The Golden Egg

In a quiet village nestled between the emerald folds of ancient hills, a strange tale lived on the lips of its oldest inhabitants—the tale of The Golden Egg. It was a story children whispered during twilight games and elders repeated around crackling hearth fires. Most called it a myth. A bedtime tale. But every story has a seed of truth.

Aiden, a poor farm boy with calloused hands and dreams too big for the worn boots he wore, was the kind of soul who believed in stories. He worked his father's land with steady determination, but each furrow of soil reminded him of how far the world extended beyond the hills, and how small he was within it.

One morning, while collecting eggs from their hens, Aiden noticed something odd. A small, peculiar hen had wandered into their coop overnight. It shimmered slightly, its feathers white as snowfall but glinting with gold when touched by sunlight. He blinked, rubbed his eyes, and reached toward it. The hen clucked softly, and beneath her, nestled in straw, was an egg—round, flawless, and glittering with unmistakable golden sheen.

He gasped. Holding it in his hands, the weight was unlike any egg he'd ever felt—heavy, solid, and undeniably gold.

“Father!” he called. “Look at this!”

His father, stern and tired from years of struggle, took the egg and weighed it in his hand. “This is no trick. It’s real. Real gold.”

By sundown, the village buzzed with the news. The mayor came. So did the priest, the blacksmith, and even the town merchant, who offered a small fortune for the egg on the spot.

But Aiden, heart full of wonder and gut tied in knots, made a choice. He refused to sell the egg. Something inside told him it was more than just wealth. It was destiny.

That night, while the village slept, Aiden stayed by the hen. Just before dawn, she laid another golden egg.

Each morning brought a new treasure. Aiden and his family, once poor, now lived comfortably. They bought new tools, repaired the house, gave offerings to the church. But as the golden eggs multiplied, so did the whispers.

“Why should a farm boy have all that fortune?” the merchant muttered.

“He hides more than he shares,” sneered the mayor.

“Is it even human to possess such magic?” the priest questioned darkly.

Jealousy seeped into the village like smoke under a door. And one day, the hen was gone.

Aiden awoke to find an empty coop. Feathers scattered like snow. A trail of gold-dusted prints led into the woods.

Without hesitation, he followed.

The forest beyond the village was old and forgotten. Trees loomed like silent watchers, and the path narrowed until it was barely a whisper between the roots. The trail twisted deeper, lit by a strange golden shimmer that pulsed faintly with every step.

Hours passed. Daylight faded. But Aiden pressed on until he came to a glade where the moonlight poured like silver rain. There, in the center, stood a woman cloaked in feathers, her eyes glowing amber. In her arms was the golden hen.

“You seek what you do not understand,” she said, her voice soft like the hush before a storm.

“Please,” Aiden pleaded. “She came to me. I never asked for it, but I cared for her. Why did you take her?”

The woman tilted her head. “Because others see her only as wealth. And soon, so would you.”

“No,” Aiden said. “I swear. I only—”

“You fed your family, helped your neighbors. But already, greed shadows you. Would you kill for more eggs? Would you cage her, breed her, sell her secrets?”

Aiden fell silent.

The woman stepped closer. “The hen is not of your world. She brings a test, not treasure. One soul every hundred years is chosen. You were that soul.”

Aiden’s heart pounded. “Then let me prove I’m worthy.”

She studied him, eyes ancient and knowing. “Then answer: Will you choose to keep her… or set her free?”

He faltered. The eggs could end poverty. Build schools. Save lives. But chains, even gilded ones, were still chains.

“I… I set her free.”

The hen looked at him once, gently, then leapt from her guardian’s arms and vanished into the woods like mist before morning.

Aiden stood alone. No reward. No gold.

The woman smiled faintly. “That was the right choice.”

And she too faded, until only the trees remained.

When Aiden returned to the village, empty-handed, the people scoffed. They called him a fool, a liar, a dreamer. The mayor seized his land, the merchant spread rumors, and even old friends turned away.

But Aiden endured.

Years passed.

He became a teacher, then a healer. He wandered to distant towns, offering help, never asking for coin. He learned to read stars, brew herbs, and listen to silence. Wherever he went, hope bloomed like spring.

And on the edge of his life, as he lay beneath a tree in a faraway land, an old hen wandered from the brush—white feathers glowing gold.

She nestled beside him, cooing softly.

A single egg lay in the grass.

And Aiden smiled, whispering, “Not for me this time.”

He rolled the egg toward the road, where a barefoot girl carrying a broken basket stood in wonder.

And the story began again.