Blake never knew about his heritage.
He always thought he was this normal kid, with a normal life, and normal parents. He never expected that he had... abilities. He was told that he was a Wizard-Warrior, one of the last of his kind. But is that really true? Or is there something more... heavenly about him?
Cyton walked briskly through the large hallway, looking nowhere but forward. As he walked, a smaller man walked behind him, giving him some kind of news. The man spoke the same words in succession, as if he knew that Cyton was not listening, so he'd decided that repetedly saying the same thing would make his meaning clear as glass. Cyton was a tall, muscular man with brown eyes and dark hair. The man that followed him seemed to begin to get frustrated with the lack of attention he was getting. “Sir! This is important!”
Cyton placed a strong arm on the other man’s shoulder, who suddenly became stiff under his special touch. “Don’t speak, Charles,” he said. He walked off, leaving Charles rigid and lost for words, just as Cytons command had been, only it hadn't really been his choice....
Cyton walked past a door, and then backtracked and walked into the room. “What have you got on the boy? What is his location?”
A lady with long brown hair stepped forward. “Sir, his name is Blake Mauley, and he’s fifteen years old. He lives in Manhattan right now,” she said solemnly. Her face was a smooth mask, made by years of proffessional work for the man that stood before her.
“Right now? What do you mean by ‘right now’?”
“He’s lived in Paris, Toronto, Boston, Phoenix and even the UK.”
“And why is that?” Cyton asked curiously.
“School. He’s supposedly a very smart kid for his age, and he is considered gifted. He’s in grade twelve and he’s fifteen. His aunt is already looking at colleges for him. He’s smart, but a troublemaker. He doesn’t seem to get along with school," she said, recounting something she must have read.
“What happened to his parents, and what do you mean by that last part? Damn it I need answers!” Cyton exclaimed angrily. He slammed his fist down on the table that stood next to his. There was a split and a moaning protest from the table legs as he lifted his strong arm.
“His parents both died by an unknown cause. He almost burned down the Eiffel Tower, he froze half the CN Tower, caused an explosion at his school in Boston, split open the ground in Phoenix, and he made the Edinburgh Castle disappear in the UK,” she said, much more quickly this time. A bead of sweat dribbled down her forehead, and she wiped it away with a sleeved arm.
“Does he know?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Good work Nora. Take the rest of the day off.”
“Thank you sir,” she replied. “But I really want to find out more about this kid. Can I work the rest of the day?”
“Wow, I’ve never had someone turn down a day off. Nora, I’m promoting you. You’re going to be my right-hand woman.”
“What about Charles?”
“What about him? Follow me for a moment, please.”
Cyton walked out the door, and Nora followed. He pointed at Charles, who was farther down the hallway. They walked over to him, and Cyton placed his hand on Charles’s shoulder. “Charles. You will walk out that door and remember nothing at all about this place. When you get back to your house, you will lie in bed and sleep for three days. Now go,” said Cyton. Charles turned around, and walked down the hallway, as if he was in a trance. “Does that answer your question?”
“Yes, it does, sir.”
“Please, call me Cyton. Now that we're on a first-name basis and all.”
“Of course, Cyton.”
“Now, then, we’re going to Manhattan to talk to a boy about his power.”