His true power began to manifest when he was five.

At five, she had already enrolled him in school. And though he was an entire four seasons younger than the rest of the kids, he was the top of the class.

But...the way the kids responded to him was strange, to say the least.

The first day of school ended, Noamora had glanced out the way, her eyes searching for the familiar figure of Anon to come racing up the path to their cottage. But, when, finally, she did spot him, he was not alone.

He was calmly walking up the path, surrounding by a small group of boys and girls all eager for his attention. Two girls, who looked to be about 8 summers, had their arm looped in his, while Anon kept turning his head back to respond to something that the boys trailing him had said.

All in all, he looked distressed.

Noamora stepped outside, and Anon immediately called out, with obvious glee, "Mother!"

And with tremendous force, he broke the chain of the two girls arms and ran up and gave his mother a huge and kiss. Bending into his hug, Noamora whispered: "Anon, it seems that you've made many friends."

"Friends or followers? They keep following me. I have no peace." He whispered back.

She smiled and stood straight, donning a strong voice, she said, "Anon, must start on his homework! You all may play with him then, after he is done. Understood?"

With moans and sighs, they turned. The two older girls stepped forward and held out something to Anon. His books.

He smiled and stepped forward to receive them. "Thank you."

Instantly, both girls descended on him, kissing each cheek, blushing, and running off, giggling madly.

Anon sat stunned on the floor, where he had fallen to escape his two attackers. Pretty attackers, he had to admit, with a smirk.

Noamora coughed, and he jumped forgetting she was there. "Mother, did you see...?" he asked, turning to her.

She had an amused twinkle in her eye that Anon didn't just quite yet know how he felt about. Shrugging, he picked up his books and followed his mother inside.

But that was not the last of the incidents.

The crowds grew even larger. The boys and girls were even older. Once, the teacher had even been in the crowd. Her excuse was, "I just wanted to see what the commotion was about." But Noamora's keen eyes had not failed to notice the lingering gazes that the teacher placed on Anon as she went on and on about how Anon was just a so wonderful student.

She had kept Anon out of school the next day.

But, apparently, the crowds did not like that. The same day they came to her cottage, led by the teacher, and looking altogether like a mob, minus the torches and pitchforks. But there were fires and daggers in their eyes, as they chorused, "Where is Anon?"

Noamora had stepped out, calmly twirling her axe. "Yes?" she asked, sweetly.

The kids seeing this young woman, barely older than their oldest kid, twirling a huge axe like it was a baton, they gulped and quieted down quick. The teacher stepped forward, rather nervously.

"Hello."

Noamora did not respond.

"Uhm...well, we noticed that Anon did not show up in school today."

"Yes, I know. I kept him from school. I'm thinking of transferring him to another school."

The teachers eyes flashed with rage, and her nostrils quivered, but she caught herself and reigned it in. "Why?" she asked, voice cracking.

Noamora did not respond.

Then, the teacher did something that surprised Noamora. "Anon?" she called out. "Anon?" She sounded so lost, so desperate. Noamora stared at her in shock. The kids too, had a lost, desperate look in their eyes as they searched the house with their eyes, waiting for Anon to appear. What is going on here?

"Stay inside, Anon!" Noamora called out.

"Anon?" the teacher called out again, more urgent, more frantic. "Anon, it's your teacher. Come talk to me."

Seconds passed and Anon did not show. Noamora had stopped twirling the axe. She was too stunned by this spectacle to move.

"Don't you want to talk to me?" she cried out, tears threatening to spill down her face.

Noamora's mouth was open in shock. The kids looked like they were about to cry as well. All for Anon? she asked herself.

Slowly, she backed up into the house. Anon was standing there, wide-eyed. "Mother, they are truly mad," he whispered.

Noamora calmly nodded, though she felt a clenching in her insides. She was scared. He had not seen their faces, and their intensity. They were like those of one possessed...Or obsessed.

They had to move now. And quickly.

She could already hear the teacher creaking up the steps on their outside porch, still calling out, "Anon? Anon, Sweetie, it's me, your teacher, open the door."

Noamora glanced to see Anon's expression. He just stood there, expressionless, no doubt thinking. Finally, he turned to her. "I know we are leaving, Mother. But...If we are to fight our way out, I need to know how many there are."

The way he said it, filled with such confidence and self-assuredness, immediately evaporated any fear that was inside her. She could fight very well, and hadn't she taught Anon everything she had known?

"I did not count." Noamora replied. "But, there are many. And we will not fight, if we can avoid it. We will go through the back."

He nodded, dissapeared, and returned with a small sack. "Money," he said, to Noamora's questioning eyes. "We will need to buy things when we are in hiding, right Mother?"

She nodded.

"And I checked the back," he continued. "There are not many, but a few back there. And we will have to fight, it seems."

He did not sound eager, or scared. He stated it simply like it was just something that would have to be done.

As they headed for the back, Anon turned one last final time to Noamora. "I am Sorry for

His sentence was broken with a hug. "Let us save words for a later time, Anon."

She had purposely said later time to give hope to Anon, whose words sounded like they would die here, and to herself. He understood. Then, checking to make sure he still had the money, he unlocked the door, and they stepped outside to face whatever was in their way.

Authors Note: I am thinking of making this the last chapter. But, I've apparently made the grave mistake of writing on a dead topic. So many people read this as I see in the traffic graph, yet no one reviews. And to my one follower, this chapter was written solely for you my friend, as you seem to be the only one to take interest. I have no wish to pollute this site with a story no one cares for, or for my work to be praised after I'm a corpse riddled with maggots like an artist whose work is hailed as a masterpiece, many years after he has passed.

So, my readers, leave a review if you enjoy. All I wish to do, is all that you want to be done.