My parents loved me. I could always tell. I never doubted it. But I would never make them truly happy. I would never be a mage. Some of the arcane masters in Silvermoon worked very hard with me, likely heavily encouraged by some coin from my parents. But it was never in me.

But my brother – he had it. The knack. The calling. Or whatever you want to call it. He had a great aptitude for it.

Alas, when the scourge came, it wasn’t enough. Nobody’s magic was enough. The scourge laughed at us when they marched through Silvermoon.

My father told me to go hide. He didn’t tell me where. It didn’t matter. I doubt there was anybody better than me when it came to getting lost.

My parents were killed that day, along with just about everyone else.

I found their bodies together, not too far from the Bazaar. I was relieved – relieved that they weren’t brought back as those sickening things. So many others had been. What abominations!

My brother … I never found his body. I looked for weeks.

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