Chapter One – Masks:
No one would notice him here; the unaware crowds that passed him by would cloak his amateur knowledge of the world of Mundanes. He was just another person in their eyes, an average teen lost in the big city. Not a soul would understand his detached approach to the chaotic environment around him; they would merely perceive it as awe or fear. The truth would never even be considered, who would think that a boy of his age would never have socialised with anyone but his father before. It was unheard of, unthought-of.
The boy brushed his blonde hair out of his face in a manner he'd observed earlier, forcing himself to fit in and not be noticed. His cautious eyes were shaded by the night, hiding the bottomless and unforgiving black irises that would've made him all too noticeable against this world of perfection and fallacy. Mundanes were naive to the horrible truth that the mythical creatures they had ''dreamt up'' for centuries were all around them, breathing in the same air as them, unnoticeable to their naked eye. The thought brought a callous smirk to the boys face. Mundanes, he thought, if only you could really understand.
Hastily he brought a spoilt scrap of paper out of his pockets, creased and weathered from the countless times he'd tested himself on the elaborate details he father expected him to memorise though it. The discoloured edges were tattered from the journey here; the boy hadn't trusted himself to use the Mundanes' complex transport. It was so bewildering and walking had given him time to think, even if the memories had brought back that tiny stab of angst. The boy's smirk faded as memories washed over him like a flock of crows, talons extended.
Tired of keeping up appearances, the boy quickly turned into the nearest alleyway. He felt so disconnected here, suffocated by narrow-minded Mundanes. He had to get out; far away from this place, back to the place of his parents, home. Snatching his glasses off, he leant against the wall and let out a heavy sigh, glad to be alone. He turned the piece of tarnished paper in his nimble fingers to reveal a photo of a black haired boy, his height with gleaming grey eyes and a soft smile, he looked like someone fun to be around. "You're nothing like me, Sebastian" the boy whispered unsympathetically, "though they wound suspect a thing. Pity."
Where the picture had creased, shadows now loomed over Sebastian's faultless features and the boy's lip curled in disgust. He would have to pretend to be this flawless boy who'd be travelling to his cousins at this moment, only to be intercepted by a few demons and replace him, what could go wrong. His father's plan was inconspicuous and so unfaultable, as always. The boy lashed out at the nearest thing possible, his foot flying into the nearest dumpster causing chaos to pursue. The bin soared into the wall which cracked slightly, sending debris flying everywhere. Mundanes stopped to stare, but the boy had disappeared into the night in the wake of the disaster he just caused.
It wasn't until many hours later that the boy reached his destination, his hair that had previously glowed platinum blonde (something he'd also required from his father), was now pitch-black like a raven's feather which rainbows danced across in the moonlight. The boy ran his hand through it, loving its sinister colour that didn't quite match his pale complexion. He was stood outside a derelict building, its grey windows shattered into shards, some fragments left strewn on the overgrown grass below. Of course, to a human eye this grass never seemed to grow, not that a mundane would ever take any notice, it was a very strong glamour. The boy concentrated for a while before the edges of the glamour faded and the seams began to split like fabric, revealing a small house, half the size of the original building. The worn crimson brick was gone, replaced by white stone and full length windows that seemed to reflect light that wasn't there. The boy could see himself in the mirrored glass now, his willowy figure hard to make out against the night and his ominous dark hair rustling in the wind. No one will suspect anything unusual, he thought to himself before seizing the orbed handle and forcing the door open with more strength than was necessary. The door swung on its hinges, holding onto them for dear life as the boy slammed it behind him.
"So, you finally came," An unsympathetic voice greeted him, the owner of such voice left disclosed in the darkness of the dimly lit hallway, "Jonathan."
Later that night while tucked beneath the warm blankets in one of the Warlock's numerous spare bedrooms, in absolute darkness, Jonathan began to remember. All the nights he used to sleep alone in solitude in the suffocating and claustrophobic room in the out-house waiting for his father had finally paid off. For the first time in his life he was unleashed to the world of unknowing mundane, ignorant of who he was; what he was. The hours of darkness he had spent crying out in anger all seemed to add up now, all his loneliness and despair worth the wait. The lull of the darkness and exhaustion pulled him deeper into a trance, the shadows of the room dancing in his eyes.
A dark shadow loomed over Jonathan who crouched inaudibly in the furthest and dimmest corner of the undersized and bare room. He waited cautiously for the beast, anticipating its disgusting odour and manifestation. He wants me to become undefeatable, he thought as the shadow crept closer and the stench of rotten eggs grew more nauseating. He could make out its shape due to the dim shadow cast by the moonlight that struggled to enter the room, its fangs protruding out from its ghastly mouth. Jonathan felt no fear as the beast grew closer, unarmed and blind he pulled himself up and jumped...
Jonathan woke up with a start, beads of sweat rolling off his forehead, his hair stuck in clammy clumps of awkward tangles that would only be defeated by a comb. He bounded out of bed swiftly and hurtled to the bathroom before plastering his face with water. He started at himself in the mirror, unrecognisable with his new-fangled mysterious hair that matched the shade of his eyes. He'd never appeared more unlike to his father before, the dissimilarity was astonishing.
"Seems sleeping beauty here finally woke," the cold voice of the Warlock called at the door, "I was almost wondering if I'd accidently knocked you out." He said half-heartedly.
Jonathan hesitated before walking back into the room; he didn't trust Warlocks even if his father had encouraged him to come to this house, "I trust my father told you what I seek," he inquired as he took in the Warlock's appearance for the first time. His hair was short and red, stuck up in tufts like that of a hedgehogs spines and he was clothed in an ochre tail-coat with tailored black bottoms. Jonathan began to feel underdressed in his band-tee and his dog-eared tight-fit jeans. The Warlock's emerald eyes were scrutinizing him cautiously, taking in his willowy build and lack of weaponry; he was clearly underestimating the boy's abilities.
"Yes, your Father foretold me of your...wishes, though I do wonder why exactly you request a portal to the edges of the city and not through the Guard. That would be least noticeable..."
The boy tittered, undermining the Warlock's sense of authority, "Downworlders, you just don't understand where to draw the line. If I told you, I'd have to kill you, something I regret in saying I'd enjoy." And he watched as the warlock shuffled tentatively backwards into the hideously russet painted wall behind him.
"Of course, I apologize for my curiosity. Gets the better of me all the time, It will kill me one day." The Warlock faltered uncontrollably, "You father-"
"-My Father sought you to assist me in reaching the city; something that has not yet been done." Jonathan interrupted the young warlock intolerantly, his anger radiating off him in waves. After all those years waiting, one would have assumed he'd be more patient.
The Warlock hastened out of the room leaving Jonathan behind, his fists clenched at his sides with impatiently. He seized his backpack and shoved his clothes in chaotically, leaving the bed sheets in a muddle. He cared not for hospitality and generosity, he wasn't a charity. His intention of seeking to reach the city by nightfall was becoming near unfeasible.
The mirror was ornate and flamboyant in design; its gold rimming and swirling pattern mesmerised Jonathan momentarily in his fleeting look before he attempted to snatch his eyes away, failing to do so. The warlock gleamed, his eyes wild with the magic this mirror bestowed, its surface reflecting not of that in the room, but from a distant and beautiful place; home.
The daylight streamed through the canopy of the trees about, leaving dappled patches of dazzling radiance landing on the soft grass below. Jonathan felt like a small boy once more, inadequate and infantile. He took in this spectacular sight as if he was dehydrated of its natural splendour. His fingers ached to touch that grass, feel it running through his fingers, something that had never seemed so desirable before now. It was if he were in a trance, imprisoned in its glory.
"Beautiful, isn't it." The warlock said to no one in particular. Beautiful was an understatement; it did not match the splendour of this sight. The boy's had reached out of its own accord, touching the mirror's cool glass with his fingers; this was so unlike him, he should be shattering the mirror into fragments and not surrendering to its hold on him. The air around him was bitter and an unpleasantly cold breeze danced around the room, churning around him and drawing him closer to the mirror, compelling his eyes shut. All at once, he felt like a feather in the wind, insubstantial, weightless and without a care in the world as he was sucked without warning through the gateway to another world. Home, he breathed as his feet sank into the tufts of grass below, home.