Re-birth of a Young Hero
In the year 1444 AD, an old mason named Henry Lydia discovered an infant by the banks of the Phrates River. No cries echoed from the reeds. No sign of parents lingered nearby. Only the river flowed on, indifferent and eternal. Without hesitation, the kind mason took the child in and named him George. Ten years passed.
Dust motes danced in golden shafts of light filtering through the open doorway of Henry Lydia's small workshop. Young George knelt beside a half-built wall, carefully scraping excess mortar from between the bricks, his brow furrowed in concentration. He pushed a stray lock of pale blond hair from his eyes, gaze focused and steady beyond his years.
"That's it, lad," Henry said, his voice rough with age and stone dust. "Steady. A good wall is built on patience and precision—just like a good life."
George nodded and adjusted his grip, continuing his work. His hands were small but sure, mirroring the practiced movements Henry had taught him over years of quiet instruction. Their lives were simple, almost nomadic. They traveled across the lands of Larrisia, taking masonry work in bustling cities and quiet villages alike. Henry taught George to read the stone before shaping it—to feel its weight, its temper, its limits.
"Force breaks things," Henry would say. "Understanding makes them strong."
Each evening, after a day spent with dust on their clothes and the scent of earth in their hair, Henry cleaned his tools with quiet reverence. George mimicked his every motion. Henry had become everything to him. When work was done, Henry taught George the rhythms of the land. They fished along rivers at dusk, sitting in silence as the current whispered past.
"You feel the pull before you see it," Henry would say. "Life always gives a warning. And always give thanks for what the land provides."
At night, beneath open skies, Henry spoke of old legends—Solomon the Wiser, Paul the Agent of Change, Abraham, Father of Time. Heroes whose deeds were etched into history like runes carved in stone. George listened, eyes wide with wonder, imagining himself among their ranks.
One crisp autumn evening, as they sat beside a crackling fire and shared a meal of roasted rabbit and wild berries, George gazed up at the stars. "Grandpa," he said softly, "one day, I'm going to be just like the legendary champions from the stories."
Henry studied him for a long moment, firelight dancing in the deep lines of his face.
"Is that truly your dream, George?"
"Yes," George said without hesitation.
Henry smiled, resting a calloused hand on his shoulder. "Then guard it well. Dreams are like magic. Never let anyone take them from you."
The words settled deep within George's heart. "I want to join the Academy in the capital," he said. "I want to become a legendary hero."
A wide smile spread across Henry Lydia's face, pride shining through his weathered expression. "Then promise me this," he said. "Promise you'll keep striving, no matter how heavy the world becomes."
"I promise," George whispered.
The vow hung between them beneath the ancient stars of Eden, a silent pact that would shape the fate of kingdoms. With his grandfather's unwavering support, George knew that one day he would find his place among the legends of Eden.