and tumbled to the ground, his knee meeting the harsh resistance of the unforgiving surface. Though a sharp pain shot through him, he clenched his teeth tightly, determined not to surrender a single cry. Rising steadily to his feet, an unwavering resolve illuminated his eyes. In an instant, his tormentors' expressions transformed from mockery to sheer terror. "Freak!" one of the boys blurted out, his voice trembling with fear.

His mother, witnessing the incident from a distance, rushed to his side, concern etched on her face. She reached out to him, halting his advance, and whispered, "Let them have it, Jayce."

Confusion flickered across his young face. "But I hate bullies," he protested, his voice tinged with frustration.

His mother, her eyes glimmering with a mixture of sadness and strength, chuckled softly. "If you want to show them the error of their ways, my dear, become strong. So strong that one day, they will beg you for forgiveness."

Jayce's brows furrowed in contemplation. "Why do they mistreat you and father so much?" he asked, his voice laced with innocence.

His mother's gaze softened, and she took a deep breath, preparing herself to reveal the painful truth. "Your grandfather and father couldn't wield the Stormcloak family's special magic techniques," she explained gently. "For that reason, they were looked down on."

Jayce's eyes widened in disbelief. "But that's not fair! You're both amazing!"

A faint smile graced his mother's lips. "Thank you, my dear. But sometimes, people are just mean to make themselves feel superior. Nothing to do with us"

She continued, her voice tinged with a touch of sadness. "I was given to the Stormcloaks as a gesture of peace from my tribe. They accepted me into their family to learn the secret healing magic technique of my MoonShadow clan. But they failed to learn the chants necessary for the spell to work. I suspect the elders of my clan knew this all along."

Jayce's gaze flickered with curiosity and determination. "Can I still learn the Stormcloak magic spell?"

His mother's expression softened, and she nodded. "It has been two generations since your father and grandfather attempted it. But there is another path, my dear. You might possess the magic of my MoonShadow tribe within you."

With those words, she began to chant, her voice weaving a crude dialect of a South Asian language—melodic and reminiscent of a long-forgotten song that Jayce had once heard in a distant memory. It roughly translated to "A healing presence, my touch, a sacred deed. Let waters cascade, a soothing balm they bring."

As she extended her hand over a nearby bucket, water followed her gentle command, flowing in harmony with her will.

Then, placing her hand on Jayce's scraped knee, a surge of healing energy pulsed through her touch. In a matter of moments, the wound rapidly closed, leaving no trace of injury. Jayce stared in awe, his eyes alight with wonder.

"I... I want to learn," he declared, his voice resolute.

His mother's eyes shimmered with pride and hope. "And I will teach you, my dear Jayce."

In the quiet of their home, Jayce's mother sat cross-legged on the floor with a dead fish she intended to cook for dinner. She recited the chant one more time as Jayce sat opposite her, his gaze fixed intently on his mother's face, absorbing every word, every inflection.

As his mother's chanting ended, she fell silent, her eyes searching Jayce's for a glimmer of comprehension. And in that moment, he smiled, a knowing spark illuminating his young eyes. He closed his eyes briefly, taking a moment to absorb the chant.

Then, he opened his eyes, his voice clear and determined as he recited his own version of the chant. His words flowed effortlessly, more refined and crisp than his mother's. It translated to "A healing presence, my touch, a sacred deed. Let waters cascade, a soothing balm they bring. Come forth, waters, and weave your mending spell, Heal the afflictions that within this soul dwell.

With his hands held steady above a bowl of water, he focused his will, his intent. The water responded immediately, welling up in his cupped palms, defying gravity as it hovered, shimmering with an otherworldly light.

Beside the bowl lay the motionless fish, its innards removed, a mere shell of its former self. Jayce's gaze settled on it. He lowered his glowing hands toward the fish, the water within them pulsating with healing energy.

As the water made contact with the fish's lifeless form, a miraculous transformation unfolded before their eyes. The fish twitched, gasping for breath, as life surged back into its body. It thrashed about, its fins fluttering with renewed vigor.

Jayce's mother watched in stunned silence, her astonishment mingling with pride. She had not expected her young son to master the spell on his very first attempt, let alone surpass her own skill. Her voice trembled as she spoke, "Jayce... how did you learn it so quickly?"

A mischievous smile tugged at Jayce's lips, his eyes sparkling with a touch of playful mischief. "I guess I'm just lucky, Mom," he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of wonder.