Chapter 1
He was a little small for his age but just looking in his eyes made him seem older. Yes his eyes, those deep light brown eyes that held his child like curiosity behind his beautiful heartwarming smile. Nothing but skin and bones but he swears its muscle, his slim figure made apparent as his eyes follow every trace of movement with innocent curiosity. He struggled playfully with his untamed hair, trying to tie it back. It was wild and poofy but my no means nappy. Of that he was sure. With his hair tied back his face was now fully viewable. The fullness of his eyes no longer fought to peek though his hair. Everything became brighter and he was already a bright person. Then his name was called
With a bow his curious eyes changed to determination. Falling into his stance his eyes were steady on seemingly nothing. At the sounds he moved swiftly, fluidly, through his forms, step by step with a fierce delicacy that had placed him in the upper ranks of this martial art and in a class of elder students. But he had their respect, they did not look down on him nor hold him on a pedestal, they were equal. Pride did not consume his innocents nor did vanity his sanity. He was a child with a gift. His forms ended in a bow and he turned on the ball of his foot to face the child beside him, a boy 5 years his senior. They smiled to each other but it faded after a short bow. This other boy had a greater reach then he but still he went on. Dodging, blocking, and waiting for the right moment. When his opponent stepped toward him with a wide punch, he fell into the boy's center mass in an instant, and took hold of the moving arm and flipped him over his back.
He held out his hand to help the boy to his feet. They bowed again and began again. The elder boy seemed more cautious of his movements, watching his distance. The younger became slightly more offensive catching the boys arms mid swing and pulling him towards him, ruining the elders balance, as he fell forward the younger spun outward, out of the path of his falling senior and into a high spinning back kick. Almost gracefully he stopped the lethality of the strike, bending his leg to that the bottom of his foot pushed his opponents head instead of the heel. His opponent fell again. And once again he held out his hand to help him up. That was the match.
Next he was to face the sensei, unease flashed for only a second and was replaced by determination once again. The bowed and battled. His moves were swift, and precise. The sensei's were just as. They seemed synchronized. There were no mistakes and experience and endurance determined the victor. Just as he had offered a helping hand to those who had fallen, so too did the sensei.
This match, along with the rest of the requirements had earned him, only ten years old, training for only 7 months, his midnight blue belt in the art of Tang Soo do. The highest belt, equal to that of the traditional black belt. He did not brag, he did not judge, he only smiled and bowed to the sensei then to his class. His opponent, the boy five years his senior was called to the center next and presented his red belt. A rank beneath the midnight blue. He bowed to the sensei and to the class. Other students were promoted, some were not. But time came to leave and he walked home proudly wearing his new belt and letting his hair free of its restrictions.
His walk home was uninterrupted and his family glad to see he progressed and was doing well. But his happiness is gone from his eyes. He ate alone and made his way to bed without love or order. This was his life, day by day, week by week. But that was before his life changed. Today was the last day Nicias Wyyat life would be so close to normal.