It all began with his father, Lorcan Wyndham. His father, the immigrant from China. His father, the good man. His father, on trial for wrongs he did not commit. Now before you go jumping to conclusions, Themis was not Abnir’s mother. Actually, Apate got to him first, making a trade deal with his wife; One night with him, and he would not be convicted. Tough choice for a wife, but a little unwitting infidelity is nothing next to a lifetime without him. Naturally, the promise is kept and Lorcan set free. They thought it was the end of it; they thought wrong.
When they arrived home, from the surprising not guilty verdict, they found a pair of twins on their doorstep. They came with a note, saying “I heard your story and I was impress you did not falter to I have to admit some of this is my fault as well so I hope you can take care of these two for me for when the two are together no harm will touch you…” ~apate Confused, Lorcan turned to his wife, who spilled the beans on his innocence. Unhappily at first, they took the children in, naming the girl Zahara and the boy Abnir. For the first few years of their life, the two were a unit, inseparable. Then, everything changed.
They never should have been separated, but Zahara had been sick the first day of school. There wasn’t anything to be done about it. The wife took Abnir to school, despite his irritability. He just wanted to stay at home and hang out with his sister. While at school, his irritability got too large and he ended up fighting another boy, who was probably eight. Wonderful first and last impression. He got sent to the principal's office, but instead of heading straight there, he ran home. It took him quite some time to get to his house, despite the proximity, because he was terribly lost. When he arrived, it was surrounded by police. Wide eyed, he stared, unable to see any of his family. One by one, the police left, until he was alone (or so he thought.) Inside, everything was strewn about, as if they’d been searching for something. There was a spat of blood in the kitchen, but it seemed tiny and insignificant. Just then, the house caught on fire, with Abnir running out barely in time to escape it. With everything he knew burning down, he continued walking.
A police cruiser unfortunately spotted him, and took him in. After all, what was a six year old boy doing wandering around alone? At the police station, they were worried over his blackened clothes and smell of burnt. They asked him for his parents names, but Abnir refused to give it to them, blaming the police for the chain of events. As they started to piece together who he was, he escaped the suspicious police station via claiming a bathroom break. From there, he attempted to walk home. It got dark, and eventually he had to take a nap near a dumpster. When the rays of the sun reached his eyes, he got up, continued wandering. Suddenly, he sees large smoke. He follows it, with nothing else to do. He finds himself back at his house, burned down for a second time. Talk about overkill. The first thing he notices is a magic wand. Not like the harry potter kind, but the cheap magician kind. It was stuck between a burning door and some cement. Rashly, he went over and grabbed the thing, which was completely sute free and looked pretty much new. He can’t help but feel tears escape, his family missing and the only thing he’s known burned down. In a way, he believes it’s his fault for getting in a fight. The wife had always told him his actions had consequences. Just then, he notices he isn’t only one crying. An older woman, probably 60 or 70, was kneeling at the front of the house, cellphone shaking in her hand. He went over, curious. When the woman sees him, she gasps in gladness. “I thought...I thought no one had survived…” She explained she was his grandmother. She from there, she took him in, adopted him, did all the necessary paperwork for him to be with her. He never really payed attention in court, thought it was boring. He figured it just had to do with a switch in custody; Obviously, his parents wouldn’t be able to take care of him since they were dead. Abnir excused the fact she had a different last name, assuming she never took his grandfather’s name.
Growing up, he always had a chip on his shoulder. He got in frequent trouble, sent to different schools. The good thing is he learned how to fight; the bad thing is it took lots of scars to gain mastery. When Abnir was about 10, he made an astonishing discovery that the wand he found was more than it seemed. He’d gotten home from school, upset because a teenager had been bullying a girl about his age. It got him thinking about his sister, and what he would do if that girl had been her. He tried to take the guy on but of course, ended up taking a beating himself. While at home, he’d grabbed the wand and broken it in half, feeling that if his family couldn’t survive a fire, neither should it. Ironically, his magic wand turned out to be magic. When he broke it, each piece turned into a double edged celestial bronze sword. He found that when he united the hilts together, it would once again become a whole. The wand resonated with him; he was a half waiting to be united to become a whole. The difference being, he would never be whole again.
While his life proceeded, Abnir seemed to be plagued by an infinite amount of bad dreams. At first it would just be about his parents and sister, then about the transfer of guardianship, and later, he’d have odd dreams of his grandmother turned into a giant, swooping down to take a loan figure and hide them away forever in her cave. He never really understood the purpose of these dreams, until one night when he was 12.
Abnir had been dreaming about court, and how he had told the judge he wanted to be with his grandmother. He found it odd she had asked him not to call her that, or that she would never really let him look at the court papers. Not that he cared, it was all boring anyways. Soon, the dream switched to a time when he was eight, when he had half awoken from one of the dreams. Abnir had heard his grandmother talking quietly in the phone. “Yes, Abnir is alright. He has made the adjustment quite well.” He figured she was speaking to his social worker. He stopped paying attention and was about to go to sleep, when he heard her say “even though we aren’t related at all, he has accepted me. It must be because he was already familiar with me, me being his family’s landlord and all.” At the time, he’d been too drowsy to understand. Abnir had ignored it, pushed it aside. Startled, he’d awoken in rage. Could it be true? Was his grandmother not who she claimed to be?
He went to the kitchen, where he found her preparing his lunch for the next day. “Are you really my grandma?” He’d asked bluntly. She’d made a surprised look, a flit of worry running across her eyes. “Why of course I am sweety.” He’d nodded, going to the fridge to get a glass of water. Abnir turned to her for a moment before saying “So, you were never my parent’s landlord right?” She was shocked, words taken from her mouth. Abnir’s hands had trembled, closing into fists. “Why did you lie to me? Who are you really?” She flustered, tried to deny it, but he wasn’t having it. He went over, shoving her, asking her the same questions. She pleaded with him to stop; she was too frail to stop him. He began beating on her (lightly at first), crying softly. She was a stranger to him, she wasn’t who she’d said she was. She began to explain, choked up. “I was your landlord yes…..I’m not really your grandmother, but I...love you anyways.” Abnir was bawling, shoving her harder and harder. “What else have you lied about?” Tears streaming down her face from the pain he was inflicting, she told him the truth. “You’re parents didn’t die in a fire...the moved away, legal reasons or something. They’d always been a pain, terrible tenants. When they left, the stove had been on. They...burned my beautiful house… The next day, it was burning again, and I’m sure...it must have been them. When i saw you, I recognized you as their son. They didn’t deserve to have you! I saved you. They were trouble.” By now, they’d reached the screen door to the balcony, Abnir choking her against it. “You took me away from my family.” Abnir thought of his sister just then, missing her terribly. In that moment of distraction, the false grandmother managed to open the screen door, attempting to escape him. She stumbled, reached the rail. Abnir wasn’t going to let her get away with anything. They grappled for a short time, before, in his rage, Abnir accidentally pushed her over. That was the end of her.
Realizing what he’d just done, he went downstairs, grabbing a phone to call 91, and his wand which he never let leave his side. It was clear she was dead. He kneeled at her body, hanging up on 911 because his voice was so clogged he couldn’t speak anyways. He didn’t know what to do anymore.
As if attracted to his misery, a hellish dog (hellhound) rose from the shadows, sniffing the air. He figured hell had come calling for him to pay for his sins. As the dog leaped, he remembered the oddity of his wand, and quickly broke it apart. As the dog landed on him, he kept its mouth at bay with one of the swords. With the other, he tried to shove it into the beast’s body. On the third try, he succeeded, making the hellhound his second kill of the day.
From there, he did the only thing he could think of; Abnir took cash, kitchen knives, his wand, and a backpack with clothes before fleeing the scene. He lasted being homeless for about a week, before getting beat up by some men he’d talked back to. He fought back, biting and clawing, not afraid to get dirty.
It turns out, he’d been messing with the wrong people. These men were none other than lowly henches in the drug operation in the area. Angrily, they put him in the trunk of their car and sped off to their headquarters. There, they were going to use him as a punching bag, had the boss not intervened. See, what they didn’t know was, one of the guys whom they used to smuggle drugs to other countries had recently died, and he needed a replacement. Abnir was perfect, looking like quite the all american despite his parentage, and a teenager would be less suspect. They cleaned him up, then operated on him to hide bags of fine Colombian cocaine inside him so as to pass TSA. Abnir was to comply or be killed.
They waited three months, then sent him and the product to Beijing. There, the other parties in the drug smuggling operation met him, and took him to get cut open to get the commodity. They kept him there for another few months or so, during which he’d turned 13 and had had to face another monster (because they hadn’t taken his wand, he was able to defend himself.) They eventually sent him back, only to repeat the process. He again, faced and killed a monster. When Abnir came back the second time to the U.S., word was that police were starting to catch wind of him, meaning he would have to be disposed of soon. One of the more sympathetic guys there helped him escape, with the solid promise of not ratting them out; if he did, he would be promptly killed.
Abnir had been on the street for half a year when a satyr found him, starved and sick. He rushed the boy of 15 to camp half blood, and for once, there was hope for him to start a new life
