Chapter 1: The Wanderer
He had no name, no home, no family. He was a wanderer, a survivor, a loner. He had seen the horrors of war, the violence of chaos, the cruelty of men. He had lost everything he ever cared about, and he had nothing left to live for. He wandered the broken world, looking for a place where he could find some peace of mind, some solace, some hope.
He carried a sword on his back, a bow on his shoulder, and a dagger on his belt. He wore a cloak of faded brown, a shirt of patched leather, and pants of worn cloth. He had a scar on his left cheek, a burn on his right arm, and a limp in his left leg. He had dark hair, gray eyes, and a weary face. He was not young, but not old either. He was just tired.
He walked through the ruins of a city that once was alive with people and culture. Now it was dead, silent, and decayed. He saw the skeletons of buildings, the rubble of streets, the ashes of fires. He smelled the stench of rot, the odor of smoke, the scent of death. He heard nothing but the wind, the crows, and his own footsteps.
He did not know why he came here. Maybe he was curious, maybe he was nostalgic, maybe he was masochistic. He did not care. He had no purpose, no direction, no goal. He just walked, aimlessly, endlessly.
He came across a library that somehow survived the destruction. He decided to enter it, hoping to find something interesting or useful. He pushed the door open and stepped inside. He saw rows of shelves filled with books of all kinds and sizes. He felt a surge of curiosity and wonder. He loved books. They were his only friends in this lonely world.
He walked along the shelves, browsing the titles and covers. He saw books of history, science, philosophy, literature, art, and more. He picked up a few and skimmed through them. He found stories of heroes and villains, of magic and monsters, of love and hate. He found facts and theories, ideas and arguments, questions and answers. He found beauty and wisdom, humor and tragedy, joy and sorrow.
He felt a pang of sadness and envy. He wished he could live in those worlds, those times, those places. He wished he could be one of those characters, those people, those beings. He wished he could have what they had: adventure and excitement, passion and romance, friendship and family.
But he knew it was impossible. Those worlds were not real, those times were gone, those places were destroyed. Those characters were not him, those people were dead or worse, those beings were myths or enemies. Those things were not for him: he had no adventure or excitement, no passion or romance, no friendship or family.
He sighed and put the books back on the shelves. He continued his search for something that might catch his attention or help him in his journey.
He found nothing.
He left the library and resumed his wandering.
He did not know where he was going.
He did not know what he was looking for.
He did not know if he would ever find it.
But he kept walking.
He had nothing else to do.