Kingdom of Verdwryn

The years that followed Michael's early awakening were marked by a steady rhythm—a quiet dance between the farm's daily chores, the comforting guidance of Mae's remedies, and the deepening connections he began to form with the people of Dawnfield. The village remained timeless, its fields stretching endlessly beneath the wide sky, the dense forests standing sentinel at the edges of the land. But within this seeming simplicity, Michael saw opportunity: an opportunity not only to grow in skill, but to weave himself into the fabric of the life around him.

From the age of three, Michael was a constant presence on the farm. His small hands, not yet strong enough to heft sacks of grain or guide the plow, found work elsewhere. He gathered eggs from the chickens, fetched water from the well, and sorted through the harvested wheat. Each task, though minor, was treated with the same focus and determination that once guided his life in the military. His body may have been small, but his mind worked with the precision of a seasoned strategist.

"Careful now, Michael," Gareth would call over his shoulder as his son toddled behind him, carrying a heavy bucket of fresh milk. Gareth's voice was light, full of affection, but Michael's attention was absolute. Each movement felt like a small victory, each act of help a way of reinforcing the bonds with the family he was slowly building.

Marla, too, found herself relying more on him as the years passed. Whether kneading dough for bread or pulling weeds from the garden, Michael worked beside her, absorbing the quiet rhythm of farm life. She taught him the simple, practical skills that kept their home running, her soft humming filling the air as they worked side by side. To the villagers, Michael was simply a devoted son, but to him, each moment was a chance to connect, to learn, and to become stronger.

Michael's visits to Old Mae's cottage became an even greater part of his routine. The healer, her hands weathered and worn from years of tending to the sick, took a fond, grandmotherly interest in him. She taught him to read, using the few old books she had on hand—books filled with knowledge on everything from remedies to the history of Verdwryn.

"This here, Michael, is the history of our kingdom," Mae said one evening, holding up a battered tome with gilded edges. "Our roots run deep, and you'd do well to know them."

Michael devoured the lessons, his questions showing a depth that often surprised Mae. She shared tales of the Everwinds, the founding of Verdwryn, and the once mighty House of Eldarion. She even began to teach him the delicate art of healing, showing him how to grind herbs into powders, boil roots into tinctures, and prepare salves to ease pain or stave off illness.

"You've a gift for this, lad," Mae would say with a proud nod. "Steady hands and a sharp mind. Don't waste them."

Her praise settled deep within him, strengthening his resolve. While he never spoke of his past life, Michael's military training had taught him one undeniable truth: preparation was key. And knowing how to heal could one day save lives—perhaps even his own.

By the time he was five, Michael's resourcefulness had expanded beyond the farm and Mae's cottage. He had fashioned a crude bow and arrows from branches and string salvaged from the farm, and though the weapons were far from perfect, they were effective enough for hunting small game. Rabbits, squirrels, and the occasional pheasant became part of their meals. He was proud of his achievements, though his pride was never boastful. Instead, he saw each kill as a step toward the man he was becoming.

His hunting excursions also served another purpose: gathering wild plants. Armed with the knowledge Mae had given him, Michael identified herbs with medicinal properties and brought them to her, bundles of chamomile, yarrow, and wild mint clutched in his hands. Each time he presented them, she gave him a nod of approval, sometimes even offering a small piece of advice on how to properly preserve them.

"Careful now," Mae warned one day, inspecting a handful of bright red berries Michael had gathered. "Not all that glitters is gold, and not all that's red is safe to eat."

The forest became Michael's sanctuary, a place where he could test his skills, expand his knowledge, and simply be free. It was here, under the shade of the towering trees, that he could leave behind the weight of his past life, focusing instead on the lessons of the present.

As the years passed, Michael's circle of friends grew. Callen, the mischievous son of Gareth's long-time friend Edrin, became a constant companion. With his mop of dark curls and infectious laugh, Callen was a whirlwind of energy, forever leading Michael into new, sometimes reckless adventures.

"Come on, Michael!" Callen would shout, his voice carrying over the fields. "What are you waiting for?"

Michael, more cautious by nature, often found himself swept up in Callen's enthusiasm. It was a welcome change from the careful planning he had once been accustomed to. With Callen, he could simply be a boy, a child who reveled in the wildness of the world.

Lira, by contrast, was quieter and more introspective. Her auburn hair was always neatly braided, and she had a book in hand more often than not. She and Michael shared a love of learning, and the two would often sit together beneath the wide branches of an ancient oak, poring over Mae's texts or quietly discussing dreams of the world beyond Dawnfield.

"Do you think we'll ever see Eldenholm?" Lira asked one afternoon, her green eyes sparkling with curiosity. "My mother says it's a place like no other."

"We will," Michael replied, his tone filled with quiet certainty. "One day."

Together, the trio explored the village and beyond, their friendship a delicate blend of exploration, laughter, and shared dreams. For Michael, who had once known only duty and sacrifice, this companionship was a gift—one he hadn't known he needed but now cherished deeply.

Life in Dawnfield moved at its familiar pace, but for Michael, every day was a step forward. He practiced tying knots, sharpening tools, and memorizing the maps that Mae would sketch from memory. He even began teaching Callen and Lira some survival skills, framing them as games so as not to raise suspicion.

At night, he lay in bed listening to the Everwinds whispering through the trees, their voices a constant reminder of something greater than himself. The future pressed heavily on his soul, a weight he couldn't ignore. But for now, he would continue to learn, to grow, and to build the foundation he would one day need.

And as the stars shone down through the cracks in the cottage roof, Michael allowed himself to dream—not just of the world beyond Dawnfield, but of the challenges, victories, and choices that would one day define his destiny.