As a child, Christopher had always been solitary. Somehow he knew he was different, and so did his mother. Quite often, he would go out in the evenings and sit outside the farmhouse where he lived and spend endless hours just watching the stars. It was in the most silent nights, he thought, the stars sang to him.
However, it was at the age of 14 his life changed forever, and he was never the same again. He had gone outside one evening to listen to the stars and their silent tune, as was his wont, when he caught sight of someone -- nearly a shadow in the dim night --furtively stalking towards his house-door. At that moment, before he realized what was about to happen, his mother opened the door to call him for supper. The stealthy figure started at the unexpected appearance of Christopher's mother and promptly produced what seemed a short, sharp blade and darted towards her. Christopher had barely time to think "a burglar!" when it finally happened.
For a brief fraction of a second it seemeed Time had stopped. The dark, starry sky seemed to freeze; the stars ceased singing. All of a sudden, what seemed a blinding flash came from the sky, and so intense it was that no stars could be seen while it lasted. All this took place in less than a second. The next moment, everything was calm and still again. The sky looked as placid as it always had been, no noise was to be heard anywhere. Christopher turned his eyes to the front-door. There, pale and speechless, stood his mother. Before her, lying motionless on the ground, the body of the burglar. Some deadly flash had struck him down and killed him instantly. Christopher looked at the stars again, looking for the cause of the disaster, but he saw nothing. He then glanced towards his own hands. There they lay, steaming, whitish twirls of smoke curling from his fingertips. It was then he learned the truth.
That night, he had learned he was special. His mother didn't shun him, as could have been expected, but began to hold a profound admiration towards him and what she began to call his "gift". They knew, however, that it had to be kept secret. After all, they lived in a time where anything which seemed to defy the ordinary course of Nature was regarded as witchcraft: the foulest of the sins. And every witch was condemned to the worst of all deaths: being burnt alive, body and soul.
Thus lived Christopher, solitary as always, but since that dreadful night bearing an overwhelming secret, only to be shared with his mother. He tried to learn how to control his gift, but, being alone in this task, his progress was slow. He had noticed the gift showed its highest intensity and strenght in extreme situations; thus, he tried to avoid them. Nonetheless, something deep inside told him times were about to change, and soon the ordinary would become the extreme, and the extreme, the ordinary.
With this foresight of things, he awaited anxiously his Fate to be unfolded before him and his young, awakening eyes.
As a child, Christopher had always been solitary. Somehow he knew he was different, and so did his mother. Quite often, he would go out in the evenings and sit outside the farmhouse where he lived and spend endless hours just watching the stars. It was in the most silent nights, he thought, the stars sang to him. 
