If X’s problems had started from the day they were born, they wouldn’t remember.

Their earliest memory is that of waking up in a warm house that smelt of caramel. When a lady asked them their name, they didn’t know. Not about their name, their family, or why she’d found them passed out on the shore of a lake.

The lady took them in and cared for them. She taught X healing magic, which they found they had a natural talent for. However, the village was wary of X as an outsider and never truly accepted them. So when their caretaker died of illness, they had nothing left in the village, and left with a heavy heart.

X traveled for years. They’d sometimes stay in a village for months at a time, especially in the winter, or pass through a place like the breeze. One of the few things that stayed constant was their love for knowledge. They’d visit any library they could, and readily listen to stories elders would tell them. Sometimes they’d feel a pull towards something.

Then X died.

Or they should have. Instead they walked away with hardly a sprained wrist. And their life of traveling (oh, and free will) ended.