The following day, the sun shone brightly over northern Aladria, casting a warm light on the bustling village. Seum walked hand-in-hand with his mother, Lyria, as they made their way to the market to buy supplies.
On their way they passed by the village common where a group of children were playing. Among them was Garon, the son of the local smithy, whom Seum knew and played with occasionally.
Seum's eyes lit up when he saw the children and he tugged at his mother's hand. "Mama, can I go play with them for a little while?"
Lyria smiled down at him, her green eyes twinkling with affection. "Of course, my love. Just stay where I can see you."
Seum nodded eagerly and ran off to join the other children. They greeted him warmly, and he quickly became engrossed in a game of tag. The laughter and shouts of the children filled the air, creating a lively and joyful atmosphere.
However, the mood changed when a larger boy named Brant, known for being a bully, approached the group. Brant had a scowl on his face and a menacing look in his eyes.
"Hey, Seum!" Brant called out, pushing a smaller child out of his way. "Why don't you go back to your garden? This game is for bigger kids."
Seum, despite his small stature, stood his ground. He looked up at Brant with a determined expression, his blue eyes unwavering. "I have as much right to play here as anyone else, Brant. We can all play together."
Brant sneered and took a step closer, trying to intimidate Seum. "What are you gonna do about it, little Seum? Cry to your mama?"
Before Seum could respond, Garon, a friend that frequently played with Seum, stepped forward, his own face set with resolve. "Leave him alone, Brant. We're just playing, and you're not the boss of us."
Brant's face turned red with anger, and he raised his fist as if to strike. But Seum, feeling a surge of courage, stepped in front of Garon and faced Brant directly. "Stop it, Brant. If you want to play, you can. But you won't hurt anyone."
Brant hesitated, surprised by Seum's boldness. The other children watched in awe as the smaller boy stood up to the bully without backing down. Lyria, who had been watching from a distance, felt a mix of pride and concern as she observed her son.
"Fine," Brant grumbled, lowering his fist. "This game is stupid anyway." He turned and stomped away, leaving the children to resume their play.
Garon clapped Seum on the back, a wide grin on his face. "That was super brave, Seum! You really showed him."
Seum smiled shyly, his earlier resolve giving way to a sense of relief. "Thanks, Garon. I just didn't want anyone to get hurt."
Lyria approached, her heart swelling with pride. She knelt down and hugged Seum tightly. "You did very well, my little dragon. I'm so proud of you."
The other children cheered, and the game continued with even more enthusiasm. Seum and Garon played side by side, their friendship strengthened by the encounter. Lyria watched them with a smile, knowing that her son had a kind and courageous heart, qualities that would serve him well in the years to come.
Lyria watched the children play for a bit enjoying the short respite from her chores. "Come on, Seum. We need to finish our shopping. Your father will think we are lost," his mother said. Seum waved goodbye to his friends and took his mother's hand, feeling a sense of accomplishment and pride.
The streets were filled with the chatter of villagers, the clinking of blacksmiths’ hammers, and the enticing aromas from the baker’s shop.
Seum’s eyes were wide with wonder as he took in the sights and sounds. “Mama, can we get some honey cakes?” he asked, pointing to the baker’s stall.
Lyria smiled, her heart lightened by her son’s enthusiasm. “Of course, my little dragon. But first, we need to visit Mrs. Ilana’s shop for some herbs.”
As they entered the quaint herb shop, the familiar scent of dried flowers and spices greeted them. Mrs. Ilana, a kindly older woman with a warm smile, welcomed them. “Lyria, Seum! What a pleasure to see you both.”
“Good day, Mrs. Ilana,” Lyria replied, her eyes scanning the shelves. “We need some chamomile and lavender, and a few other herbs.”
Mrs. Ilana nodded, moving to gather the requested items. As Lyria and Seum waited, the door to the shop opened, and a man stepped inside. He was tall and gaunt, with an unusual air about him. His eyes were dark and seemed to glint with a strange intensity. Lyria felt a shiver run down her spine.
“Good day,” the man greeted, his voice smooth but unsettling. “I’m just passing through and thought I’d see what fine goods you have here.”
Lyria watched him warily as he moved closer, her instincts on high alert. Seum, oblivious to his mother’s unease, stared curiously at the stranger.
The man’s gaze fell on Seum, and a strange smile curled his lips. “And who is this young lad?” he asked, extending his hand towards Seum. “What a fine boy you are.”
Before the man could touch Seum, Lyria stepped forward, gently pulling Seum closer to her. “This is my son, Seum,” she said, her tone polite but firm. “We’re here to buy some herbs for our home.”
The man’s eyes flickered with something unreadable, but he withdrew his hand. “A lovely boy indeed,” he said, his voice still smooth. “You must be very proud.”
“Thank you,” Lyria replied, keeping a calm exterior. “Mrs. Ilana, have you prepared our order?”
Mrs. Ilana, sensing Lyria’s discomfort, hurried over with a small bundle of herbs. “Here you are, Lyria. Chamomile, lavender, and a bit of rosemary for good measure.”
Lyria smiled gratefully, taking the bundle. “Thank you, Mrs. Ilana. Come, Seum, let’s go get those honey cakes.”
Seum’s face lit up at the mention of honey cakes, and he happily followed his mother out of the shop, unaware of the tension that had just passed.
As they walked down the street, Lyria kept a watchful eye on their surroundings, her thoughts troubled. The man’s presence had unsettled her, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was amiss.
“Mama, can we get extra honey cakes for Papa?” Seum asked, tugging at her hand.
Lyria smiled, though her mind was still preoccupied. “Of course, my love. Papa will be very happy.”
They reached the baker’s stall and bought a generous supply of honey cakes, Seum’s excitement a balm to Lyria’s worries. As they made their way home, Lyria couldn’t help but glance back, half-expecting to see the strange man following them. But the streets were busy and he was nowhere to be seen.
When they finally reached their home, Erol was waiting for them in the garden, a welcoming smile on his face. “Did you have a good trip to the village?” he asked, lifting Seum into his arms.
“Yes, Papa! We got honey cakes!” Seum exclaimed, holding up the small bag triumphantly.
Erol laughed, kissing Seum’s forehead. “That’s wonderful, my little dragon.”
Lyria handed Erol the bundle of herbs, her smile returning as she watched her husband and son. “There was a man in Mrs. Ilana’s shop who made me uneasy,” she said quietly, her voice just loud enough for Erol to hear.
Erol’s expression grew serious. “Did he do anything?”
“No,” Lyria replied, shaking her head. “But he seemed...interested in Seum. It made me feel ... very unsettled. I didn’t like it.”
Erol nodded, his protective instincts flaring. “We’ll keep a close watch. If there’s any sign of trouble, we’ll deal with it.”
That night, as the family gathered around the hearth, Seum’s laughter filled the room, a beacon of light in the growing darkness. Lyria and Erol exchanged a silent vow to protect their son, no matter the cost.
That night, as the family gathered around the hearth, Seum’s laughter filled the room, a beacon of light in the growing darkness. Lyria and Erol exchanged a silent vow to protect their son, no matter the cost.
As days turned into weeks, the village of Brighthollow continued to try and prepare for the unknown threat. Erol and Lyria worked diligently in their garden, their love for Seum driving their efforts to fortify their home and ensure their safety. The memory of the strange man in Mrs. Ilana’s shop lingered in Lyria’s mind, a constant reminder of the growing darkness. Seum, unaware of the undercurrents of tension, enjoyed the simple pleasures of his childhood. He played with his wooden dragon, explored the fields and forests, and helped his parents with the gardening. His curiosity and caring nature were evident in everything he did. One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky with hues of orange and pink, Seum and his parents gathered around the hearth. The flickering flames cast a warm glow on their faces, and the aroma of freshly baked honey cakes filled the air.
“Papa, can you tell me a story?” Seum asked, his eyes wide with anticipation.
Erol smiled, settling back in his chair. “Alright, my little dragon. How about the tale of the Brave Knight and the Dragon?”
Seum clutched his wooden dragon, his excitement palpable. “Yes, please! I really, really like dragons!”
As Erol began the story, his deep voice weaving the tale of bravery and adventure, Lyria watched her son’s face light up with wonder. Despite the growing unease, these moments of normalcy brought comfort to their hearts. But as the night wore on, a chill settled over the village. A sense of foreboding crept into the air, unnoticed by the villagers who were tucked away in their homes. In the darkness, shadows began to stir. In a remote corner of the village, a figure moved silently, cloaked in darkness. The strange man from Mrs. Ilana’s shop stood at the edge of the village, his eyes glinting with a malevolent light. He watched the peaceful homes, his thoughts hidden behind a mask of calm.
The man’s name was Drell, a servant of the dark forces that threatened all of Erelos. He had been sent to gather information and identify potential threats to his master’s plans. Seum, with his unique aura and untapped potential, had caught his attention. Drell muttered an incantation under his breath, and a wisp of dark energy flowed from his hand, drifting towards the village. The wisp moved like a living thing, searching for its target. It slipped through the cracks of Seum’s home, finding its way to the sleeping child. As Seum slept, he began to dream. He saw a vast, dark landscape, with towering mountains and swirling clouds. In the distance, a figure stood, cloaked in shadows. The figure raised its hand, and the darkness seemed to pulse with a sinister energy.
“Seum...” a voice whispered, cold and malevolent. “You are destined for greatness... and also for great power and wealth.”
Seum tossed and turned in his sleep, his small face contorted with fear. The wooden dragon slipped from his grasp, falling to the floor with a soft thud.
In the dream, the shadowy figure stepped closer, its eyes glowing with an eerie light. “You have a choice, Seum. Embrace the darkness and find power... or suffer the consequences of defiance.”
Seum whimpered, his voice barely audible. “No... I don’t want this...”
The shadow laughed, a chilling sound that echoed through the dream. “You have no choice, child. The darkness is coming, and you will be a part of it.”
With a jolt, Seum awoke, his heart pounding in his chest. He sat up in bed, his eyes wide with terror. The room was dark, the only light coming from the dying embers of the hearth.
“Mama! Papa!” Seum cried out, his voice trembling.
Lyria and Erol rushed to his side, their faces etched with concern. “What is it, Seum?” Lyria asked, wrapping her arms around him.
“I... I had a bad dream,” Seum whispered, his voice shaking. “There was a scary man... he said the darkness is coming.”
Erol exchanged a worried glance with Lyria. “It was just a dream, my love. You’re safe here with us.”
But Lyria felt a chill run down her spine. She knew that Seum’s dreams were often more than just dreams. They were glimpses of a greater truth, hints at destined things.
The area where Seum’s family lived was breathtakingly beautiful, a testament to the serene and bountiful nature of northern Aladria. Rolling hills covered in lush green grass stretched as far as the eye could see, dotted with crystal-clear lakes that sparkled under the sun. Forests filled with ancient trees provided a canopy of shade, their leaves whispering secrets of old legends. One such legend, often told around village fires, was the tale of the Great Line of Queens—heroines of yore who were thought to have been killed some 30 or 40 generations past, their lineage lost to time and tragedy.
On this particular day, the tranquility of the area seemed almost surreal, a stark contrast to the dark events that were about to unfold. The morning light filtered through the trees, casting a golden glow over the village. Birds sang merrily, and the scent of blooming flowers filled the air. Seum played in the garden, his wooden dragon soaring through the air as he imagined great adventures. His parents, Erol and Lyria, tended to their chores, their love and dedication to their family evident in every glance and gesture. But beneath the surface of this idyllic scene, a dark force was at work. The strange man from the herb shop, Drell, had used dark magic to weaken and ultimately fell the protective wards around the village. As the last ward crumbled, a sinister energy seeped into the air, unnoticed by the villagers who went about their daily lives.
The first sign of trouble came as a distant scream, piercing the calm like a dagger. Erol and Lyria froze, their eyes meeting in a moment of shared dread.
“What was that?” Seum asked, looking up from his play.
“Seum, come here. Quickly,” Lyria said urgently, her voice trembling. She scooped him up and hurried towards the house. “We need to hide.”
Erol grabbed his sword and shield, his face set in a grim expression. “I’ll help defend the village,” he said, his voice steady despite the fear in his eyes.
Lyria nodded, her heart pounding. “Be careful, please be careful,” she whispered, giving him a quick, fierce kiss. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” Erol replied, before rushing out to join the other villagers in defense.
Lyria carried Seum to a hidden cabinet built into the wall of their small home. “Listen to me, Seum,” she said, her voice firm despite the fear in her eyes. “You need to stay here and be very quiet. Remember, just like we practiced. No matter what happens, do not come out until I come for you.”
“But Mama, I’m scared,” Seum whispered, his small body trembling.
“I know, my love,” Lyria said, tears welling up in her eyes. “But you are brave, and you must stay hidden to stay safe. Here, take your dragon and stay hidden.” She placed him in the cabinet and cast a protective spell over it. Seum felt a familiar tingle as the magic enveloped him, a sensation he always felt when magic was used around him.
With a final look at her son, Lyria closed the cabinet door and hurried outside. The sounds of battle filled the air as goblins, demons, and monstrous animal raiders, led by a malevolent witch, descended upon the outskirts of the village.
Lyria joined the fray, her hands glowing with magical energy as she cast spells to protect and defend. Erol fought valiantly beside her, his sword flashing in the sunlight as he battled the invaders. The witch who was part of the attack on the village, a figure of pure evil, used dark curses to tear apart villagers, her laughter echoing through the chaos.
Despite their bravery, Erol and Lyria were overwhelmed by the sheer number of attackers. Erol fell first, struck down by a monstrous beast. Lyria screamed in anguish, her magic flaring with a desperate intensity. But it was not enough. The witch turned her attention to Lyria, and with a cruel smile, she unleashed a curse that tore Lyria apart.
Hidden in the cabinet, Seum heard the terrible sounds of the attack, his heart breaking as he sensed his parents’ pain. He curled into a ball, clutching his wooden dragon, tears streaming down his face. The protective spell kept him hidden, but it could not shield him from the emotional agony.
Hours passed, and the sounds of battle gradually faded. The village was left in ruins, the invaders having moved on. The protective spell around the cabinet began to wane, and Seum cautiously pushed the door open.
The sight that met his eyes was one of devastation. The garden was trampled, and the house was in disarray. He stumbled outside, calling for his parents, but there was no response. Seum found them lying lifeless on the ground, their faces peaceful in death. He fell to his knees beside them, his small body wracked with sobs. The enormity of his loss was incomprehensible, and he felt a deep, searing pain in his heart. In the distance, the village guards arrived, too late to save those who had already perished. They found Seum, a broken and sobbing child, beside the bodies of his parents. The captain of the guard, a kind-hearted man named Jareth, lifted Seum into his arms.
“I’m so sorry, little one, come here” Jareth said, his voice choked with emotion. “We’ll take care of you.”
Seum threw himself at Jareth and clung to him, his tears soaking the man’s tunic. The village had lost many that day, but none felt the loss more acutely than Seum.
In the aftermath of the attack, Jareth took Seum into his home, a modest cottage near the center of the village. The house was simple but warm, with well-worn furniture and the comforting scent of wood smoke from the hearth. Jareth, a seasoned guard with a heart as big as his stature, knew the importance of stability and care for a grieving child. From the moment he carried Seum away from the ruins of his home, Jareth dedicated himself to the boy’s wellbeing. He spoke to Seum in gentle tones, always reassuring and patient.
Jareth knew well the anguis of loss. His young wife of only a few months had been killed in the forest by shadow wolves. Jareth who had been so lonely since his young wife was killed not only knew the anguish that Seum felt, but also knew in his heart that he needed to care for the young orphaned boy.
“Seum, I know you’re scared and hurt,” Jareth said one evening as they sat by the fire. Seum was curled up in a large chair, clutching his wooden dragon. “But I’m here for you. I’ll keep you safe, and we’ll get through this together.”
Seum’s eyes were red from crying, and his small voice trembled with anguish as he spoke. “Mama and Papa were not moving and they didn't talk to me. It's like they weren't there. Will the bad people come back?”
Jareth shook his head firmly. “No, Seum. We’ve strengthened the village’s defenses. They won’t be back and they won't hurt you again. I promise.”
Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and Jareth’s routine became one of constant care and support. He made sure Seum ate, played, bathed, and slept, and he often held Seum when the nightmares became too much. Each time Seum woke up crying, Jareth was there, comforting him with a strong, steady presence.
“It’s okay, little one,” Jareth would whisper, holding Seum close. “You’re safe here. I’m going to take good care of you.”
During the day, Jareth taught Seum practical skills and involved him in daily chores. They chopped wood, tended to the small garden, and mended fences. Jareth patiently showed Seum how to use tools, always encouraging him and praising his efforts.
“Good job, Seum,” Jareth said one afternoon as Seum successfully split a log. “You’re getting stronger every day.”
As the weeks passed, Jareth noticed the spark of curiosity in Seum’s eyes returning, though the pain of loss was still evident. Jareth knew that Seum needed more than just physical care; he needed a purpose, a path to healing that went beyond the confines of the cottage.
One evening, as they sat together after a simple meal, Jareth broached the subject that had been on his mind.
“Seum, I’ve been thinking about your future,” Jareth began, his voice gentle but serious. “You’re a bright and special boy, and you deserve the best education and training. Have you ever thought about training in the temple or becoming an acolyte of the High God Ithila?”
Seum’s eyes widened, and he clutched his wooden dragon tighter. “The temple? But... I don’t know if I can do that. And our people worship Ladrinae don't we? Won't He be upset with me if I enter a temple of another God?”
Jareth smiled reassuringly. “I understand it’s a big step, and it’s okay to be scared. The Elder Gods are never upset when people worship the other Elder Gods. And I know you probably feel like leaving will be like when your parents died. But I believe in you, Seum. The priests there are kind and wise. They can help you learn and grow. And Ithila is a goddess of light and hope. You might find even more comfort there.”
That night, as Seum slept, he had a dream unlike any other. He found himself in a beautiful garden, filled with light and flowers. A serene lady, with a radiant smile and eyes full of compassion, approached him. She reminded him very much of his mother, but she wasn't his mother. She was something much more.
“Hello, Seum,” the lady said softly, her voice soothing like a gentle breeze. “I know you’re frightened, but you have a great task ahead of you. I want you to enter the temple as your friend Jareth has suggested. The temple of Ithila will be your sanctuary, a place where you’ll find not only peace but purpose.”
Seum felt a warmth in her presence, a sense of safety he had longed for. “Who are you?” he asked, his voice full of wonder.
“I am a friend, and I love you very, very much,” she replied, her smile unwavering. “Trust in the path I have placed before you. You are much stronger than you know.”
The dreams continued night after night, each one filled with comforting words and gentle encouragement. Seum woke each morning with a growing sense of peace, feeling less alone and more assured.
One day, as he and Jareth were tending to the garden, Seum spoke up, his voice clear and determined.
“Jareth, I’ve been thinking about what you said,” Seum began, looking up at the man who had become like a father to him. “I think you’re right. I want to join the temple of Holy Ithila.”
Jareth’s face broke into a proud smile. “That’s wonderful, Seum. You’ve made a brave decision. I know you’ll do great things there. And I will miss you, but this does not mean we are not a family or that we won't see each other again. This is still your home and will always be.”
They continued their chores, the bond between them stronger than ever. Seum felt a sense of hope for the first time since the attack. He knew the journey ahead would not be easy, but with Jareth’s support and the comforting presence from his dreams, he felt ready to face whatever came next.
The morning sun bathed the village in a warm, golden light as Jareth and Seum set out for the temple of the Holy Goddess Ithila, The One Above All. The path to the temple wound through lush meadows and beneath the canopies of ancient trees, the air filled with the songs of birds and the rustling of leaves. Jareth walked beside Seum, his reassuring presence a constant source of comfort for the young boy.
Seum carried a small bundle of his belongings, his wooden dragon nestled safely inside. He looked up at Jareth with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. “Do you think the priests will like me?”
Jareth smiled, ruffling Seum’s hair. “They will more than like you, Seum. They will see what I see—a bright, courageous boy with a big heart and a sharp mind. You’re going to do wonderfully.”
As they approached the temple, Seum’s eyes widened in awe. The temple of Ithila was a magnificent structure, its white stone walls gleaming in the sunlight. Tall spires reached towards the sky, and intricate carvings of holy symbols adorned the entrance. The air around the temple seemed to hum with a sense of peace and reverence.
At the entrance, they were greeted by a tall, dignified man dressed in flowing robes. His eyes were kind, and he exuded an aura of wisdom and calm. This was Chief Priest Arlen, the head of the temple.
“Welcome, Jareth,” Arlen said warmly, extending a hand. “And you must be Seum. We have been expecting you.”
Seum looked up at the priest, feeling a mix of apprehension and curiosity. “Yes, sir. I’m Seum.”
Arlen knelt down to Seum’s level, his eyes twinkling. “It is an honor to meet you, Seum. We believe that the Goddess Ithila has guided you here for a reason. We are delighted to have you join us.”
Jareth placed a hand on Seum’s shoulder. “Seum is a special boy, Chief Priest Arlen. He has a good heart and a keen mind. I believe he will be an excellent acolyte.”
Arlen nodded, standing up. “I have no doubt. Come, Seum, let me show you your new home.”
Seum glanced back at Jareth, who gave him an encouraging nod. Taking a deep breath, Seum followed Arlen into the temple. The interior was just as awe-inspiring as the exterior. High ceilings adorned with frescoes depicting scenes of light and hope, marble floors that shone with a soft luster, and alcoves filled with candles and offerings to Ithila.
Arlen led Seum to a small, cozy room with a simple bed, a wooden desk, and a window that looked out onto the temple gardens. “This will be your room, Seum,” Arlen said. “You will find that our temple is a place of learning and peace. We will teach you the ways of Holy Ithila and help you grow in wisdom and strength.”
Seum set his bundle on the bed, feeling a mix of emotions. It was a new beginning, one that felt both daunting and promising. “Thank you, Chief Priest,” he said quietly.
Arlen smiled and placed a hand on Seum’s shoulder. “You are very welcome, Seum. Now, let’s join the other acolytes in the main hall. We begin our day with a prayer to Ithila.”
Jareth watched as Seum walked away with Arlen, his heart swelling with pride and a touch of sadness. He knew this was the best path for Seum, but he would miss having the boy around every day.
Over the weeks and months that followed, Seum settled into life at the temple. He quickly proved to be an eager and insightful student, absorbing the teachings of Ithila with remarkable speed. His instructors were impressed by his astute understanding of the scriptures and his ability to see deeper meanings in the lessons.
One day, during a lesson on the principles of light and truth, Seum raised his hand. “Chief Priest Arlen, if light represents truth and hope, does that mean darkness is only the absence of these things, or is it something more?”
Arlen looked at Seum thoughtfully. “An excellent question, Seum. Darkness can indeed be the absence of light, but it can also be an active force of its own, representing deception and despair. Understanding this duality is crucial in our journey to uphold Ithila’s teachings.”
Seum nodded, his brow furrowed in concentration. “So, by bringing light to the world, we’re not just filling empty spaces, but we’re also actively pushing back against the forces of darkness?”
“Precisely,” Arlen replied, smiling. “You have a keen mind, Seum. Never stop asking questions. It is through seeking that we find true understanding.”
Seum’s days were filled with study, prayer, and the frequent visit from Jareth, who never failed to bring a smile and sometimes a treat. They celebrated holidays and birthdays together, their bond growing stronger despite the distance. Seum frequented Garon's home and really felt welcome by his parents. And Jareth would listen eagerly as Seum recounted what he had learned, his face lighting up with pride.
“Jareth, did you know that Ithila’s light is said to come from the very first dawn of creation?” Seum would say, his eyes wide with excitement.
Jareth would chuckle, ruffling Seum’s hair. “I didn’t know that, Seum. You’re becoming quite the scholar.”
In the quiet moments, when the temple was still, Seum would often think back to his parents and the life he had left behind. He missed them dearly, but he also felt a sense of purpose growing within him. The dreams of the serene lady continued, her words of comfort and encouragement a guiding light in his journey, and occasionally she would tell him things that were not written in the teaching documents.
As time passed, Seum’s initial fear and uncertainty were replaced by confidence and determination. He was no longer just a grieving boy; he was an acolyte of Ithila. The seed of prophecy within him continued to grow, nurtured by the wisdom and love he found in the temple. And so, in the sacred halls of Ithila, Seum began to forge his path, one step closer to fulfilling the destiny that awaited him.
