On the 81st day of spring, year 748 of the Third Age, I turned fourteen years old. Though we never really had the means to celebrate. Life in Haro was humble, but I wouldn't say I hated it. There was something comforting about this kind of life.
As the sun rose, I slipped into my clothes, struggling a little with my right boot. They were hand-me-downs from my father, so they had never fit quite right. Still, you'd be hard pressed trying to find better quality footwear this far out in the boonies. The only thing people here had on their mind is fishing and farming though I probably shouldn't be surprised considering they're nearly exclusively fishermen, farmers, and producers of whatever one would need to fish and or farm. Though it's not like I was any different, my mother was a farmer which by proxy made me one as well.
Once I wrestled my boot into submission, I stepped outside and began to wander through the village square, the brisk morning air wrapping around me like a familiar embrace.
The rhythmic sounds of the market greeted me—men hauling fish, their voices rising and falling like the very tide they sail to feed our village. As I wandered into the heart of the square, a familiar voice broke through the daily bustle.
"Wandering again?"
I turned to see the bright smile of an old friend, Meris, her amber eyes sparkling with mischief. "You really need to find a better hobby," she teased, taking a step back, a mock-serious expression crossing her face.
I chuckled, raising an eyebrow. "Not a fan of sightseeing?" "Oh, I love to sightsee," she replied, her arms gesturing dramatically towards our surroundings. "When there are sights to see! But tell me, what is there to see? Aren's fruit cart?"
She pointed to a small, wooden cart on the left, where a short, stout man stood, adjusting his cap with a frown.
"Not much of a fruit cart this time of year," I muttered, glancing at the cart, nearly bare except for a few sad-looking apples.
"I hear you!" Aren called out, overhearing our banter. "Hey! Meris started it!" I shot back with a grin.
Laughter bubbled between us, mingling with the sounds of the market. It was these little moments that brought life to the countryside, where everyone was in on the bit, there was a warmth in the shared humor that made even the dullest day feel bright. Here, amidst friends and laughter, the world seemed just a little more vibrant.
As we stood there, time flew by. It was moments like these that anchored me, reminding me of the beauty found in daily life.
As noon approached, I said my goodbyes and made made my way into the nearby woods hoping to forage some herbs or plants for today's lunch, I approached the edge of the Wylderlands and began to forage.
The church always said that entering the Wylderlands was taboo. Still, the young, reckless lad that I was, I couldn't resist venturing toward it. The tales of monstrous creatures and legendary heroes had always fascinated me, even if most considered them mere fairy tales.
For me, they weren't just stories they were glimpses into the lives of heroes long dead.
I'd spent the majority of my time in a cave reading about ancient history...true history, not the anti-magic propaganda the church was feeding us in an attempt to keep us blindly loyal to a cause that very few even understood.
it's not like I could share this with those around me either. Just being suspected of witchcraft would lead to consequences. Immolation being the worst. It was how things were in Rhun: a system we endured but never fully accepted. Speaking out against it meant crossing the church, and I had no desire to make enemies in high places.
YOU ARE READING
Legacy of Aeon
FantasyIn a xenophobic nation where non-humans are executed on sight and magicians are burned for heresy, a half-blooded mage conceals his talents, oblivious to the fact that he's destined for something far greater.