Kingdom of Verdwryn

Though only two years old, Michael's curiosity and determination far outstripped his size. His mind, sharpened by the weight of a past life, hungered for knowledge that the small village of Dawnfield could scarcely provide. It was Mae, the village healer, who became his most valued resource. Known for her extensive knowledge of remedies and the old ways, Mae was a fountain of information that Michael quickly learned to tap into.

One chilly afternoon, Michael toddled into her humble hut, drawn by the earthy aroma of drying herbs and the quiet ambiance of her sanctuary. He tugged at her patched skirts, his blue eyes wide with intent. "Mae, can you teach me about the kingdom? And the plants?"

The request caught her off guard. How often did a child of such tender years show such earnest curiosity? She studied him for a moment, then, amused and intrigued by his request, decided to indulge him. At first, she recounted simple stories—the founding of the kingdom, the great rulers who shaped it, and the peace that held it together. But as Michael's questions grew more probing—about the Everwinds, the borders of Verdwryn, and the neighboring lands—Mae realized the depths of his thirst for knowledge.

"You've a sharp mind, little one," she remarked with a knowing smile. "Very well. If you'll listen, I'll teach you."

Michael nodded eagerly, his heart swelling with quiet triumph. Thus began their lessons.

Mae used an old, tattered book—one filled with records of medicinal herbs—as a primer for teaching Michael to read. As she spoke, she introduced him to the plants that sustained life: yarrow for wounds, valerian for sleep, and comfrey for broken bones. Michael absorbed it all with remarkable speed, committing each piece of information to memory as though it were as vital as air.

Every week, Michael returned to Mae's hut, sitting cross-legged before her, as she guided him through the basics of letters, herbs, and their applications. Her approval, expressed in kind words and gentle praise, masked the quiet wonder she felt at his progress. To her, he was just an unusually gifted child; to Michael, it was something more. These lessons were a lifeline—a way to bridge the chasm between his infant body and the man he knew he must become.

But Mae's teachings extended beyond the physical world. She wove stories of Verdwryn's history—tales of great kings, noble knights, and the mysterious Everwinds who had shaped the land since time immemorial.

"Long ago," she would say, as Michael sat before the hearth, "the Everwinds blessed this land with life and magic. But they are fickle. If angered, they bring storms and ruin. That's why the festival is so important—to honor their gift."

Michael listened intently, dissecting her every word. He understood that these stories were not mere legend, but fragments of truth he could use. His mind turned over the implications of the Everwinds' dual nature, how they could be both a boon and a threat, depending on how they were treated. He pressed Mae for more, asking about the neighboring kingdoms, learning of Zeranthia's warlike clans, Talaris's desert riches, Iskandor's enigmatic druids, and Kaelthar's sea-faring raiders. Though Mae's knowledge was limited, it expanded his understanding of the world, painting a picture of a vast and tumultuous realm far beyond the quiet life of Dawnfield.

Even as his mind blossomed with new knowledge, Michael knew his body needed equal attention. Habits ingrained from his past life drove him to pursue physical discipline, though he kept it secret.

In the early mornings, before Gareth rose to tend the fields, Michael slipped outside, where the first rays of dawn filtered through the trees. With a sturdy branch he had fashioned into a mock sword, he swung at imagined foes, his small arms struggling to mimic the precise motions of a soldier. He crouched, leaped, and rolled, attempting to replicate the combat drills that had once been second nature to him. His young body, uncoordinated and weak, betrayed him, but Michael was not deterred. Each day, he pushed himself further, building strength and reflexes despite the limitations of his size.

Sometimes, Gareth would catch him mid-training. "Practicing to slay dragons, are we?" he would joke, ruffling Michael's hair. Michael would grin, allowing his father to think it was nothing more than child's play. But beneath that grin, Michael's resolve hardened. This was not just play—it was preparation.

The villagers marveled at Michael's precocity, attributing his intelligence to the innocence of youth. But Michael knew better. He understood the fragility of Dawnfield—the vulnerability of a community unprepared for threats both seen and unseen. His small body, the limits of his strength, the pacifism of the village—these were obstacles to be overcome in time. And time, he had learned, was his greatest ally.

Mae's lessons gave him the intellectual tools to navigate this world. His physical training, though crude, kept his instincts sharp. The observations of village life provided him with a nuanced understanding of Dawnfield's strengths and weaknesses. He saw how the villagers relied on the river and forest, but lacked any real defense against the dangers lurking beyond their borders. He observed the bonds they forged and the fragile peace that sustained them, and he knew his role was to protect it.

For now, he remained a quiet, clever child in the eyes of those around him. But within him, there burned a quiet resolve to prepare—to shape himself into someone capable of protecting those he loved. Whether from the shadows of the forest, the unpredictable force of the Everwinds, or the distant threat of war, he would be ready.

The seeds were sown. All that remained was for time to nurture them.