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Chapter 3 - The minstrel's story
"It's just a story."
That type of statement would have troubled and accompanied the child's soul for a long time, starting from that moment. A simple sentence was enough to set in motion a change, within his heart; a small, imperceptible, but existing and pulsating change. It took years before he became aware of it, but that was certainly the beginning of his growth, the birth of a flame, of a light. Of a hope.
"It's just a story." insisted the man, which Ystal could no longer trust completely now. Despite this, something in him drew him, as a predator can do with its prey, slowly.
At that moment, he realized that his heart was beating in his chest with the violence of hundreds of beats. He looked once more at the man, uncertain, giving in only after an initial refusal.
Nothing, in him, externalized a danger, and that was enough to allow the child to rely on his words.And then, despite everything, Ystal could feel his soul yearning for that story, as iRelated chapters
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Ystal woke up to the soft cries of his fellow villagers. He put a hand to his face, confused and still vaguely numb from the night's sleep, concentrating on the feverish frenzy that ran through his village. He sits down on that corner of straw and dust, scratching his shoulder, feeling the flesh burn under his nails. He thought he had been stung by something, and was immediately horrified at the knowledge that - whatever it was - was still alive beneath him.He meets quickly, shivering, dismissing with horror the slight numbness caused by the night's sleep just passed. The sun hadn't quite risen yet, yet the men and women had already poured into the street, in a hurry, taking older children and boys with them.Ystal wondered what was happening. It was certain it was not yet the time of the Purge; there were about two full moons left. Nor was it harvest time. So why all that movement at such an unusual time? He dismissed the thought, quickly reaching his
Sun's Long Journey Prologue - The beginning
Book I"Every story has a starting point. I would like to delude myself that ours was the day of the first meeting, when from nothing I was made someone. But that would be a lie. The true origin must be sought elsewhere, in the most remote corners of Time. We must go beyond the known history, beyond the fables and legends that have been handed down to us. It is necessary to speak of the First Foundation, an era so ancient that not even Researchers show interest in it. Yet it is precisely there, from iron and fire, that our story begins. At that time, the Kingdom was not unified under one banner; instead, there were many small independent realms, often at war with each other: the Capital was far from being founded and the Zolhay Order operated only in the south of the kingdom. In that ancient age, ravaged by conflict, there was a glorious and peaceful popu
Sun's Long Journey Chapter 1 - The Purge
Ystal wished he was a lucky child, being the youngest of five siblings. Yet, although large families were a blessing in those parts, he was frowned upon. The first thing everyone noticed was his build: slender and graceful, totally opposite to the massive and sturdy one of any other inhabitant. Subsequently, the people focused on his hair - a dark brown, as of burnt wood - and finally on his complexion, almost pale when compared with that of others. His neighbors, in particular, never spared insulting him. They took a sadistic pleasure in playing tricks on him, which often ended with the tears of the victim. Precisely because of his constitution and character, his father refused to take him hunting with him, leaving him in the care of his mother and sisters. He had therefore learned to cook and sew rather than fight and split wood. This put him at a greater disadvantage during the Purge: the thought of being helpless in the face of such violence terrified him
Sun's Long Journey Chapter 2 - The minstrel
Ystal strides through the village, reaching the small center, characterized by the presence of some dry shrub, delimiting a small recreational area; usually, on summer and spring afternoons, the children played noisily, drawing upon themselves the calmed and saddened glances of their parents and fellow villagers. After all, everyone knew that sooner or later, at least half of them, would disappear in some Purge. The child ignored the pitying looks of the women he happened to meet, pausing in the middle of the shrubs. He looked around, trying to locate the elusive minstrel. It was usually simple: they always wore colorful clothes and rich fabrics, and carried an extraordinary amount of tools, many of which were simply unknown to Ystal. Or at least, so he had been told by those who - last decade - had had the good fortune to meet the unexpected visitor."Who knows what he looked like ..." he asked himself in a low voice, awakening from his thoughts only after realizing
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