Legacy: A Hero Has Come

Book 1: Chapter 1

Roland Mors woke up to the sound of birds' singings, he felt the sun beamed through his bedroom window as he winced at the crack of dawn. He was never a morning person and hated having his sleep disturbed, his face scowling annoyingly while rustling in his sheets, but he had to put up with it.

Today was a special day, after all.

He threw the sheets away and got out of bed. It was around this time that Roland's father, Balder, had opened shop, and he did not wish to receive an earful yet about being late for work, again. Ever since he was a small boy, Roland helped ran his family's bakery in the small town of Amber Hills and sometimes did specific odd jobs for extra money. He never did well in school, not because he was stupid or lazy, but because it never excited him, and although he enjoyed working with his family, Roland desired more out of life.

No time to be thinking about that now.

Roland walked up to the small mirror hanging on the wall. Staring at his reflection, he combed his hand through his unkempt black hair and tried to fix his bedhead, which frustrated him much as it was one of the things that fueled his hatred for mornings.

He stood tall and quite toned. With broad shoulders, fair skin, and had blue eyes. Roland got dressed, covering up his nude body, a plain white tunic, and a pair of brown trousers that fit his slender frame nicely, a typical fashion for those living in the countryside. He was quite comfortable in his attire and learned from his father to save as much money as possible, not wishing to spend on frivolous stuff but only on things that provide some use to him.

Roland climbed down the stairs and headed to the first floor. A delicious aroma wafted in the air, and his mouth watered, confirming him that the bakery was open. After roaming through the double doors, he arrived and donned his apron that hung beside the doorway. He spotted his father tending to the brick oven and watched the bread bake while his mother, Beatrice, stood at the counter, checking each customer of their purchases, and accepting their money. The place being immediately packed, customers lined up through the front door, escaping the cold morning outside for someplace warm.

Baldur noticed his son's presence.

"Well, it seems you finally got out of bed on time, son."

"Ha. Ha. Real funny, dad." Roland grabbed the trays of freshly baked goods, motioning to the shelves to stack them up. "I'm just here to get the job done. I got a lot of things planned later with Josephine."

"Aren't you excited about your birthday, Roland?" His mother asked. Her long black bangs fell to her face. "You only turn twenty once, and it's going to be fun."

"I wouldn't miss it for the world, mom. It's something I've..."

"That's good to hear. Everyone in the village will be coming, an important milestone for someone officially becoming an adult, and it'll make a fortune in catering." Baldur smiled at the thought. He scratched his prodigious girth absentmindedly before leaving the ovens to work their magic.

Roland and his mother glowered at the baker, amazed (that is, vexed) at how he can make a profit out of a situation. However, Baldur had already left outside to bring in another cord of wood to feed the fire. Nevertheless, the two resumed mending the shop until he returned.

Roland worked, and, in a few hours, the afternoon came in a flash. He gradually grew tired by this point as he sold and stacked all of the pastries. But Roland did not complain as his father had agreed to pay him fifteen pence at the end of his shift. Fortunately, the line of customers diminishing with the shelves becoming empty and the flames of the ovens becoming simmering embers.

With the hour growing slow, Roland decided to take a break. His stomach growled, and he grabbed one of the pastries, he tasted and took notice of the sweet and salty textures. After telling his mother, Roland strolled out to the front door. However, right before he could walk out of the bakery, the front door opened as another customer staggered in with the bell overhead ringing, stopping the baker's son in his tracks with one hand raised at his face.