[center][h1][color=A839BC] Dianthus -[/color][color=FFFFFF] The Beginning [/color][/h1][/center]

[i]Step... Step... Step... Step...[/i]

He's getting closer. His steps are careful, as if he's expecting trouble. His breathing is ragged. Clearly not in the best condition, it seems. Then again, it's not really necessary nowadays, with the rise of automobiles and everything. 

Ten meters. Five meters. Two meters! One meter!

There. Across the street walked a black man in a striped suit, suitcase in his left hand, his right hidden within the confinements of his pocket. He was of no real importance, yet Floris observed him with unprecedented focus. He took in everything he could note. Facial expression; a frown, not one of frustration, but exhaustion. Conclusion; he's returning from work. His eyes dully stare ahead of him, and his shoes looked slightly worn. Conclusion; he has been taking the same route for a good while. His posture; slightly bent forward. Conclusion; he sits often, most likely due to his job. His suit; well maintained, but wrinkled. Conclusion; similar to his shoes, this suit has been worn for a while. The brand doesn't look cheap, either. 
General conclusion; this man is an office worker of somewhat high-rank. Given the fact that he's walking, he must live nearby. 

Floris continued to observe the man as he walked past him, around the corner, and out of sight. He didn't interest Floris in the slightest, but people watching was good practice. 

Then, his eyes open slowly. Light floods in, temporarily blinding him. As his pupils shrunk again, Floris looked around himself. He was in his garden, seated on a rock between two patches of hyacinth and lavender, placed beneath an oak. In front of him was the entrance to his house. Though it was well maintained, it looked just as empty as it had been for the past four years. Ever since that damned storm in Yosemite that cost his parents their lives, Floris has been the only one to live here. Thinking back to it, Floris closed his eyes again, ready to let himself be lost to thought. 

[i]Mother... Father... I am well, as is your house. I am giving my best efforts to retain its condition.[/i] He thought to himself, thinking that maybe, [b]maybe[/b] his parents were watching over him. He then took a deep breath and recounted the events. The freak storm, the fall, the fear, the trigger. It all seemed so lucid, even now. Following his daily routine, Floris once again asked himself: [i]why? Why was I the only one who survived? Why did I develop parahumanistic abilities?[/i] 

Suddenly, something caught his attention. His eyes shot open, quickly scanning the area for any sign of threats. Nothing. [i]Curious...[/i] Floris thought. The tingling sensation had not dissipated in the slightest, but he could not see nor feel any nearby threats. [i]Pins and needles, perhaps?[/i] He then asked himself, but even this answer didn't fully answer the oddity. Once again, he closed his eyes, trying to focus solely on the strange tingling. That's when it hit him: it was his senses. He turned to the large apple tree behind him and looked up. Sure enough, directly above him hung a green apple, ripe for the picking. Floris observed the apple, more so it's placement above him. Then, the apple snapped from the branch, and fell straight at Floris. However, before it could hit him, the tree itself caught it, its leaves wrapped around the fruit, as if it were desperately clinging on to the fruit of its labor. 

At that moment, Floris came to a realization. For four years he had been telling himself that the forests had cursed him with his abilities, that he only served as a reminder of nature's wrath. But now, he began to doubt that idea. Whereas the forest had seemed to hunt him four years ago, it now provided him with comfort, shelter and food. [i]Perhaps... Perhaps I was wrong?[/i] Looking down at the base of the tree, Floris pondered the situation. What if the forest hadn't hunted him at all, but had been trying to help him survive? It's fair to say that Floris possibly wouldn't have survived the Yosemite incident had it not been for his trigger. [i]Did the forest actually protect me, instead of hunt me like I had presumed? But of course! That's it![/i] With renewed vigor, Floris jumped up from his rock and walked into his house. The forest hadn't hunted him; it had chosen him! He wasn't a reminder, he was a champion! Grabbing his black vest, Floris exited the house through the front door, and stepped into the streets of Denver. 

His purpose was clear now. No longer would he idly sit by and let his life waste away. He had been saved for a reason, and that reason could not be more clear. He was chosen to enforce the rules of nature. Even in this city, people were playing god, thinking they can decide who does and who lives. He would make sure that nature was the one who did the killing. With refined confidence in his goal, Floris turned to the street and began his quest, a coy smile plastered onto his face.