The night throbbed with the rhythm of a thousand clashing blades.  Sparks, like fireflies in a storm, erupted with each desperate parry.  Screams, a chilling symphony of pain and triumph, tore through the air, mingling with the acrid scent of smoke and blood.  Zeal, a lone figure silhouetted against the moonlit sky, raised his voice, its raw desperation a stark contrast to the chaotic symphony around him.

 

"Where is she? Bring her back!"  His words, though swallowed by the din, carried the weight of a desperate plea.  The ache in his voice was palpable, a raw testament to the fear that gnawed at his heart.

 

He jolted awake, drenched in sweat, the echoes of battle still ringing in his ears.  Another dream.  He rubbed his eyes, the memory of the lost figure lingering like a phantom limb.  His mother's voice, soft as the morning breeze, broke through the haze.

 

"Did you sleep well, my son?" she asked, her brow furrowed with concern.  "I had the same dream again, just like yesterday.  Perhaps it's a vision."

 

Zeal pushed himself up, the dream clinging to him like a shroud.  He stepped outside, the cool morning air a welcome contrast to the heat of his nightmare.  The familiar sounds of his neighborhood greeted him: children's laughter, the rhythmic clang of a blacksmith's hammer, the murmur of neighbors' voices, all tinged with a subtle undercurrent of fear.

 

A young girl, her eyes wide with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension, approached him.  "Big Brother Zeal," she asked, her voice tinged with a hint of fear, "why are you different from us? Your face is fair, and your skin doesn't rot like ours.  Why are you different from your family, and from us?"

 

Before Zeal could answer, a panicked cry pierced the morning calm.  A young boy, his face pale with terror, stumbled into the street, gasping for breath.  "Help! They're going to kill me!" he cried, his voice trembling.

 

Zeal's heart clenched.  He didn't need to ask who "they" were.  The Kingdom of People's soldiers, with their cruel eyes and iron-fisted justice, were a constant threat to their peaceful enclave.  He glanced at the girl, her eyes mirroring his own fear.  He knew what he had to do.

 

He moved with a newfound urgency, his steps purposeful.  He reached the boy, his hand instinctively reaching out to steady him.  "What happened?" he asked, his voice low and firm.

 

The boy pointed towards a group of soldiers, their armor gleaming in the morning sun.  They were surrounding a small, huddled figure, their voices harsh and mocking.  Zeal's blood ran cold.  He saw a flicker of fear in the boy's eyes, a fear he knew all too well.  The air crackled with tension, the scent of fear mingling with the damp morning air.

 

"What are you doing to a child?" Zeal demanded, his voice rising, the fear replaced by a fierce anger.  He faced the soldiers, his gaze unwavering.

 

The soldiers turned, their faces hard and unyielding.  "He's nothing but a low-living thing," one of them sneered, his voice dripping with disdain.  "He deserves no mercy."

 

Zeal's anger flared.  He clenched his fists, the air around him shimmering with the faintest hint of light.  He wasn't going to stand by and watch another innocent life be extinguished.  He wasn't going to let fear dictate his actions anymore.  He would fight back.  He would protect the weak.

 

With a sudden burst of energy, a sword of pure light materialized in his hand, its ethereal glow cutting through the darkness.  He raised it, a beacon of defiance against the soldiers' cruelty.  "You will not hurt him," he declared, his voice ringing with newfound power.

 

The soldiers laughed, their laughter echoing with arrogance and disdain.  "Light magic?  How pathetic," one of them scoffed, his eyes glinting with malice.  He raised his hand, a bolt of lightning crackling at his fingertips.

 

The lightning struck, searing through Zeal's defenses.  He stumbled back, his body screaming in pain.  He fell to his knees, the world spinning around him.  The taste of blood filled his mouth, the smell of burnt flesh stinging his nostrils.

 

He looked up, his vision blurring, to see the soldiers' faces twisted in cruel amusement.  "You're weak, Zeal," one of them hissed, his voice laced with venom.  "You'll never be anything more than a pathetic outcast."

 

Zeal's anger, fueled by pain and humiliation,urged through him like a wildfire.  He clenched his jaw, his eyes burning with a fierce determination.  He wouldn't let them win.  He wouldn't let fear control him.  He would rise above their cruelty, and he would fight for a world where everyone, regardless of their differences, could live in peace.

 

He pushed himself to his feet, his body trembling with pain.  He stared at the soldiers, his gaze unwavering.  He would train, he would become stronger, and he would make them pay for their cruelty.  He would fight for a world where no one would ever have to fear.  He would become a beacon of hope, a champion for the downtrodden, a force for change.  He would become a Mage.