The Boy Who Dreamed

Under the fiery crimson sky, the sun sank low over the clay village of Thrum. It was a humble place, built of hardened earth and nestled beside a whispering river. Here, Zayn lived a life marked by simplicity and toil. Every morning before dawn, he would rise from his straw-filled cot in a corner of the one-room home he shared with his mother and three younger siblings.

While the rest of the village slumbered, Zayn would head to the river to collect water in clay jugs, his bare feet crunching on the frost-kissed grass.

Zayn was sixteen, his frame lean but strong from years of hard labor. His hands, calloused and rough, spoke of hours spent crafting pottery to sell in the village square. Yet, his mind wandered far from the tasks at hand. As he worked the clay, shaping it into vases and bowls, he imagined himself shaping his destiny.

His inspiration came from the stories of King Kaelion, the ruler of the realm of Elyndor. Kaelion, the warrior-king, was loved by all. Born into poverty in a village not unlike Thrum, he had risen to become the most powerful leader in living memory. Through sheer determination and

unparalleled mastery of magic, Kaelion had defeated the tyrannical Shadow Court and united the fractured kingdom. Now, his emerald blade, infused with ancient enchantments, was both a symbol of his might and the hope of his people.

“Zayn!” his mother’s voice jolted him back to the present. She stood at the doorway, her brow furrowed. “The pots won’t sell themselves. Hurry, before the market closes.”

“Yes, Mother,” he replied, shaking off his daydreams. But as he hefted the freshly fired pots into a wicker basket, he whispered to himself, One day, I’ll be more than a potter’s son.

Watch out for part 2!