A/N: First actual fanfiction, feedback is appreciated.
Fairy Tail belongs to Hiro Mashima
The rhythmic sounds of my alarm woke me with an invigorating jolt as the morning sun began seeping through my window, the light dancing through the room. I had never understood why some people enjoyed sleeping in and dosing off; what was to gain from such sloth-like behaviour apart from waisted time? Surely one would think that those who forgo such pointless things and used the day to its fullest would have the most to gain, right?
This was not the case for me however, nor was it for most those who live and breathe upon the surface of this world and certainly not for the citizens of The Kingdom of Fiore. For this is a world of magic; unfair magic that only ten percent of human beings can use, if you could even call those who have that discriminating gift 'human.' The shear amount of punishment that even the weakest among them can take would reduce an ordinary human to a horrid spray of innards and blood and yet they did nothing to earn that privilege other than simply being born.
The facts of my own comparative inadequacy never stopped hounding my thoughts as even now as I got dressed for the day, my ordinary yet ever so slightly scared face gazing back at me as I slipped on my homemade grey shirt.
After preparing myself some breakfast in the form of some cereal I sat down at my work desk for some light reading before the day began. Shuffling through the various papers and stationary that littered the wooden surface I pulled up a small notebook entitled 'Lamina Scale.' Lamina Scale was one of the more powerful guilds that existed in Fiore and I had been researching them last night with the various books that I had borrowed from the town library during the last week, noting down every tiny detail that seemed important or useful. Opening the book to where I had ended, I continued my study while I ate, ever watchful of the time.
Eventually an hour had past and, realising it was time for work, I slipped on my work overalls and made my way down the stairs into the muffle silence of the workshop below. It was not my workshop you see, nor did I own the building, they belonged to an old craftsman named Herman Plisquin. Plisquin was old enough to be my grandfather, but he retained the same boyish innocence towards life and his trade that he was born with. His dirty white beard betrayed his dedication to his work, his arms were as large as hams and showed his experience while the delicate yet callus fingers revealed his gentile but protective nature. He had taken me in as his apprentice and co-worker when he heard of my skills with lacrima powered devices (a non-too common trait I'm proud to say). At the time I was on the street, repairing people's magical appliances and devices just to get by, but now I have a home in the attic of his workshop in the town of Lupinus, all the money I need and a enough time to study the world at my leisure. Life was everything I could ever hope for…
…too bad it didn't stay that way.