• A windy night, but not a cloud covered a single star. The stars themselves seemed to be painted onto a black canvas, with the moon as its centerpiece. And looking up into the moon was a young boy, about thirteen years old, hidden in a black cloak, face covered by a hood. A hook shaped scar ran down the eyelid and onto the cheek of the left side of his face.

    Why must I be cursed with this scar? he had thought to himself once before. What did I ever do to deserve this?

    Well, to be honest, the boy had done nothing. Except for fighting a man who was twice his age and twice his size. Even though that the hooded boy wasn’t that short, the man was still about twice his height. Almost.

    The hooded boy had gotten into a quarrel with a man with whom his father worked. But the man was not a very generous or kind person. He was a thief. And he began to steal from the boy’s father. And one day, when the boy’s father would not hand over his wife, the man threatened him with his own life. And the boy took a stand.

    “No!” he had shouted. “You are not to take my father’s life. Nor my mother’s. You may take mine, but not theirs!”

    “Be quiet, Peter!” his father had begged. “You don’t know what your up against! Nathan is a very strong man!”

    But the man, Nathan, raised his hand to Peter’s father. “Very well, young boy,” he began calmly. “In exchange for your parent’s lives, what would you like to do?”

    Peter drew his sword from his back. “A fight,” he hissed. “To the death.”

    Both of Peter’s parents gasped, their eyes dilated. “No! Peter don’t!” they pleaded.

    But Nathan nodded. “A fight to the death it is,” he agreed.

    It was now three years later. Peter had not prevailed in the fight. He was only a young boy then. An inexperienced boy who had just barely picked up a sword a month before. But Nathan must’ve had a generous side, for he let Peter live. But he left him with a scar across his left eye. And with one thing said:

    “You’re lucky I let you live.”