Here's a story I worked on for a D&D character I'm playing in our group's next campaign.
I'm going to play a Human Psion with a fear of his own power (In fact, my avatar is EXACTLY this character).
Anywho, I'm showing you guys my story; which was inserted into the campaign world already. I plan to "take notes" of the campaign's adventures, finishing the story in Athan's point of view.

Without further ado, I bring you......
Athan the Silver-Eyed

A short story by Ralcos.

Spoiler: Athan the Silver-Eyed

The boy’s eyes opened, and he knew.
This dream has happened before; a dream that he couldn’t control.
Like a painting, the golden fields that surrounded him were blurred and incoherent. In the same fashion as the field, a gnarled old oak towered beside him; it stood, although dead and without leaves. He looked at the tree, and then behind him as the shadow came.
Not a shadow, as much as a silhouette of a humanoid with the same incoherentness as their surroundings. For a moment, all that the form did was watch the boy as he too watched it.
He knew what came; it shouted at him, but all he could hear was a faded whisper. Nothing unlike a slight breeze of the wind. It sprinted at him, shouting the same curse, and his terror came as it pushed him into the tree and disappeared.
And he awoke, his eyes flaring gold as he screamed in the night.

The Sloan Farmstead, alongside many other farms in the area, suffered a lot in the recent weeks; And Sloan was ready to take responsibility for bringing his own farm back to working order.
But before that, Sloan prepared an early morning breakfast of salted and sliced ham, baked with diced potatoes and eggs that were seasoned with an Elven peppercorn (which added a nice bitterness to the eggs). The farmer smiled; Despite devastation, the family had gained a lot of food from the livestock of last season.
He called upstairs to his youngest son that the meal was ready and Athan came, rubbing his silver eyes from a less than restful sleep.
“Nightmares again, eh Athan?” Sloan asked, scratching his slightly rounded stomach. Athan nodded after comprehending the question, and then sat at the shoddily built wooden table to eat his fill. The farmer worried, for his son’s dream seemed to be coming and going in random. Sometimes, the boy’d have the dream, but sometimes not.
He even worried that his son could become a sorcerer, of all things. Sloan sighed, and sat at the table beside his son to eat.
Athan then asked, “I don’t see mom or Samuel anywhere.”
The farmer only smiled at his son and said calmly, “Our livestock for this season died, remember? I just sent them off to the city to barter for animals using some of what we got from last harvest. It’ll take them all day, at best, but they’ll be back.”
Indeed, it was a harsh winter storm before the spring came, killing a majority of the Sloanhouse’s animals. Many more farmers suffered worse, but Sloan knew that his farmhouse would survive and thrive. As this realization came to him, he sighed and the rest of breakfast was eaten in peace.

Days came and went, the family working together to seed for this year’s harvest, and then came late spring. Athan’s birthday and the day that his destiny seemed to change forever. At six years of age, his hair was ragged and messy, with his eyes still gleaming in their trademark silver color. His mother, slender yet beautiful, had called out to her birthday boy.
“Yes, mom?” His answer came, after walking into his parents’ room (which was usually off limits, so he was nervous).
She smiled, brushing her golden-brown locks away from her face.
“As you are now six, your father and I have talked of your future.”
Curious, all her son responded with was a cocked head, naturally interested. She took a key from the breast pocket of her blouse and kneeled by the bed, reaching for a rather large box that she opened with a simple twist of her wrist.
What was inside the box surprised Athan, for there were four books, three of which looked ancient and the other only dusty.
“Well, why don’t you look at one?” She offered, after seeing that he was stunned by seeing them. The boy seemed to be released from a trance with that offer, and he smiled gleefully as he chose the first book he’d read. After a bit, he chose the book with faded red leather hardcover with what seemed to be a flowing script as a title and subtext.
“Interesting choice, Athan. That one’s called, ‘Tales of a Burdened Soul.’ It’s a legend of a man that had too much power, and was ostracized for that power. An interesting read, indeed.”
He stared in awe at how much his own mother knew, and opened the book to attempt to read.
He could understand a few words, but couldn’t understand the vast majority of the faded print.
“Finally, a look of confusion! I’ve been wondering when my prodigy of a son would get confused.” His mother laughed as he struggled to read.
She hugged him and said, “Happy birthday, Athan. I’m sure you’ll grow to be a great historian yet.” And then he understood what was his set future.
“Alright, my boy, how about we have a king’s feast for dinner, what do you say?”
He nodded, looking forward to the night of celebration.

A few months passed quickly for Athan, who was quickly learning how to read the books that his mother gave him (Though she helped him with learning to read and write in the ancient scripts as well as speaking in the old dialects she knew). Samuel always looked at Athan with the look of someone that didn’t know what was good for him and the farm, brushing off most ideas that Athan tried to talk about. When he woke up on Wednesday on that specific week, he found that a Gnome from the city had come to the homestead.
White hair seemed to stand over his balding head from his temples, and a snow-white handlebar mustache was sported over his upper lip, right below his rather large nose (at least in comparison to his face). The gnome’s attire seemed to consist of embroidered silk that changed color based on the lighting of the area. The boy bowed slightly to the old one that stood up to his height, although maybe a few inches shorter.
The gnome only laughed, “Yer boy hez a lout of mannahs, Joni. Ye tohght heem well.”
The accent in his voice almost made the boy laugh, it taking a near high-pitched tone from the gnome’s amusement.
“Now, don’t make him laugh too much, else he won’t learn, Kono.” His mother giggled and told the gnome.
“Ayeh, ye be reeght aboot that oone, lass.”
She turned to her son, who began to listen to her intently, “Athan, this is Mr. Kono. He’s come at my request to tutor you.”
The boy only nodded, understanding the situation completely.
Athan pulled a notebook from his newly acquired bookbag, and opened it to several pages within.
“Mr. Kono, I’ve actually got a translation of something I found while exploring. It was written in a strange language, but I was lucky enough to find someone in the city to translate for me.”
The gnome looked at the boy’s mother, then looked at the notes written.

Dates: Unknown, possibly many millennia ago, but is unclear within the writings themselves.

‘Seventy major fortresses and cities taken, it still seems that this human nation still underestimates our glorious empire.’
‘Humans have somehow outmaneuvered us and taken back Fort Utengraad. Over four hundred Nezumi casualties, and many many more wounded during that battle and the retreat. Many are beginning to feel that this is a disastrous omen.’
‘Emperor Ruantek devised a brilliant stratagem for us to take this human nation’s capitol. With the Divine Emperor on our side, we are invincible!’
‘We have failed our Glorious Emperor, surrendering to the humans and with only four-thousand Nezumi soldiers alive and wounded. Curse humanity and their unholy gods! I must flee, else I die by the blade as an honorless dog.”

The boy seemed proud of his work, and Kono was left speechless.
Not only did this boy find an extremely obscure text that not even he or Joni could find, but to be lucky enough and willing enough to find a translator… The boy was a damned genius!
Kono only grinned and said, “Ayeh, lass, I’ll teech Aytaan for ye.”

Two years passed, with Athan’s education going exceedingly well. Until the day that his mother caught an illness. Several healers came from the city at Sloan’s behalf, but none of them knew what was happening to her. All they gleamed was that she was dying, and what illness she had couldn’t spread to others.
The night after the last healer left her bedridden, the family gathered in the master bedroom.
“Sloan. Athan. Samuel.”
She slowly addressed them in a near breathless manner. Athan had a hard time; she still looked beautiful, if pale and drained.
“I love you all. I have a feeling that tonight is the night when I die.” The sound of her wheezing voice granted a weight of a shadow on the entire family’s hearts. She seemed not to notice and smiled.
Turning to her husband, she then said, “Darling, I want something to remember you by in the afterlife. A kiss, something worthy of the wife of Sloan.” And so, Sloan gave her a tender kiss that lasted only a few seconds, and hesitantly left the room.
She turned to her youngest son, who stood up from his seat when her piercing yet caring gaze beheld his younger form.
“My youngest star Athan. As a scholar, like I was, you’ll make decisions - sacrifices as well. Promise me, Athan, that you’ll make the right decision and continue to be my brilliant star?”
She coughed for several moments after what she asked, and he stammered, “I-I-I promise.” Her voice weakened as she brushed her son’s cheek with her right hand, most likely a difficult task for one this sick. She then coughed again, “My brilliant star…”
Athan only sighed and left the room, sitting himself beside the doorframe of the room. His face felt we, and realised that he was crying. Almost instinctively, he covered his face with his hands.
The sun had finally set, with the hallway darkened by an ominous shadow. Samuel’s screaming let the rest of the family know that she had finally passed into the eternal sleep.
In an instant, Samuel burst out of the room, seeming more like an aspect of wrath than a human child.
“You arrogant-!” The eldest brother choked out, tears only now beginning to flow down his face. Staring into Wrath’s face, Athan was filled by Guilt and Fear. Two aspects that made his heart even more burdened.
The elder grabbed his younger by the collar of his shirt, forcefully pushing him into the wall.
“This is your fault! She loved you more than she loved me! Don’t deny it…” Samuel’s voice seemed to trail off into a growl.
“Enough, Samuel!”
Sloan’s commanding voice echoed through the grim scene as the farmer stood beside of them. The look of disappointment engulfed his face as he glared at his eldest child.
“But, dad! She died because of him! I just know it!”
The farmer, shocked with Samuel’s response, smacked Wrath across the cheek.
“How dare you, boy? You know full well that Athan would do no such thing!”
Holding his now bruised cheek, Samuel was about to respond before being interrupted by an even more powerful aspect of Wrath, “Now, that gives you more chores until I say you’re done. Is that understood?”
The eldest son only growled an obscenity as he walked downstairs to work with his punishment. The farmer watched, then turned to his youngest, “Do you need help up, Athan?”
Athan looked over the cover of his arms, and saw his father’s overstretched arm. Ready to help him up and comfort the void within his soul. He put his hand in his father’s, and was pulled onto his feet.
“Now, I think that you’d best endure all of this, and live a life that your mother would have wanted.”
“Yeah.” Athan responded, but did not know whether he agreed or not.

Athan’s tenth birthday was quiet, especially when compared to such days in the past. Such happiness, now replaced with void; A void that even he couldn’t think that he could climb his way out of.
And his brother, an aspect of Wrath that pushed on his mind almost constantly, his feelings for him were almost maddening. He sat next to a gnarled blackwood tree; Dead but somehow withstanding the test of time. Hours came and went, with the sun setting over the western horizon; the sky the darkest violet as it lay silently atop the forested distance.
Samuel’s voice, a near neutral tone, said to his younger brother, “Dad’s been looking for you all day, Athan. Don’t tell me that you’ve been sitting next to that tree all day…”
He turned to his brother, and his head began to pulse as he fell to the earth.
“Well, at least we don’t need to go home just yet, little brother.”
Confused and in pain, Athan couldn’t think as he watched Samuel crack his knuckles and continued, “You must know that I’ve been waiting for this day, freak.”
More pain echoed through the younger’s head, overcoming his senses. He never even noticed that his brother picked him up and slammed him against the tree.
Samuel laughed, “This is more like it!”
After throwing Athan to the ground, he then yelled, “That’s for invading my dreams at night!”
He kicked his younger in the gut, making him cough and sputter.
“That’s for stealing mom’s love!”
He kicked Athan again, this time was on the face; blood flowing freely from the younger’s face and splattering on the earth. Bleeding and hurt, he felt his elder’s hands wringing against his neck and Samuel then whispered into his ear, “And this is for murdering our mother.”
Pressure wrapped itself upon his neck, and he began to choke for air. After a bit, although it seemed like eternity, he could hear his heart pounding furiously throughout his entire body, and his eyes began to glow gold.
Seconds later, the pressure stopped, and Athan saw the most horrifying thing in his young life. Samuel’s eyes rolled upwards into his skull, blood oozing out of his eyes, mouth, ears, and nose, until finally the elder brother collapsed as a lifeless heap on top of his brother. Eyes widened by the spectacle, whether from fear or from surprise he couldn’t determine, frozen in place as he stared at his brother’s bleeding corpse.
And he did the first thing that came to mind after the seemed eternity of a solitary minute.
He ran, running towards the clockwork tower and the city below it. He ran, knowing that he may never forgive himself for the death of his older brother.

Days have passed since he settled in the slums of the Dwarven district, begging for money and using the dwarven currency to feed himself the simplest foods one can buy. Cold and hungry, Athan couldn’t feel it; his nightmares plaguing his every waking and sleeping moment.
After the first week, a man stopped in front of the boy, but didn’t turn to look. After a moment, the man dropped a small bag and left the boy’s presence. Eyebrows raised, Athan grabbed the bag and opened it. An amount of gold pieces to grant him better food for the next week.
Surprised, he closed the bag and leaned back against the wall.
He looked up towards the man, but he was gone within the crowd of dwarves flooding this area of the night covered slums. After a long pause of thought and wonder, Athan ate well that night.
The next week, the man came again, with a similar bag of wealth and the same questions to come forth in the boy’s wandering mind.
Why was this man giving him money? Why so much money? Why him over all others in the slums of the Dwarven District?
On the third week, the man came. But, before he could leave after giving Athan the gold, the boy stood and said to the man, “Who- Who are you and is this yours?”
The man turned to Athan with a smile and replied, “Ah. You finally begin to speak.” His voice seemed authoritative with a stern tone mixed with the tones of glee and surprise.
“No need, my boy. I’m just a person that saw you and felt that you needed support in your sorrows.”
The man lifted his azure hood to reveal a human male, with white hair that has been neatly cut short and seemed to be supported by sideburns of the same (or even more white color) that came to his flat plateau-like chin. He bowed his head with the introduction that left his lips, “I am Kareem, one of the distinguished leaders of the Cabal in this city’s borders.”
Athan, puzzled at this man’s introduction, then felt a strange presence in his skull. A nice feeling as if to say that the feeling was safe to be with, and the feeling was one that will comfort.
The boy tried to block it out, and the man grinned.
“Sir, I don’t know what you’re doing, but It doesn’t feel right.”
“Good. You have a keen control of your own instinct.”
“What does that-”
“Have to do with it? Was that what you were going to say, boy?” Kareem said almost instantly to end Athan’s sentence. As if he knew what was going to be said.
The boy paused as his benefactor for the last three weeks continued, “It has a lot to do with it, actually. You have a special power, young…”
Athan said, almost instantly as if it was a payback for a horrible prank, “Athan, sir. My name is Athan.”
“Athan.” Kareem smiled pleasantly before he continued with, “This power, young Athan, is the reason why I have brought the offer, from the Headmaster himself mind you, to enroll in the Cabal. To control it.”
And Athan agreed to go to this Cabal, though he didn’t understand why.

Athan was amazed by the mansion in front of him, home of the Cabal. Built similarly to the royal villas of old, completely made of marble, with the highest places carved with scenes that told of forgotten lore of old. The worries of gods and men were detailed, and even of four elements fighting an intangible tentacled creature carved from onyx.
The question that snapped the boy out of his daze of scholarly curiosity. He muttered his approval to Kareem as they both walked into the main hall of the place. The hall was huge, circular with twenty-five feet in radius and the images of a singular scene of a tale that the silver eyed boy had never heard of. A woman stood on the western edge of the room, with three men fighting between each other with tendrils of power represented with engravings of colors.
A semicircle of many tens of fanciful chairs surrounded the central area, which had engraved into the floor a symbol of two colors; A sun that shone brightly in silver on its eastern side and the western side that glittered like a azure crystal.
The room was mostly empty, but some people with clothing that was similar to Kareem’s sat in some of the chairs; some of the different races that young Athan had met in his life, but one (“sitting” in the largest of the chairs, which sat in the middle) seemed to be a rather large ghostly brain; a haze of purple with similarly incorporeal tendrils to act as limbs.
Ah, and this must be the esteemed Athan. We have been waiting for your arrival, young one.
The boy didn’t respond and stood there speechless, his eyes glowing a mix of gold and silver with his confusion over what to think of the scene.
“This is the Headmaster, Athan. I’m sure that you’ll get used to seeing him after a while.”
Charmed, I’m sure. After all, your mind has awakened to its own psionic powers. A rare happenstance, really. And what caused this awakening, Athan?
Athan suddenly felt sorrow, guilt, fear, and pain pass his mind, with the whole room being deafeningly silent. “Wait, what in the hells just happened?”
You instinctively reacted to my questions, and you gave us, the High Masters of the Cabal, the archive of your emotions. In other words, you remembered your feelings during the event and told us what happened. I am very sorry for your loss, Athan. Your mother was a very powerful asset for our library.
“You knew my mother?”
Yes. She was a good woman. Always helping others with her gift of intelligence. You must have inherited it, as I’m gathering?
Athan didn’t respond, his mind reeling from the memories of his mother.
The other people talked among each other for a bit, and the Headmaster nodded his brain in approval.
We have decided that, if you so wish, you may stay here and learn how to harness the power of your mind. We will allow you one week to think of your decision. Council dismissed.

Kenyarra practiced fast-paced strikes against a bag that hung from the roof, her dark brown skin illuminated by floating white lights. First, she studied her target as if it was an aggressive creature. It charged at her in her imagination, and she reacted within the span of a second; dodging the imaginary attacker’s charge, her yellow-orange eyes glowing as she punched the exact center of the target. She punched a hole right through the bag, of which she noticed was stitched back together within seconds, despite no one being there to fix the hole.
Her breathing was ragged, and she collapsed as a Kareem entered the room.
“Training too hard again, I see.”
She only turned to her mentor, blood oozing down her face as she quivered.
“We’ve talked about this, Kynyarra. Your body can’t take the pressure of overusing psychic energy.”
She responded, her voice low and queasy, “I know. I just want to get better.”
Conjuring a staff into his hand, Kareem helped the girl up.
“You should get some rest. You have a new room-mate, hopefully a friend.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Kareem paused, searching for the right words to describe the situation to his student, “He’s trying to adjust to his new living area. How about you meet him?”
She didn’t answer, slothfully making her way east to the living areas.
Kareem smiled and moved back towards the Main Hall.

Athan, with golden eyes glowing, stared at the full moon that hung in the night sky. Memories flooded his mind; Of his mother, who told him of an ancient myth about the moon.
Do you know why the moon is connected to the hearts of mortality? No? Then let your mother tell you. He shuddered as he remembered her loving gaze smiling down upon him.
The elves say that it is Correllon Larethian’s lover, who sacrificed herself to deal a weakening blow to the orc god Gruumsh. In grief after that fateful battle, the elf god went into the Astral Plane and set her body into the river of the Living Dream. Her body reformed itself from his love, becoming a large white sphere, and her words echoed in his mind, “Your love hath given me new form, and thus I give thee this eternal gift. Love, spread throughout all the realms of existence, passed down from parent to child and between lovers as well as the bond that holds together fellowships. Corellon was moved to tears by his lover’s declaration, that he told her that he’d never love another for his divine life.
And for millennia, the Goddess herself has been watching our every move. Waiting, pondering, and matchmaking the mortals below her as her children, the Stars, watched and beheld mortal life.
Athan returned to reality as he heard a slight sniffeling behind him. He turned to find a girl, around his age, brushing her nose with her arm as she collapsed on the bed right next to the door.
“Could you stop broadcasting your memories? I think everyone in the dormitories could see them.”
He looked at the dark-skinned girl with his silver eyes and then said, “Sorry.”
“You miss her, huh?”
“Nothing. Go to sleep, kid.” She snickered as she licked her finger and doused the nearby candle with two fingers.
And he did, his eyes close to tears when he saw his mother’s face within the moon for a short minute. “Thank you, Moon.”

“Wake up, lazybones!”
Athan awoke, barely able to see the glare in Kenyarra’s yellow eyes. It has been a week since he first walked into the Cabal’s halls for the first time, and the final day to make his decision to either leave the Cabal or stay. He still hadn’t made his mind on either decision.
“I said it’s time to wake up. So, wake up!”
“I’m up, I’m up.” He groaned, moving so he was sitting on the bed. They took turns getting dressed in the dressing area (a curtain hung by Kenyarra, saying that it raises privacy when one needs to change clothes or bathe), and then walked down into the Main Hall, empty besides all of the students and masters moving to get to their classes and study groups.
“Dammit, we’re late! The Headmaster said that he’d meet us outside in the Practice Yard if we’re late, but you should know that he doesn’t like students being late.”
And then they ran into the major courtyard, filled with upper class students practising, and the Headmaster floated near one of the circular fenced areas in the central plaza.
Ah, the two sleepy ones have come. In Athan’s case, I can forgive him for tardiness, but young Kenyarra. You’ll do better from now on, yes?
“Yes, Headmaster.”
Good. Now, get inside the practice area. I want to test something for you, Athan.
“Yes, sir.” Athan responded, entering the practice area as she held the wooden gate open for him.
As he entered, he noticed two stones sitting near the opposite end of the practice area, each painted with a blue line in the center.
These stones are small, weighing in at about 5 pounds, and they stand about 20 feet away from you. I want you to try moving at least one of them towards you, Athan.
“What? But sir, that’s impossible! I don’t have a lifetime of training, as your other students do.”
Nothing is impossible, Athan. Just remember that you have potential, and potential is one thing that shouldn’t be wasted.
Athan gulped, “Yes, sir.”
And then he concentrated, his eyes turning golden as he focused on one of the stones. After hours of concentration, he collapsed onto his knees in exhaustion.
“It’s no use, sir. I can’t do it.”
Oh, you can’t? But you did.
Puzzled, the boy looked up at the Headmaster who lifted him into the air without the aid of his ethereal limbs, and then floating Athan and himself to the area of the stones.
Indeed, the stone on the right had barely moved.
It would seem that you did indeed do something with the stone. You moved it a little over a quarter of an inch beyond the first stone!
Shocked, the boy felt rejuvenated and he looked at the headmaster.
You indeed have a talent, young Athan. Psionic power resides in everyone, but it only awakens in very specific circumstances. But, that doesn’t mean one is immediately closed off to their potential just because they decide it. So, I ask you a question. Will you stay with us to help you unlock your own potential?
Athan had finally made his decision with this lesson, and agreed to stay at the Cabal.

The years were long and arduous on Athan, but still he preservered. His days consisted with practising his newfound power in the training area with Kareem, and studying and note taking in the Library with the Headmaster in the afternoon. He also created a bond with Kenyarra as the years passed, getting to know the Xeph as she was getting to know him. They became close friends, and eventually began seeing each other as more.
Until eventually, after all these long years, his seventeenth birthday was near, alongside the Cabal’s graduation ceremony. Life was looking up towards Athan, and he was sure that his mother would have been proud.

Kenyarra opened the dorm room door, having a look that was both worried and impatient, and asked in a loud tone as she brushed her silken black hair with her hands, “Athan! Where are you, Sleepyhead? The ceremony’s going to start in a half hour. We need to be ready!”
She was suddenly tackled by a form, and she shrieked as they both hit the mattress of her bed. Athan smiled before kissing her straight on the lips, and she obliged. The tender moment went on for a second or three before Athan removed himself from her. She then responded to the event, “Did I ever tell you that you were a great kisser?”
“You always do. You advertise it louder than I do, and that’s saying a lot.”
She scoffed and jokingly shoved her lover, and they both laughed. They were both ready, wearing flowing purple robes with the symbol of the Cabal, a stylized silver eye embedded into the chest.
“Okay, handsome. If you promise to stop reading my surface thoughts, I’ll promise to be with you after the ceremony.” She then added with a slight bit of sarcasm, “I do have to help Master Gerigh with something afterwards, after all.”
Athan sighed, his eyes slowly fading from a golden glow to sparkling silver. “Fine. I’ll stop.”
The locked arms, and walked towards the Main Hall.

The hall was packed with people, both masters and apprentices, teachers and students. A mass of purple robed forms crowded around the central foyer as Athan and Kenyarra, as well as many other students, stood on the foyer alongside the Headmaster and Kareem.
The Elan grinned at his two students, showing that he was proud of them and their accomplishments, and then the Headmaster sent his telepathic announcement:

For multitudes of millenia, the Cabal has chosen their students and have taught them the secrets of the mind itself. Power can come from many sources, based on who chooses to wield it. You have shown your willingness to use your minds to solve problems, and thus were gifted with the use of Psionics; The power of one’s own mind.
Today, you have finally prevailed in mastering the basics of the mind, and proved that you can be trusted to wield this power.

Headmaster signaled to Kareem, who handed out a small golden sigil of the Cabal to each of the graduating students.

As the symbol that you wear glitters in silver, the sigil you hold is gold for the authority over knowledge and what one can stand for. With it, you have the authority to delve into ancient ruins and discern the secrets of the forgotten past.
To begin a step into a larger world, I address you not as students. I address you as colleagues and adventurers into knowledge previously thought unknown. Good luck, and let your mind follow your own dreams.

Applause filled the Grand Hall as the Headmaster left, leaving Athan speechless over his accomplishments for the first time in a long time. He was no longer alone.

A month passed, with Athan continuing his studies at the Cabal.

He was worried, taking his focus out of his work. His master and his girl were good enough to defend themselves and each other during their mission, yet he still had a nagging feeling…
Suddenly, a sound echoed throughout the city, forcing Athan to cover his ears to protect himself.
Gears of a huge magnitude began to move for the first time in a long time, the sound of corroded metal grating for miles around them. This meant only one thing: The tower that stood in the exact center of town had awakened. But from what?
Athan’s dorm room was now a mess, papers and ink spotted all over the floors and wall. Everything reverberated from the sound waves, vibrating subtly yet obviously.
And his curiosity got the better of him, beginning to pack up and prepare for the road ahead. Backpack, Books, Scrolls in their scroll cases, Crystal-infused crossbow with bolts. He will explore that tower, for it calls to him of knowledge that came before. But, why didn’t the idea come to him earlier if at all? The question left his mind as suddenly as it came. And the left the Cabal for now...

Any advice/suggestions/criticisms?