In the world of the Hollow Wilds, there is a story passed down, regardless of race, status or lineage. A story depicting the Life of Gold, the most royal of colours in this world, the life of the First and Last king of his realm, Midas.
Throughout his lifetime, he was known as many things: the monarch of Gold, the Crazed Crown, and The Thoughtful Pagan. His story is told through chronicles, books laden with golden casing and Embroidery.
The Fool heralds the first of his chronicles.
The Fool - (Chapter 1 - Ace of Swords)
Midas grew up as a young man in poverty. He did not own much but the cloth that he draped over his own visible spine. He was raised in a family of four to a heavy-handed Father and a loyal mother.
His younger sister was the pride of his family, being smarter than her older brother and boasting decent looks for a young woman. If she were to ever be given the chance to grow and leave the farmland, she would be a peerless beauty.
Midas' family grew cane sugar. They owned a small plot of land in country. They did not consume what they did not sow with their own hands. Midas and his father toiled in the sun while his mother tended to his sister and taught her the skills of a lady.
Sewing, Weaving and Needling. Midas spent his childhood like this. The sugar that he grew was dark brown and never sweet to him. The conditions of the red dirt were poor. The cane grew black and tasted of iron.
He toiled from before the sunrise until deep into the night. Midas always dreamed of a better life. But what did he have? He was not as intelligent as his sister. He only had his two hands.
Midas stared at his palms. Thick and calloused. The pads of his palms peeled and came off like loose leaves, revealing an even harder interior.
' Is this all I am meant for? Is this all this world has to offer me? I grow stronger and meeker. I know not the land beyond my own horizon. I know not the vast lake that tastes of salt and water. '
His fingers were stubbed, grown too muscular to be called delicate. Even lightly flexing them revealed the force of a labour-intensive upbringing.
But even this gift was not without its drawbacks. His skin had burned from the sun, and His fingers ached when he slept. His back hurt from leaning and cutting the stalks of cane. But still Midas toiled.
'If the clothes on my back were stolen, if the food on my dish was eaten and if I drank nothing from the well, then I would truly have nothing, but I would still own one thing, my dreams. If I die, people will dream after me. They may not be the same, but my dream will not die because there are others who wish to see the sea. '
Midas loved to peek up at the aurora that dazzled the night sky, watching as the seven colours mixed and blended into black light, coating the heavens in a wafting darkness.
The next morning, Midas' home was visited by an old beggar. An unassuming old gentleman. He walked with a leashed donkey in his right hand.
The beast looked old and hungry. Its ribs showed as it heaved its breaths. Even the clops of its feet were soft and unassuming.
The beggar looked at Midas and asked him for a single bag of sugar.
That year, the land experienced a deep and dreadful drought. So all the people of the country suffered.
All the cane that grew turned black and sick. What little they had could not feed themselves.
Midas looked at the old beggar and spoke in an apologetic tone.
"I apologise, I cannot give you the grain for free."
The old beggar, hearing this, stroked his chin and thought for a few seconds. His eyes were a serene brown, his brow protruding, and his sparse curly hair had fully greyed as it retreated behind his head.
The beggar held up one aged finger in front of himself.
"I am old. So I cannot till the land. I am not a scholar, so I cannot sell you wisdom, and I am not swift, so I cannot flee should you choose to swindle me. But I can offer you a single truth of life, one that your Father may not even know."
Midas thought. He was suspicious of this beggar's words, but Midas was young and curious. 'What could he teach me that even my father does not know?'
The beggar was correct. He was in no position to leave. Although Midas was starving, he was still a young man full of youth and vigour, and the donkey did not look to be long to leave this Earth.
Midas pondered. ' What could that truth be?' Eventually, he gave in to his curiosity.
Midas headed to the family's store room. It was dwindling; the last bags of sugar were black with sparse golden grains. Midas once again turned to face the fields that he had toiled for an entire year.
'Hmm, I can just take it back if he tries to deceive me.'
The field was barren and barely gave life. Only large expanses of red dirt and wilted leaves. Hesitation overcame him, but once again, he chose to believe that the words of this old man held value.
Midas walked to the beggar. The beggar smiled and placed the small bag of sugar on his person.
" Thank you. Young man." The beggar smiled. A rightfully pleased grin. His wrinkled eyes almost seemed to weep.
The beggar's creaky finger pointed up to the Sun. " I offer this truth of life to you-"
Midas, enthralled, looked up at the Sun. Squinting. It was spinning lightly in the air. Far above the clouds, its seven spoked tips casting down infinite rays onto the land below.
Midas' mind stalled, something swift filled his vision, and soon the world turned to darkness.
Midas awoke on his cot. Once again, peering at the seven colours through the sparse leaves. ' What happened?'
He quickly sat up.
Pain... Pain?
Midas rubbed his forehead. A large lump had appeared. He had been struck and fallen asleep. Midas blinked. He felt a strange weakness. Like he had lost something. He stared around the room, and everyone's thoughts seemed clear to him.
His father paced back and forth. His expression was one of anger and shame.
'Blasted child, look what you have done. We have no sugar to eat. '
His mother sat near him, her face one of weary and guilt. ' My poor son, playing the fool you were destined to be.'
His sister stared at him, her animosity growing deeper. ' You foolish brother, now what will we eat?'
His father finally spoke. " Son…Where are the bags of sugar?"
Midas blinked. He repeated the latter half of his thoughts to his father. " Bags?"
His mother sighed and massaged his forehead.
"Oh my son, we have sheltered you much. You have grown a fool. Our lands are barren, and we no longer have food." She sobbed.
Midas was quick to remember and quick to correct. " No mother, I only gave him one bag of sugar?"
His father chimed in next, rage swelling on his chest. " Yes, my son, but you have shown him all of our sugar."
Midas' mind stalled again. He began to tremble. He clenched his fists. He stared at the colours through the cracks in the sky. ' What? Why me? Why did this happen to me? Is this what kindness gives? Is this the lesson you teach?
Midas thought of the old beggar's words once again.
He was old and could not till the land.
He was not a scholar, so he could not sell him wisdom
He was not swift, so he could not escape Midas' grasp.
None of what he had said was a lie.
Even more so, Midas glimpsed the truth of life hidden in his disguise. "Ahh, I see."
Thinking he had gone mad, his family left him to his devices. A foolish son they had raised.
That same night, Midas left his home. His father did nothing to stop him. His Mother sighed as he walked away. His sister waved, a smile plastered on her face.
The family did not see their son for a full day.
The next day, Midas returned.
Behind him was a great wagon. Upon that wagon sat a small mound of golden grains. The golden grains of sugar looked sweeter than any honey the family could ever buy.
When questioned by his parents about how he had gained so much in one night.
He simply pointed at the spoked sun that was rising in the sky.
The boy to be king had turned a single truth into gold.