In a village away from the City, a child was born. He opened his eyes, exploring reality for the first time. The laughter, the joy, the gentleness from his mother, the comfort of a loving home. He did all the things that most kids did. Chasing butterflies, lying on a hammock and devouring poisonous mushrooms.
At the age of 10, he was sent to be a disciple of the Bastonian Art, an exalted and arcane form of magic mastered by the very few.
The Front Door of the Academy was adorned with mythical symbols, as well as archaic characters. Those things seemed to have certain hidden gems and secrets, waiting to be unearthed by the learned mind.
He walked into the Hall, taking a gander at the names carved on the wooden boards and the golden shields. The names gave him a vision, beckoning him towards the mountain of trials and the pinnacle of victory.
He was taught the most basic principles in Bastionian Logic, Scholar’s Arithmetic, Owl’s Linguistics and Sprinter’s Moves. He liked working in the Library, perusing every book he could find. His imagination was one of his greatest gifts, giving him a second realm of reality. Unicorns with marshmallows, Trains with 1000 cars, Jay twittering in the woods. He enjoyed daydreaming in the morning as much as he looked forward to lucid dreaming at night.
It was monotonous and repetitive. Until he spent so much time pondering about things. And it hurt. It was very dark and mentally taxing for his mind. But he kept on trying and suddenly, there was an epiphany. He thought to himself that perhaps most people had been looking the wrong way. From then on, he stopped caring because there was no need to. He kept climbing and building, crafting sturdier swords and running with agility.
It was a new beginning for him. And he knew that there would be more challenges ahead of him because that’s the way of the Island.
No one knew what would happen to him later in the journey because the future was unpredictable. And so was everything else.