At five, the flame-haired boy discovered the power of words.
Take his family name. ‘Shroud’ was something powerful. His father was the ‘Shroud family head’, his mother was the ‘Genius Shroud Engineer’, and before he knew it, he was the ‘Shroud family’s venerable child prodigy’.
‘Heir apparent’, whatever that meant, was another epithet. ‘Future watchman’, ‘Guard of the underworld’ — no matter how many piled up, it was a certainty that the s word, carrying the weight of ten thousand souls with it, would follow soon after.
Those who knew what this near-sacrosanct family did would smile as their lips formed around the word, feeling assured in their safety. Those who did not could still tell it commanded respect, and their heads would automatically lower at its mention.
At five and a few months, he learned some words held more power than others.
‘Idia’ was something weak. ‘Idia’ would fail the test of time, be forgotten two generations down the line.
People seldom said it aloud, and as they did, their faces would contort like it was something scarcely worth remembering.
‘Shroud’ was the diamond, while whatever stood before it was simply the dust that one must be rid of sooner or latter.
