The OriginS Peninsula

Chapter Zero - Childish Wish

"If buccaneers and buried gold and all the old romance retold exactly in the ancient way can please, as me they pleased of old, the wiser youngster of today. So be it!" --- Robert Louis Stevenson

A twist to satire and old, under the brand of light novels ever so be learned, the pleasing soul which yearned as one seeketh in tundra; fantasy, modern-fantasy and isekai genre. So be my take.

If a wise boy was to be present, would he not state the meaning of his words? So shall I, who will tale, benevolently praise the works which I present, unto that which who is in need of. Thus, read it like an animated film for the like-minds.

I am not a musician yet sense. Many people had said, music determines the mind of writers down it sow into their labor and films. Here will I grant the first full opening of great excitement. Sadly is my November rain, my greater visions, plentiful of openings and songs readers may never see. This bares my testimony of my works to you. Withered Earth of the Suikoden Orrizonte Collection. Bleed me not for the classic and story likewise. Slay me not for copyright issues. Worry me not for the names in your read, for it is just coincidence. No doubt, all greater minds do think alike.

Here so begins.

Oh my good child, it was a fool's dream I kept throughout my childhood. Sincerely I do share those thoughts to you. How it made you smiled, laughed, wanted to know all about my adventures, the pains and most of all, the trials me seen and had endured. I'm getting old now. The age where I stand is perplexing indeed for I will engage in artifice. I do fear the watery graves. A home of those who never seek. And so I speak of an alienated truism. Let not the stories be fallen for those, no less.

It has always occur to me that a friend who acted more like an acquaintance would want to be a god. Always he fixed on the idea that one day, if his imaginative magics were real, he would want to destroy the world. Edgelord style, I presume, though the boy fit not the pictures given. It was a child's dream. We all have dreams that we had thrown away. Many cling unto them. Others follow and had kicked the bucket. And many fallen under obscurity.

Magic is one thing that never dies. Maybe magic is real but we people as a whole killed it from our disbelieves. Why the world, one of my old friend? I say, it's stupid. Stupid Sandou. He couldn't even fight a bully if one was thrown at him. Navertheless, that boy is committed to learn the secret arts. I pity him that he would seek the hidden on terms on getting revenge.

Yea, it was in the night. A workaholic night. A night of no forgiveness. Here, I worked in an assembly factory. The pay was still low and the worker's union is no more than a communist regiment. Benefit to they, to only those that had started it. I join not this ill party of theirs.

I a-one-of-a-kind hobo challenge Sandou one late evening. A test of many. A test to know the true hearts of men. Indeed, my testing had never hurt anyone physically nor mentally. Mentally I put forth not from generated malice and displeasure like the normies ways. Dare they to understood not from the first yet craved from the third men. I quoth to the boy, "What do you want to be in seven years?" and he replied, "A god." Typical. Shouldn't have even asked, rephrase I to this, "What have thou done in seven years?"

Answer he, "Dreaming."

There were no true answer to the question. When the world runs you down to the blackest, muddiest, bottomless pit, I may contempt to say the same. To damn them to damnation. So does everyone else who walked the path. Even those that hated me. But dare I not saith the God. Oh no, indeed not. To think that two days later, Sandou have the guts to asked me that very same statement. I couldn't dodge the bullet. Then I quoth to him like the humble fool I am, "A Creator."

Speak I on terms that I'm an artist who rake in the dough not. Practicing multiple crafts and clearly not honing in one or two subjects sure dost take a toll, as your skills in other medias degrade over a set period of years. I am a mooncalf? Who knows. Sandou have misunderstood me that we have ride the same boat. And with all eyes of our co-workers looking at us, gleaming with the looks of hostile laughs. Grown man that talks like children is what they would believe it to be true. No different when a fifty-year old playing Pocket Monster cards at a card shop out in front of everyone; with the speech of a youngster in the heat of battle against a ten-year old kid. It was that kind of situation. Was I embarrass? Maybe. With my attitude, I couldn't tell it myself as the devils ran amok and ride my tail to consolidate misery.