It started when he was first brought to the Circle, a shivering, scrawny elf plucked from the alienage orphanage, told he was dangerous and a threat to all. In between ducking the frighteningly large armored men and staring with awe at the fire coming from the robed people's hands, he had managed to irritate the other children. Their grievance was the usual one; he was a filthy knife-ear who didn't deserve to live in the same tower as them and as such deserved a beating. He had huddled in a corner, arms over his head, as the other young mages-in-training kicked away.

"Why don't you just leave him alone?"

A small burst of flame had set the bully ringleader's hair afire and he ran off screaming, to find the nearest Templar. The others ran off behind their routed leader, swearing retribution soon enough.

He had cautiously uncovered his head, ventured a peek upward. A shem boy with scraggly black hair and a somewhat wilting smile stood over him.

"I'm Jowan. They used to bother me too until I beat them all in learning how to cast flame."

Before he could reply in turn or thank him, the children had returned, this time with a larger force.

"Right! Who wants to set their hair on fire?" Jowan had shouted, but he could see how the other boy trembled.

Later, when they had received a hefty beating for "abusing magic" on top of their bruises from the melee, Jowan had complained loudly about the many injustices done to him and how it must be on account of jealousy of his skill.

He had listened to his tirade with a smile. Suddenly the Circle seemed a lot less frightening.

Jowan had found his best friend that day.

But he, he had found his first love.