It was a muggy late-summer afternoon, and the only thing to make it more worthy of a long nap for Dowyr Mawkin was the fact it was visiting day at the orphanage. He put off leaving his bed in the bunkroom for as long as he could, laying on his back, head hanging over the edge to stare at the wall. Only the most comfortable of positions.

  His lounging was interrupted as one of the younger Sisters, Naiya, came to stand over him.

  “Time to join the others,” she said, and the effort to sound patient was palpable.

  Fine, he hand-signed, taking a moment to let the blood rush out of his head as he sat up. I’m still not getting adopted.

  “You never know.”

  He gave her a blank look. She sniffed and strode away, motioning for him to follow.

  They entered the visiting room, deceptively spacious from its high ceiling, and painted to be warm and colorful, but it had been decades since the last paint job. The colors were faded, and in some spots washed away altogether. It was a depressing sight, as were the rest of the orphans. The Sisters certainly did their best to lighten their mood, keep the place tidy and presentable, but only so much could be done for a place that was built with the soul of mud. And yet some might say it still looked prettier than Dowyr himself.

  It had been years since he came to understand that any effort on his part to get adopted was futile. Nobody wanted the ugly, mute 14-year-old. Just a reality he had come to accept. He didn’t want anyone either.

  Taking to his chair in the corner, Dowyr tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling while trying to ignore the sounds of the other children happily interacting with the prospective parents that came through. He wondered what kind of life he could have if he could channel an Emogic of some kind; a power that was gained from having an Apex of Emotion, which was a somewhat rare one-time event that occurred when experiencing an intense or abnormal amount of emotion associated with one of the 32 different Emogics. Dowyr had read everything there was to know about each from the books at the library, one of the places he spent most of his time when not trapped in the orphanage, even when there was nothing left to read.

  He imagined what it would be like to fly using the Emogic of Happiness. The first thing he’d do is fly somewhere warmer like the southern nation of Arkonia. Winters in Elyssanar were much too cold for his taste. Unfortunately, the odds of him having an Apex of Happiness were probably near zero. The soul of mud was far too oppressive. Perhaps he could have an Apex of Loneliness, which would’ve been almost as good due to its power of teleportation.

  Visiting time wore on, but for all of Dowyr’s daydreaming, he only found himself more and more bored. He almost wished some pastor or other clergyman would walk in and try to argue him into accepting Heaven or Elysium or whoever. At least then there would be someone to talk to for a while. But none did. It had been months since the last. He wondered if he’d scared them all away, but no, he was sure some newly determined clergyman would come again. The religious types in Elyssanar were relentless. Which, as far as he could tell, meant everyone. All the more reason to fly south to Arkonia, which the clergy often spoke against as being full of heathens.

  Leaning back in his chair, Dowyr tried to tilt his head even further to stare at the wall, albeit unsuccessfully. The chattering of adults and children washed over him.

  Nothing to do, nothing to doooo, he thought, wishing he had something to sketch on.

  And that’s when the Apex of Emotion hit.

  He felt nothing when it occurred, but something about his boredom changed. There was an energy of it within him, as though he could reach into himself and take hold of it, shape it, and make it go somewhere and do something. Not even aware of what he was doing, he reached in and pulled it out, channeling it. The Boredom flowed outward, permeating the air around him in the form of a gray mist. If he hadn’t been so focused on the dusty ceiling, he would’ve seen it.

  So stupid, he thought. I’d rather have an executioner come in and chop my head off.

  When the executioner’s face came into view, a giant of a man looming over him with an axe at the ready, his instincts forced his legs to jump, causing the chair to fling back and crash to the ground, bringing him with it. With the floor having dealt a solid blow to his head, his accidental channeling was cut off. The Emogic energy vanished, and the executioner went with it as though he had never been.

  Dowyr blinked in confusion, then gasped in realization. An Apex… of Boredom? he thought. It had to be. There was no other emotion he was feeling so strongly.

  “Are you alright, Dowyr?” Naiya asked from afar as she hurried over to him.

  Yes, he signed. Accident.

  Naiya helped him to his feet. “After how much time you’ve spent sitting on that chair, I never would’ve thought… well, never mind. Maybe instead you should try tal—” She caught herself mid-word and sighed. “Try… interacting?”

  Dowyr looked past her, seeing some of the prospective parents looking his way curiously. He held back from sticking his tongue out at them and signed, I’d rather not.

  “Of course. You’d rather leave for the afternoon altogether, wouldn’t you?”

  It was difficult to hide his grin. It’s like you can read my mind. Can I go to the library? I’ll be back in time for dinner.

  “I thought you had already read everything? Well… how many times have we let you skip visiting days this month?”

  Does that really matter?

  “I suppose not, but then I’ll have you on dish cleaning duty after dinner.”

  Deal.

  He dashed off to put on his sandals and was out of the orphanage before any of the other Sisters knew.

  The city of Elyssanar—which the country was named after—was relatively quiet at this time of day. Most people stayed in their homes, avoiding the summer heat, but there were still a number of carts rolling down the streets, children playing tag, and the usual old geezers playing a game of Kings in the shade. They waved as Dowyr passed, and he waved back. One shouted after him if he had time for a game, but he shook his head. Any other time he might’ve taken them up on it—they were the only people he knew outside of the orphanage that he actually liked and got along with—but he intended to test out his new Emogic powers, and the temptation to use them for cheating would be too strong.

  Turning down another street, Dowyr reached the library with its large stone pillars holding up its grand fa?ade. He weaved in between them like a snake and went past the entrance, having never intended on entering in the first place. The market was his true destination, a less conspicuous place to test his Emogic.

  Right as he cleared the last pillar, he ran into someone who had just rounded the corner, a man in clergyman robes, and with an all-too familiar face. Pastor Orson. Of all people to run into, it had to be the worst.

  “Oh, excuse me!” Orson said with sincerity, then upon recognizing Dowyr, added, “Ah... it’s you. Dowyr, if I’m not mistaken?”

  Dowyr took a step back and signed, Dowyr Mawkin.

  Orson gave him a cold look. “Still going about using that filthy moniker? Hmph. Isn’t it a visitation day? You shouldn’t be sneaking out, whatever your excuse.”

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  This is what Dowyr loathed about the man. He assumed the worst, and what he assumed was law. He was never mistaken, there was no talking back, no explaining the situation, no correcting him, and he made you know it. So, being the only reasonable course of action, Dowyr tried to run. His plan went well for all of two steps before Orson grabbed his arm and yanked him back.

  “I think not,” Orson said, and began dragging him in the direction of the orphanage. “I’ll be sure to teach the Sisters how to deal with you appropriately. The Sentinels do not smile down upon disobedient children.”

  As if he knew anything about what his imaginary Sentinels thought. For all that was written in The Five Sentinels—the primary religious text of Elyssanar—there was nothing about ‘disobedient’ children and what the Sentinels themselves thought of them. Dowyr would know, he had read the entire thing, and he never forgot a single detail of any book he read. Not even the Snakes—the Sentinels’ evil counterparts—had anything to say about delinquents.

  An idea came to him. If he was a Boredom Emogician as he suspected, he should be able to use his Emogic to escape. Boredom’s powers were telepathy and sensory manipulation, and using the latter should make for an easy escape. If there was someone he didn’t mind testing it on, it was Orson.

  Recalling what he’d read about how to channel Emogic, he took a calming breath and tried to ignore the hand grasping his arm. Instead, he turned his focus inward, feeling the Emogic energy churning within him, and mentally willed it to come into his control, the way all Emogics were channeled. Some were harder to control than others, and he had to mentally coax the Emogic into his grasp as though it were a bit sluggish to obey, but still it came, and he channeled it out. It appeared as a gray floating stream, which he then pierced Orson with. The man wouldn’t have seen the Emogic; only other Emogicians of the same type or an Empathy Emogician could see the channeling.

  With the Emogic touching Orson, Dowyr felt a clear sense of possibility of what he could do with it; telepathy, or sensory manipulation. He focused on the latter and then imagined, in the perspective of Orson, that he broke free and began to run. As expected, Orson let go of his arm for real and ran after the illusion. Dowyr maintained his channeling at him, having his fake-self run faster. He gasped when Orson went beyond ten meters and could still channel all the way to him.

  So I’m above Class 1, he thought with some giddy excitement.

  After aiming a rude gesture towards the old fool, he started running in the opposite direction, still channeling. After about ten seconds, his stream of Boredom stretched thin and slipped off of Orson. That sealed being at least Class 2, probably even a bit higher, earning an excited leap forward.

  Still, he wanted to be sure of exactly how powerful he was. The power measurement of an Emogician scaled logarithmically, and the more powerful, the less chance of someone having an Apex to reach such strength, and some Emogics were rarer than others. He could likely be the only Boredom Emogician in the country.

  There were a few ways to know where he fell along the Class scale, such as a trained Empath to sense it outright, but without one he resorted to testing how many people he could channel to.

  Before he could start doing so, he nearly tripped over a stray dog that was lying down in the shade of a building. The shaggy mongrel was panting hard and looked like it hadn’t eaten for a few days. It looked at him with frightened eyes and made a low whine.

  It's okay, Dowyr signed, backing away slowly. He wondered if Boredom worked on animals and channeled to the dog, but he couldn’t sense any sort of telepathic possibility. That much was expected; an animal’s thoughts were incompatible with a human’s, unless you were able to channel the Emogic of Peace. At least he could tell that sensory manipulation would work, so he made the dog hear the voice of one of the other orphans as though it came from him.

  “I’ll go get something for you to eat, okay? Wait right here.”

  Running off and reaching the market, he came across a tired looking fruit merchant and looked through what he was selling. A colorful variety of apples, pears, and oranges. Dogs could eat apples, right?

  “Good day for some fruit,” the merchant said absently, waving a straw hat at himself to cool down.

  Dowyr nodded in agreement and again channeled out his Emogic, piercing the merchant with it, but this time he focused on the possibility of telepathy. The mind of the merchant opened up to Dowyr’s own.

  …looks like an orphan, the merchant thought. Ugly kid. Probably can’t even afford anything.

  “Ugly!?” Dowyr channeled sensory manipulation using the merchant’s own voice. “Who are you calling ugly, ugly? I am the Mighty Mawkin!”

  The merchant’s eyes widened. Dowyr continued channeling and imagined himself disappearing. Gasping, the merchant leapt to his feet, eyes searching wildly. Dowyr grinned and jumped in place a few times, but there was no further reaction from the bewildered merchant.

  Satisfied, Dowyr grabbed a couple apples and made it seem to the merchant that they were still there. Deciding the dog could wait a bit longer, he began to channel at each person he came across. Even at this blistering hour of the day there were plenty around to do so. As he pierced them with the Emogic, he felt the distinct possibility of either telepathy or sensory manipulation. Not knowing whether that was enough to test his limits, he decided to go with telepathy for them all. One by one their minds opened up to his own, but he didn’t let his own thoughts go into theirs. No reason to raise suspicions.

  That man was worried about his work, that woman was worried about her husband, that kid just wanted to play with friends. Dowyr continued striking new targets with his Emogic.

  Seven, eight, nine. This wasn’t so bad. The voices clamoring in his mind were fairly easy to ignore too.

  Ten. Not much more difficult. Any Class 2 would be able to channel at this many without issue. How many more?

  Eleven, twelve, thirteen. That woman was having an affair, that man was planning to cheat his business partner, that kid just wanted to eat cake. Dowyr didn’t even know what cake tasted like.

  Each new target felt like it was taking a fair bit more effort to channel at, but still manageable. All the voices just became background noise.

  Fourteen. Getting close. Why was that guy so desperate for a shovel?

  Fifteen. His heart pounded. Was this what it was like trying to run a marathon? There was no way he could go much further, but he wanted to know for sure.

  At sixteen it took twice as much effort, and the streams of Emogic visibly trembled. Suppressing the voices became impossible and they flooded his mind with an overwhelming force. Any more and Dowyr thought he’d instantly collapse from the effort. He was ready to as it was and cut his channeling, letting the streams of Emogic vanish along with all the voices.

  Fifteen must be my limit, he thought, holding his head which suddenly felt dizzy. That makes me Class 2.2 according to the books. Not bad.

  He chuckled to himself and slowly began walking back to where the dog had been. Maybe now that he had a way to communicate with people besides signs he could get adopted. The thought made him laugh out loud and stumble, earning a few odd stares from passersby. No, there were better things to do than that. With the power of telepathy and sensory manipulation he could leave the orphanage and be on his own for good. So long as he found the right people to trick, getting enough money to leave the country would be easy, and then off to Arkonia he’d go. Pastor Orson had preached it was full of sinful unbelievers a number of times, which made it all the more fitting for Dowyr, even if they did have weird ideas about names. As long as it didn’t snow there, that was good enough for him.

  Upon reaching the dog, he found it lying still, eyes closed. It gave no reaction even when he nudged it with his foot. It wasn’t breathing. Dowyr stood over it, unsure what to do. He looked around to see if any adults were paying attention and might do something, but none were. There was barely anyone else walking the streets. He hesitantly took a step back, then put one of the apples next to the dog’s snout. He had meant to eat the second apple himself, but thinking about his appetite, he realized it was gone. He put down the second apple and made himself walk away. For some reason his heart was racing even faster than when he was channeling to all those people.

  Returning to the orphanage, he was careful about going back in. Pastor Orson might have come to inform the Sisters of his whereabouts. Opening the door a crack, he looked around and found no sign of him. Entering, he tried to be discreet about making his way back to the bunkroom. Nobody paid him any mind, and soon he was collapsed back on his bed.

  Snakes, he was exhausted all of a sudden. Where had that ache in his bones come from? His muscles felt like jelly. Had channeling at sixteen people really taken that much out of him? It must have been that. Dowyr had read that if an Emogician drained themselves all in one go, it took an entire day to fully recover. It certainly felt like he needed an entire day.

  The door opened and Naiya strode in, eyes set on Dowyr. He sat up and prepared a stream of Boredom. At least, he tried to. His focus was slipping and he couldn’t maintain channeling.

  “There are some people here looking for you, Dowyr,” Naiya said. “They say you’ve had an Apex of Emotion. Are you okay? You look exhausted. What happened?”

  Snakes, Dowyr thought. How did they know? An Empath? But how would an Empath have known I was—

  Orson. The bastard must have gone straight to the Academy of Emogic to report him. Of course he’d know; once Dowyr’s channeling to him stopped, the fake Dowyr would’ve simply vanished into thin air. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid!

  Two men strode into the room, their attention focused on Dowyr. His instincts made him jump up and try to run, but exhaustion got the better of him. They grabbed him, and there was little he could do as one hoisted him over his shoulder. He felt like he was falling asleep and cursed his body for being so pathetically weak.

  “Don’t worry, ma’am,” the man holding him said. “We’ll take good care of him and make sure he won’t get himself hurt.”

  “Nooooooo,” he tried to say, but it was just an unintelligible groan before he slipped into unconsciousness.