In a time long ago…
When the universe was still young and the stars had just begun to shine, a new planet came into existence. It had vast lands, wild and untouched. And on one of these lands, a mortal was born—one who would one day change the fate of the world.
Far from that distant place, under a night sky full of stars, a group of children sat around a campfire. Their faces glowed in the warm light, eyes filled with curiosity. The air smelled of burning wood, and the only sounds were the rustling leaves and distant chirping of crickets. The fire flickered and popped, casting dancing shadows upon the ground.
Among them sat an old man with a medium-length beard streaked with silver, wearing flowing ancient robes adorned with intricate embroidery. His eyes, deep and wise, carried the weight of countless stories, and his posture exuded a quiet strength that made him seem both gentle and powerful. His hair was a mix of black and grey. His calm presence and wise eyes made it clear—he was their grandfather.
"Grandpa, tell us a story!" one child said excitedly, leaning forward on their hands. Their eyes sparkled with anticipation, and a few of the younger ones bounced slightly where they sat.
The old man smiled, stroking his beard. "A story, hmm… How about the tale of the great god who fought many battles and—"
"No! You always tell that one!" a child interrupted, pouting.
Another child nodded in agreement. "Yeah! We've heard that story a hundred times! We want something new!"
The grandfather chuckled, his deep voice full of amusement. "Something new, is it?" He paused for a moment, then leaned forward slightly, his eyes twinkling. "Then, how about the story of a mortal?"
The children frowned, unimpressed. "A mortal? That sounds boring," one of them said, crossing their arms. "Mortals are weak."
The grandfather's eyes twinkled as he studied them. "And why do you think mortals are weak?"
"Because we are better than them!" a child declared proudly. "Though we are not gods ourselves and are merely immortals, we are still the descendants of the great gods!"
The old man let out a small chuckle. "And do you think that alone makes us greater than them?"
The children hesitated. They had never truly thought about it before. The idea of superiority had been drilled into them since birth, but they had never questioned why. The fire crackled, filling the brief silence as they pondered his words.
The grandfather's voice grew softer but stronger. "Let me tell you a tale—a tale of a mortal who faced the gods themselves, armed only with his own strength and skill."
The fire crackled, sending tiny sparks into the air as the children exchanged glances. A mortal who fought gods? That sounded impossible. But their grandfather spoke with such confidence that they had to listen.
One of the older children, skeptical but intrigued, crossed their arms. "That can't be true! He must have had some kind of special power or divine blessings!"
The old man chuckled, shaking his head. "No, child. He was no chosen hero. He had no divine favor, no legendary weapon, and no god's blood in his veins. He was just an ordinary man, born like any other mortal, with nothing but his own will and determination." His gaze drifted to the flames, as if lost in memories. "And yet… the gods would come to fear his name."
The children leaned in, their curiosity growing. The firelight danced on their faces. The night around them felt quiet, as if it, too, was listening.
The grandfather looked up at the stars. "This is the story of a man who challenged fate itself. A story of struggle, loss, and victories won by pure determination. A story of a mortal… who did what no god dared."
Silence fell upon them, not from boredom, but from anticipation. The children listened carefully as their grandfather leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"And so, in a land far away, in a time long forgotten… a boy took his first step toward a destiny he never asked for."
The fire crackled. The leaves whispered. And the story began.