[center][b]Will O' the Piper[/center][/b]
Happy memories flooded Charles' mind, and somewhere in the dark recesses that the spell couldn't quite reach, he was surprised at how many there were. His mother reading him a bedtime story, his sister returning home after one of her trips, his father teaching him one of the life lessons he was so fond of. One memory in particular stood out from the rest, becoming as clear as the day it was made.

[i]Charles walked next to his dad, his tiny hand engulfed in the man's strong grip. "Well Chuck," he said, looking down. "It's not every day you turn ten, so I have a surprise for you." The sign on the building they entered said 'Library Recruitment Center'. "This is where I work son." His father continued, "I help find very special people and give them a job where they can help others." Charles looked up at him and asked "Are you special too?" His father chuckled, squeezing his hand. "I am, but not as much as the people I find." He lifted his son up to sit on the desk next to him. "Maybe I should explain better. Usually, the people we find fall into four categories, called Rooks, Bishops, Knights, and Pawns. Rooks Bishops and Knights all have a partner spirit who helps them do their jobs, but Pawns have a hard time even seeing their spirits. I'm one of those, and not even a good one. I'm only a little better than any normal person." He looked at his son's blank expression and laughed. "Is it a bit too much to take in?" Charles shook his head quickly, almost falling off the desk. "No, I got it I think." He said. His father grinned, patting his head. "I knew you would, you're a smart kid. Well, today I'm gonna let you stay here and watch me work. How about that?" Charles' eyes lit up and he nodded almost as hard as he had shook his head.[/i]

The memory comforted Charles, making him feel secure, until a harsh voice from the very deepest part of his mind spoke up. [i]That's the day you killed him.[/i] Images flashed through his mind like black lightning, striking against the glow of the spell. An explosion, the roof falling on him, someone shoving him roughly out of the way, his father looking up bewildered at the little green haired boy, his spirit, holding the falling debris off him. The spirit fading out, unable to hold his shape, and his father disappearing under the rubble.

The spell weakened for an instant under the dark memories, and Charles felt someone grab his wrist. Then the enchantment reasserted control, and he was lost again.