“I am sorry child but you are talentless.” The voice of the blond-haired messenger rang through Ivar’s mind.
Ivar's mind on the other hand was in shambles. Why was this happening to him?
Wasn't he supposed to be a talented prodigy who could cut mountains with a swing of his sword?
Wasn't he destined for greatness?
What did he lack?
He was smart, handsome, tall, and even kind!
Was he supposed to die like his friend? Is that what they decided for him?
