The sun shone brightly over the bustling town, but the ancient trees of the forest towered around it like giant green walls, their leaves casting cool shadows over the streets. The town had no stone walls—it didn't need them. The thick, tangled trees with trunks wider than houses guarded it like silent soldiers. A sparkling river curved around the town, its water rushing over smooth stones. Four main dirt roads split the town into four parts, like slices of a pie. The roads were busy with people: farmers carrying baskets of vegetables, hunters with bows on their backs, and children chasing stray chickens.
All the buildings looked the same—three stories tall, made of dark wood and gray stone, with pointed roofs covered in moss. On the ground floors were shops and stalls selling bread, cloth, tools, and dried herbs. The air smelled of smoke from blacksmiths' forges and sweet honey cakes baking in ovens. The loudest place was the bazaar, where merchants shouted prices and goats bleated in pens.
Near the center of town stood a small church. It was plain, with no fancy carvings, but inside was a strange statue. The sculpture was of a man named Neoth, his face hidden under a hooded robe. Only his hands were visible, and on his sleeves were tiny painted stars and swirling galaxies, like someone had trapped the night sky in cloth. People left flowers and candles at his feet, whispering prayers for protection.
Next to the church was a small schoolhouse. Its wooden door was open, letting in the sounds of the forest—birds singing, leaves rustling. Inside, twenty children sat on wooden benches, their eyes fixed on their teacher.
The teacher was an elf. His ears were pointed, poking through his long silver hair, which was tied back with a leather strap. He wore a simple brown robe, and his face was wrinkled but kind, like an old tree with wise eyes. His name was Eldrin, and he had lived in the town for over a hundred years. He held a stick of chalk, writing on a smooth black stone slab hanging on the wall.
"Today," he said, his voice deep and calm, "I will tell you the story of our king—the Son of Neoth. It is a story of darkness, hope, and the choices that saved our people."
The children leaned forward. Some hugged their knees; others bit their nails nervously.
Eldrin sat on the edge of his desk, his eyes growing serious. "Long ago, the sun set for the last time. Not like nightfall—this was different. The sky turned black and stayed black. Cold crept into the land, sharper than winter. Plants withered. Rivers froze. Animals dropped dead in the fields. Even our Great Tree, which had stood for thousands of years—its roots deeper than mountains, its branches touching the clouds—began to die."
A boy in the front row gasped. "The Great Tree… died?"
Eldrin nodded. "Its leaves turned brown and fell. Its trunk cracked open with a sound like thunder. When it finally fell, the ground shook. But…" He paused, raising a finger. "When the tree's crown—the very top—hit the earth, something miraculous happened. A single flower bloomed in the snow. And in the center of that flower was an egg."
The children's eyes widened. A girl with red braids whispered, "What kind of egg?"
"No one knew," said Eldrin. "It was as large as a human head, with a shell that shimmered like a rainbow. But the most important thing was its heartbeat. Thump… thump… thump. Slow and steady. When the elders placed the egg on frozen lakes, the ice melted. When they set it on dead soil, grass grew. It gave our people hope—and with hope came courage."
Eldrin stood, walking between the benches. "The eldest of our tribe, Votar, heard a voice in the wind. He swore a sacred oath, shouting, 'The Son of Neoth is coming! Our king will be born soon!' He lifted the egg high, and our people followed him on a dangerous journey."
"We traveled from an island far to the east," Eldrin continued, "shaped like a hunter's bow. For years, we thought we were the only people left in the world. But Votar led us west, across a frozen sea. The ice was so thick, we could barely chip it with axes. The further we went, the worse things became. We found dead elephants, their tusks broken. Dead wolves with frozen snarls. Dead trees, snapped like twigs. Then… villages. Empty. Silent. Cities with crumbling towers, abandoned to the wind."
A boy raised his hand. "Did you see… ghosts?"
Eldrin shook his head. "No ghosts. But we met other people. They called us 'pointy ears' and warned us to turn back. They said a war was coming—a war already raging against the dead."
The room fell silent. Outside, a crow cawed.
"Votar refused to fear," Eldrin said firmly. "He told us, 'The Son of Neoth will be born at dawn!' We marched toward the sunrise until we found the place called Dawn. We learned their language… and there, we met a warrior named Azor Ahai. He carried a sword called Lightbringer—a blade bright as the sun, forged in his wife's blood."
"That's horrible!" a girl cried.
"It was a sacrifice," Eldrin explained gently. "The sword was magical. It stayed warm, like living flesh. When Azor Ahai fought monsters, the blade burned so hot it melted their eyes and boiled their blood. We saw the war against the dead. I remember my father said the stench was worse than the screams." He paused, lowering his voice. "But the Messenger whispered to us with magic, in our tongue, so none could understand. And we listened."
Eldrin's voice softened. "We didn't understand then. We hunted beasts twisted by dark magic—their fur fell out, their teeth grew crooked and long. We used their blood to keep the egg safe. In a hidden valley between mountains, we placed it in a pool of their boiling blood. Many died. Many survived. And there… he was born."
The children held their breath.
"He came into the world wrapped in red cloth made of fog. He stood for minutes, looking around, studying us, whispering words we couldn't understand. Silent. Somber. The first thing he did was point to a comet streaking the sky. 'That is a dead god,' he said, 'or maybe a living one.' When we begged him to lead us to war, he smiled and said, 'Even gods die. Why be pawns of a god that isn't ours? Red and white, cold and hot—we aren't of them. Why bother? This isn't our fight. If we join, we'll die too. Hide… and wait.'"
"But hiding is cowardly!" argued a boy with freckles.
Eldrin raised an eyebrow. "Is it? The Son of Neoth taught us survival. We ate the meat of the beasts we hunted. Thousands began the journey. If we'd stayed on that island, we'd have been forgotten—cracked bones hugging cracked ribs. But he came. He taught us to cross the frozen sea without melting it. He told us to push west, to endure for the children yet unborn, to grow old proving why Neoth chose us. We hid in caves and forests until the war passed. Because of his wisdom, our people lived. You are here today… because he chose patience over pride."