There wasn't a tree in all of Tellius without a bird happily chirping away that fine summer morning. A symphony that would rival the very best musicians in the Mainal Cathedral commenced outside every window in Begnion. There seemed to be no reason other than the beauty of the weather, the rays of the sun splashing all over the land, the grass eagerly swaying with the breeze. One particular little bluebird plopped onto an open windowsill, singing from her heart into the brightened room. Such magnificence! Such glory! Such-

"Shut up!"

The bluebird cut her song short and bolted away at the sudden movement of the lump on the bed. Weary blue-green eyes stare at the window, blurring in and out of focus. That stupid bird. He'd been having such a nice dream too. He'd ridden off into the sunset on a palomino horse, having saved the town of Sestohl from bandits...

The seven-year-old boy tried to lay his head down on the pillow and fall back asleep, but the birds wouldn't quit their cacophony outside, so he reluctantly pulled himself out of bed. The wooden floor creaked as he made his way across the room to his dresser. Pulling on a normal loose shirt and some trousers that were slightly too small for him, he shuffled on over to the washroom.

On the doorway were some notches, indicating the little boy's ever-growing height. He hadn't been measured in quite some time and he was certainly taller than the last notch. His mother would be dismayed to see that she had to buy him new trousers again. Still, the boy felt excitement. He would be the tallest kid in the neighborhood at this rate!

After relieving himself, the boy climbed onto the stool by the wooden counter and dipped his hands in the clean bucket of water to wash them. Glancing into the polished brass over the counter, he noticed his green hair stuck in all sorts of unnatural positions. His father hated when his hair was unruly. Dunking his hands back into the water pail, he attempted to flatten his green locks as much as possible.

Then he noticed it.

It was hard to see clearly in the polished brass, but the boy could swear he had something on his forehead...

What could have smudged him in the night? He had taken a bath last night too! His mother would think he'd sneaked out to play in the garden, and he knew she wouldn't believe his pleas of innocence because he'd done that exact thing before. He rubbed his wet hands over the spot firmly. The smudge on his forehead remained. It almost looked a reddish color...

The boy moved his face up and down, hoping it was actually a smudge on the brass and not on him, but to no avail. Making one last effort to wipe off the smudge, the boy sadly accepted that he was going to get an undeserved scolding this morning.

He could smell the eggs being cooked in the kitchen, so the boy wandered out to greet his parents.

"You slept in late today, Stefan," the tall man sitting at the table said. He had much darker green hair than the young Stefan as well as a full beard. His hands were rough and leathery from his profession as a shoemaker.

"It's the end of the week, dear, he can sleep an hour late for one day," a shorter woman smirked, slipping the finished eggs onto a plate. Stefan's mother wasn't overweight by any means, but was mildly plump. Her face was almost too sweet to take seriously (although her voice could always make up for it if Stefan was in trouble). Her light-green hair hung in a simple ponytail down her back.

"The birds woke me up," Stefan grumbled, digging in immediately as his mother placed an egg on the plate in front of him.

"The birds have a better sense of time than you do," his father said. Stefan knew his father well enough to detect the smile in his voice. Still, as pleasant as his parents seemed this morning, he kept his head down, hoping they wouldn't notice the smudge on his forehead. He didn't know how it got there and he hadn't thought up a good story for it yet.

"Have you noticed yet, Gary? The asters are finally starting to bloom," Stefan's mother said cheerfully. "Oh, our garden will look absolutely stunning. I caught Fiora looking quite enviously at our blooming flowers yesterday."

Stefan's mother had been in an unspoken competition with the young wife next door, Fiora, ever since they'd moved in. Fiora was apparently a better baker than Stefan's mother, but killed anything she planted in the garden, so Stefan's mother had the upper hand there. Stefan didn't understand the whole competition, but his father never questioned it so he never did either.

"Oh, and I've planted so many of them that we might even be able to make a bit of extra money by selling them when they're full-grown!" Stefan's mother continued. "All those end-of-summer romances need flowers, of course, so-"

"Anadara," Stefan's father, Gary, said suddenly and sternly. Stefan glanced up at his father and swallowed. He had noticed the smudge.

His mother, Anadara, was confused at first, but then noticed where Gary was looking. Her eyes froze on the smudge on his forehead, just like Gary's. Stefan could feel his face turn red and the tears well up in his eyes.

"I didn't do anything!" he blurted out. "I just woke up this morning and I saw the smudge in the brass and I tried to wash it off, but it wouldn't come off!"

Neither of his parents said anything, but his father stood up and took two steps over to where Stefan was sitting. Stefan jumped. His father had never been quite so concerned about a smudge before – that was more his mother's pet peeve. Gently yet firmly, his father took his jaw with one hand and rubbed his thumb over the smudge with his other hand.

"Is...is it coming off, Gary?" Anadara asked quietly.

Gary paused for a moment, his face turning more and more grim, before replying, "No. It isn't."

Then, almost as if in a panic, Stefan's parents both ran around the house, pulling closed the shutters on the windows and dousing the house in darkness. Stefan felt a tear glide down his cheek. He was suddenly very fearful about what this smudge might be. What if it was a sign of a sickness? People got sick with something called a "plague" sometimes, and they didn't always come out alive.

Stefan's fear grew larger as his mother came back into the room, wiping away tears from her own eyes. He could hear her choked whispers to her husband, "On the forehead, Gary! The goddess saw fit to mark our baby boy on the forehead? How are we going to hide it?" Stefan couldn't hear his father's reply, but he knew that the smudge on his forehead was a very, very serious thing. He ran his fingers over it, but couldn't feel it apart from the rest of his skin.

Slowly Stefan's father walked toward him. His mother left the room, apparently unable to face her son at the moment with her frightened tears. Gary sat down in the chair next to his son, his eyes dry but nonetheless pained.

"What's wrong, papa?" Stefan asked, his lips trembling. "Am I g-gonna d-die?"

Gary placed a gentle hand on Stefan's shivering arm, instilling the reassuring touch of a father.

"I'm sorry we scared you, Stefan," he replied softly. "No, you're not sick, the mark isn't a sign of disease. But...it's time we told you what the mark really means, and I need you to listen carefully."

Stefan bit his lip and nodded, quickly wiping away the stray tears plunking down his cheeks.

"The mark on your forehead is called a brand," his father explained. "A long, long time ago, somewhere down our family line, a beorc married a laguz and had a child together."

"But...but I thought you couldn't do that," Stefan said quietly.

"People have done it before, and to be honest, Stefan, I don't know whether it's right or wrong," his father sighed. "But the point is, almost everyone in the world considers the child of that marriage to be cursed. And every child down the line after that bears a brand on their body, and that brand is a sign that they are one of the cursed."

"I'm cursed?" Stefan squeaked, tears welling up once more. "But I didn't do anything! I didn't even have the mark before today!"

"I know, Stefan...none of this is your fault," his father rubbed his arm. "The brand doesn't show up at birth, it appears on a person's body sometime later in life. Yours appeared today...on your forehead, of all places."

"But...where's your brand?" Stefan asked. "You don't have one on your forehead."

"I don't have one at all," his father said. "Your mother is the one descended from the line. Her brand is on her leg, much easier to hide than yours. And it needs to be hidden, Stefan." Gary leaned closer to Stefan's face and lowered his voice to a whisper. "The Branded are hated by society, Stefan. It's not your fault and it's not fair, but sadly that's the way it is. People are superstitious, they believe that the Branded are bloodthirsty monsters and that they bring a curse upon whichever town they dwell. It pains me to tell you this, Stefan, but it's necessary. If anyone knows you are Branded, you could be...you could be seriously hurt. You cannot let anyone know about this brand, Stefan. And I mean anyone. You must keep it hidden and you must talk about it to no one."

"I'm...I'm a monster?" Stefan whimpered.

"You are not a monster," his father said firmly, taking his son's head in his hands. "The beorc fear the Branded, and they will believe that about you, but you mustn't believe that about yourself. You are our son. You are a fine young man. You are a normal human being...except for that brand."

"I don't really bring a curse upon people, do I?" Stefan asked, feeling his world crumble more and more. "I don't...I don't have terrible powers, do I?"

"People believe a lot of things that aren't true, but the fact that they believe them makes them dangerous," his father said. "I...have heard of the Branded having an area in which they are supernaturally gifted, but it differs from each Branded. But that's only what I've heard. Your mother hasn't mentioned anything about it."

The room fell silent for several minutes, save the sniffles from Stefan. Just yesterday he was a regular human being with no abnormalities, and now today he's a cursed Branded monster! Would the villagers kill him if they discovered his brand? Would any of them listen to him and know that he's a good kid? His teacher at school always told him he was such a good kid!

"Promise me you will tell no one about your brand," his father broke the silence with a firm command.

"I promise," Stefan choked out, then asked, "How are we going to hide it? It's on my forehead, papa! Everyone can see it!"

His father paused, then left the dining area. Stefan immediately started bawling. He didn't want to be left alone, not right now. He was more scared than he'd ever been in his life. Thankfully, his father returned quickly with a bandana. It took a few minutes of reassurance to get Stefan to calm down and stop sobbing, but Stefan finally held still long enough for his father to tie the bandana tightly around his brand. He checked it to make sure it wouldn't slide up or down, then pulled his son into a hug.

"Your mother and I will protect you with all that we are," his father promised.

Stefan's little heart prayed and prayed that that would be enough.