In our village, there was an old man whom everyone called the Sage. He was known for his mastery of the wind, a rare and precious talent. The children, including myself, often gathered around him to listen to his stories and watch his demonstrations.

 

One day, as the sun began to set, the Sage sat down in the center of the village square. The children gathered around him, their eyes wide with anticipation. Among them were a few children who were already showing signs of mastering Rûh, each with a different element.

 

The Sage raised his hands, and a gentle breeze began to blow around him. He closed his eyes, and we felt the wind caress our faces, gentle and soothing.

 

"Every living thing has a soul," he began, his voice soft and soothing. "And in that soul resides a force, an energy that some of us can touch and use."

 

He gestured, and the breeze picked up, causing the leaves on the trees to rustle.

 

"Some of you can learn to control this force, to shape it to your will. But it's rare to master more than one element."

 

He looked around, his penetrating eyes meeting ours. He stopped for a moment at a young boy who had shown an affinity with water, then at a girl who could make flames dance.

 

"But don't be discouraged if you can't touch this force. Technology can help you emulate these feats. And remember, my children, that this force, though powerful, must be used wisely and responsibly."

 

He extinguished the breeze, and silence fell, each of us absorbing his words.

 

Yet there were those, like me, who had not been born with the gift of touching this mystical force. The dream of becoming a Soulmaster had often danced in my mind, a distant and elusive aspiration. But the absence of this innate ability had quickly extinguished this flame of hope.

 

It hadn't left me despondent. Instead, I had found another path, another passion. I had accepted my situation with a maturity beyond my years, choosing to concentrate on learning about the world around me. The disappointment was there, lurking in a corner of my heart, but it was eclipsed by an insatiable curiosity and a desire to understand.

 

I spent my childhood in a charming village at the foot of a lush forest. Our village, though small, was a center of power and influence. It was populated by important personalities - former ministers, heads of state, mayors and prosperous merchants. Each brought with them a wealth of knowledge and experience, enriching our community.

 

The village houses, built of wood and thatch, were a harmonious blend of simplicity and elegance. The natural stone-paved streets that meandered between the houses added to the rustic charm of the place. Each house was surrounded by a flower garden, adding touches of color to the village's natural palette.

 

The forest that bordered the village was a sight to behold in its own right. The trees rose high into the sky, their leaves forming a green canopy that protected the village from the sun's rays. Birdsong and the rustling of leaves in the wind were the only sounds to break the peaceful silence of the forest.

 

Beyond the forest, the landscape was transformed into a desert expanse. Sand dunes stretched as far as the eye could see, creating a striking contrast with the greenery of the forest. Despite the aridity of the desert, a winding road ran through it, linking our village to the outside world.

 

This is where my story began.

 

Among these influential families was that of the village mayor. His son Adil, like me, was 7 years old. Born into the spotlight that his title demanded, he was constantly praised for his actions, even if they weren't always as impressive as they were made out to be. This young boy used his status to expand his circle of friends, although it would be more accurate to call them his "henchmen". However, he was always surrounded by a band of loyal friends, each with their own personality. There was Samir, the strongest and bravest of them all, and Sofia, the cleverest and most cunning. Although we were both young children born into the limelight, the adage "Birds of a feather flock together" was never more dangerous than at that moment.

 

Feeling lonely, with no friends my own age, I was always on the lookout for parks to make friends and play with them. At first, it was pretty easy and we had a lot of fun, but when I saw those kids again, there was always that one kid who forbade them to play with me. He made everyone jealous by pointing the finger at the adults who were as if bewitched by my face, as if they were witnessing an angel.

 

Time passed and an occasion arose when my father took me with him for a formal meeting with the village mayor and his family. When the time came to introduce myself, a shower of compliments fell on me: "Such radiance in such a young face is rare", "He has the aura of a celestial being"... These praises, though flattering, were uttered in the presence of their only son. The latter, who had already harbored a deep-seated jealousy of me in the past, saw this growing admiration as a threat, exacerbating his resentment until it turned into an almost palpable hatred. Young and carefree, I had no idea for a second of the impact these situations would have on my future.

 

Despite this, I was always impressed by Adil's ease in making friends; he knew how to be constantly surrounded by other children, ready to play with him even if I didn't always understand his methods.

 

In private, however, Adil was different. He behaved in a wiser, more reserved way. Come to think of it, it was probably out of cowardice that he didn't attack me directly. Instead, he preferred to manipulate others to isolate me. He encouraged the other kids to avoid me, to leave me alone. It was a subtle but effective form of manipulation that eventually left me alone and isolated among the others.

 

As I went to the park for the umpteenth time to make friends, Adil invited me to play with him and his friends for the first time, which filled me with a strong feeling of happiness.

 

They suggested we go to the forest, and although my parents had always forbidden me to go there, the euphoria of the moment prompted me to follow them so as not to seem a killjoy.

 

There were four of us, our hearts throbbing with excitement for the game of hide-and-seek to come. One of us, chosen at random, stood in front of a sturdy tree, his back against the rough bark, his face buried in his arms. Meanwhile, the rest of us scrambled to find the best place to hide. The mayor's son grabbed me by the arm and pulled me along. We ran through the forest, our laughter echoing between the trees, the leaves rustling under our feet and the birds taking flight as we went.

 

Suddenly, the forest opened onto a desert expanse. The lush green of the forest gave way to a sea of golden sand, where the sun reflected with blinding intensity. In the middle of this desolate expanse stood a well, a solitary vestige of a bygone era.

 

Adil suggested I hide in the well. He assured me that if the searcher didn't find me, he'd come and get me himself. Despite the fear that twisted my stomach, I nodded my head in acceptance. I didn't want to show my weakness, not in front of Adil. However, a wave of anxiety washed over me, an icy sensation that made me shiver despite the desert heat.

 

With some hesitation, I climbed into the bucket that hung over the well. Adil lowered me slowly, the rope creaking with each turn of the crank. I descended so deep into the darkness that I could see nothing except the small circle of sunlight narrowing over my head. Below, in the darkness of the shaft, I found myself alone with my thoughts and fears. I waited, heart pounding, anguish rising with each passing minute.

 

I waited, alone in the darkness, for an interminable hour that stretched into an entire evening. Fear crept into me, wrapping itself around my heart like a vine, while the cold seeped into my bones, making me shiver despite the desert heat. The sounds of the night echoed around me, the cries of wild beasts, the squeak of the bucket against the wall of the well. I cried, tears streaming down my cheeks, my sobs echoing in the darkness. I missed my family terribly, their absence like a weight on my chest.

 

I was alone, on my own. I couldn't go back up, so I just drank the water from the well to survive. Despite the situation, I hoped that my new friends had simply forgotten to pick me up. That it was just a misunderstanding, a mistake.

 

The first few hours in the well were a whirlwind of terror and confusion. The cold seeped into my bones, and every strange noise startled me. The distant howls of wild beasts echoed through the night, and each scream seemed to draw closer, sending shivers of horror down my spine.

 

Fear slowly turned to despair. Images of my family haunted me, their smiling faces blurring in my mind. I remembered my little sister's laughter, the warmth of my mother's embrace, my father's reassuring strength. It all seemed so far away, so unreal.

 

Tears flowed freely, each sob a silent cry of agony. Loneliness was a physical pain, a weight on my chest that made it hard to breathe. I felt abandoned, betrayed, lost in an endless abyss.

 

Time lost all meaning. The hours blended into an endless eternity, each moment stretched to infinity. Hunger and thirst were constant torments, but they were secondary to the pain of isolation.

 

In this cold, dark pit, I was nothing more than a soul in pain, crying out into the void, hoping against hope that someone, somewhere, would hear me.

 

And then, just as I was beginning to lose hope, a mysterious little being appeared.