Lorian had always been an ordinary boy, born and raised in Elderdale. He was no hero, no brave knight, and certainly no legend in the making. He was the kind of person who kept to the shadows, avoided conflict, and found solace in books and quiet spaces. His parents, though loving, often wished for him to be more like the young men in the village, who spent their days training with swords, preparing for the next big hunt, or proving their valor in some way.
But Lorian had never felt the pull of the warrior's life. He had always felt out of place when his peers spoke of fighting monsters or embarking on grand adventures. His heart pounded in his chest at the thought of facing danger. It wasn't that he was afraid of the world around him—it was that he feared his own fear, the gnawing anxiety that gripped him when he imagined standing face to face with danger.
His biggest dream was simple: to live a peaceful, quiet life. He longed for a life away from battles, away from heroes.
One fateful day, as the village prepared for the upcoming harvest festival, a stranger arrived in Elderdale. He was an old man with a long, silvery beard and a cloak as dark as midnight. His name was Thorne, and he spoke little, but when he did, his words were always cryptic and strange. He told the villagers of a prophecy—a prophecy that mentioned a sword, a warrior, and a heart full of fear.
Lorian, though he tried to ignore the old man's words, felt an unease settle deep within him. Something about Thorne's presence stirred a forgotten memory—a memory of the old legends he had read as a child.
As the days passed, the village began to whisper. Rumors spread that the Cowardly Sword had been found.