There are things that have a beginning and an end. They exist within temporality. It is their nature to know the past, the present, and the future. Moreover, they originate from the eternal and from both the material and immaterial. Death is common to all of them, but that is why they truly know life.
There are things that have a beginning but no end. They, too, exist within temporality and know the past, present, and future. These are the ones that originate from the eternal; however, they are ignorant of death. How close are we to them?
Finally, there is that which has neither beginning nor end. It is contained by nothing and contains everything. It does not know the past, the present, or the future, because time neither affects nor limits it. It has no origin and knows no death. Unlimited, infinite, and eternal—from it, all things originate. It is the pillar that sustains everything. Will we ever understand it?
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A pigeon crosses the sky. The day was sunny, with clouds drifting far above the ground—thin, whitish, and transparent, like a veil devoutly witnessing another day of humanity.
Wanderer: This atmosphere was also present in the village of Algr. It was a rural village whose periphery was covered in hills and grass. The village center was walled with stone—about 20 meters high—and suspended on a low, circular plateau surrounded by a river. It could only be crossed when one of the two wooden bridges was lowered. These bridges allowed for the passage of traveling merchants and provided a strategic defense for the village.
I observed the village from the hilltop. Within my sight, on the edge of the settlement, stood a medium-sized house; it wasn't a chapel, nor was it a lodging. Not knowing exactly what it was, I noticed a tree nearby and immediately leaned against it to rest.
I hadn't rested in a long time. I'm not talking about the mere act of sitting or falling asleep. In the midst of chaos, there is no way to remove existential fatigue. Faced with the burden of life, how many can truly come to terms with waking up, surviving the day, and sleeping only to face a new tomorrow? I say come to terms, not become numb. I ask myself again: what truly sustains us as humans? Have you never thought of that?
In the midst of my digressions, I noticed a boy approaching. He looked to be about eight years old, dressed in the careless way expected on the peripheries of society. His clothes were ragged; his shirt, which likely started as white, was now beige. His shorts were full of holes. His attire showed he was a child who already knew the meaning of work. Indeed, in this merciless world, is there a place where children don't have to struggle for their daily bread? I haven't found it yet.
But what caught my attention wasn't his clothing; it was the look in his eyes. People in this world have eyes, but they do not see. Don't get me wrong—I'm not talking about blindness or shortsightedness. There are things that cannot be known merely through the senses. They say the eyes are the window to the soul; I learned that the hard way. There was something strange about this boy. It seemed I had found what I was looking for much faster than I expected.
As he drew near, he suddenly spoke.
Hruod: "Are you a traveler?"
Wanderer: "No. I'm a wanderer."
The boy seemed confused, as if I were merely playing with words. Nonetheless, he looked me in the eye and continued his questioning.
Hruod: "You don't look like an Algrian. Where are you from?"
Wanderer: "You wouldn't know it. My home is far from here."
Hruod: "This city gets a lot of travelers from around the Kingen continent. I know a bit about the surrounding lands. I'm guessing you're at least not from around here."
Wanderer: "Well, you guessed right. I'm on a journey to find what was once lost. That's why I've wandered so far from home. But why are you asking these questions?"
Hruod: "You see, I act as a guide for travelers so they can get through the gatehouse easier. I also show them the best inns and places to eat in Algr. My service is the cheapest you'll find."
He grinned as he finished talking.
Wanderer: "Well, a wanderer I am, and your services are indeed needed—though not as a guide."
Hruod: "How can I help you, then?"
I was still skeptical, for I never thought the "thing" I needed to find would be this strange boy. Up close, he looked like a poor lad, but he carried himself with dignity. He spoke only what was necessary. His brown hair and golden eyes gave him an air of unexpected nobility.
Wanderer: "I'm a storyteller—one of the best. Do you mind if I share one of my tales? I will pay for your time."
The boy didn't seem to believe I'd actually pay him, but seconds later, his uncertainty vanished. He quietly sat near me and looked into my eyes, signaling that I could begin.
Wanderer: "Do you know what weakness is?"
He responded with certainty.
Hruod: "To be deprived. If you are strong, you can fight to get what you want."
Wanderer: "And what is courage?"
This time the boy paused to think.
Hruod: "To not cower. If you are fearful, you don't stick to what you believe."
Wanderer: "So you say. Very well, I have a story for you."