"And so, the hero stood before the great beast,"
At the bedside of a young boy, say an elderly man who is approaching the end of the bedtime story.
With the book held in his hand, one could see its worn pages trembling slightly each time he turned on.
"Though his blade was broken, and his strength nearly gone, he did not kneel. For heroes do not yield to despair, even when all light has faded. The—"
"…Zzzz…"
As the elderly man was about to continue the story, he heard gentle breathing coming from the boy.
On the child's face, a faint smile lingered on his lips as well as the look of utter peace.
Chuckling to himself, the elder closed the book with a quiet thud before placing it on the nightstand that looked as worn down as the books themselves, which implies they have been in constant use.
Standing up from his usual chore of reading bedtime stories, the elder fully covered the child with his bed cover before walking over to the raging fireplace.
Now that he had put his grandchild to bed, he decided it was his turn as well.
The old man let out a quiet sigh as he stood, stretching his back a little before lighting a candle.
He grabbed the small iron shovel resting by the hearth and gave the coals a slow stir, spreading them apart until the fire's glow faded to a soft red.
Then he scooped up a bit of ash and sprinkled it over the top like dusting flour, watching as the last of the flames gave a faint hiss and went still.
As the house descended into darkness, he used the only source of light remaining to make way for his bed area.
Once in his bed and sheets pulled, he lightly blew, extinguishing the candle.
"Haaa~ another day's work. I need to get up early in the morning for work too."
He then slowly drifts off.
~~~~
The next morning, as the sunlight shone through the crevices of the house and the sounds of animals signaling it's time to wake up.
The boy yawned again, stretching under his thin blanket and letting out a soft moan.
He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, hair sticking up everywhere.
The sun was just high enough to warm the roof, spilling pale light across the floor.
He shivered and hugged the blanket tighter.
"Ugh… so cold…" he muttered, finally rolling out of bed.
His toes dug into the wooden floor as he shuffled over to the hearth.
The ashes were gray and dead, the embers from last night completely gone.
He frowned, grabbed the small iron shovel, and poked at them, scattering a little dust.
A tiny spark caught his eye, and a smile spread across his face.
"Ha… gotcha," he whispered.
He blew gently, but a small cough made him wave away the smoke.
He tried again, slower this time, and finally a little flame flickered and its warmth made him lean back with a satisfied grin.
Once the fire was steady, he padded over to the door and opened it.
"Maybe today I'll see an adventurer," he muttered, patting off the imaginary dust from his clothes.
First up was washing.
He carried a wooden bucket of water from the well and splashed his face.
The cold made him yelp, and he shivered as he rubbed his face with a rough towel.
His hair stuck up even worse than before, but he didn't care.
Breakfast came next.
His grandpa always wakes early to tend to his farm and he always left some for him to warm up.
fetching kindling, stirring the porridge, and carrying slices of bread from the basket.
A little spilled, and the porridge boiled over once, but he laughed at himself.
"Heroes probably burn their breakfasts too," he said, grinning.
Helping himself to warm smoke scented porridge, he leaned back to enjoy the morning.
After he was finished with his breakfast, it was time to get down with the first order of business: go train in the woods.
He and his grandpa lived in a rural farm village deep within the mountains with his grandma working on the farm and him helping here and there.
His grandpa is plenty strong for someone who is not an adventurer which makes the young boys help appreciated but not necessary.
Today was no different, his grandpa already went to check on the crops and life stocks leaving him to spend more time in his bed.
So instead of bothering his grandpa, he decided to go to the nearby woods for some daily 'hero training.'
The boy grabbed a thick stick from the pile by the cabin and slung it over his shoulder like a sword.
He peeked back at the cabin—just in case his grandfather was watching—then ran toward the edge of the woods.
The air smelled of dirt and leaves, and a soft breeze flowed through the branches.
Perfect for hero training.
He twirled the stick in his hands, pretending it was heavy steel.
"Alright… monsters, get ready! The hero's here!" he shouted, jabbing at a bush.
The "monster" didn't fight back, of course, but he didn't care.
He leapt over roots, ducked imaginary swings, and spun around in a little battle dance.
At one point, he tripped over a root and tumbled forward.
He sat up, brushing dirt off his knees, and laughed. "Heh! A real hero never gives up!" He swung the stick again, grinning.
A log that had fallen became a bridge over a "lava river," and a pile of rocks became a dragon's lair.
He ran, jumped, and swung, making up little battle cries as he went.
His hair stuck up in every direction, and his cheeks were pink from running around.
Finally, he stopped, leaning on his stick and taking a big breath.
"One day… I'll be strong enough to fight real monsters. Real heroes… that's me!" he muttered, grinning to himself.
For a few more minutes, he stood there, imagining the forest full of battles.
The only opponent was in his head, but it felt real enough.
Satisfied for now, he headed back to the cabin, already thinking about tomorrow.
Maybe he'd practice climbing trees, dodging "arrows," or taking on even bigger monsters.
As he turned to leave, he heard numerous footsteps approaching behind him. And they are fast.
"Wha—!?" he yelped, spinning around, stick raised.
Twigs snapping under quick feet as his heart began racing.
The bushes around him started shaking indicating that he was surrounded, making him stumble a little, gripping his stick tighter.
"Who's there? Show yourself!"
"Grrrrrhhh…" Low growls responded as they left their covers
He immediately froze upon seeing what they are.
A wolf pack consisting of five, meter and a half tall wolves with gray-brown fur and sharp yellow eyes.
Their noses twitching and low growls rumbling from their throats, as their mouths flood at such delectable sight.
The sight scared him real good, as at this moment, he was shaking all over.
Being surrounded did not make it any better either which means they will be coming from all sides.
"Grrraaah!"
Mind racing, the only thing he could do was gripping his stick in front of him, finding his courage.
He had left without his gramps knowing where he ran off to and no one else lives around there parts so he knows he's on his own now.
"C-come at me!" I'm going to die!
All 5 lunged forward at him as he shut his eyes tightly holding out his stick and hoped for the best.
Fhhh—splat!
There was a long pause.
"Oi, Kid. You can open your eyes now."
The boy opened one slowly to peek to see what happened only to be dazzled by someone standing in front of him.
A handsome man with dark beautiful medium brown skin, clad in white garments with gold accents and flowing sashes.
In the man's hand was a large white ornate sword with intricate designs any professional blacksmith might deem impractical.
"What's your name kid?" The stranger asked.
Still dazed, the boy could only absentmindedly.
"Bell… Bell Cranel."
Chapter 38 end.
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Might not have turned out how I wanted but I tried to write what came to head. This is without any editing. So as you can probably tell, some parts descriptive, some part's not.