The Sword and Heir of Shadows

Chapter 3: The Lively Spirit of the Village.

After about Five years, In another Realm,

In a quaint village nestled among rolling hills and lush meadows, the sun cast its golden light upon a scene. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves of age-old trees, and the melodious chirping of birds filled the air. It was a peaceful afternoon, much like any other place in any corner of the world.

Outside a charming village house, a scene of childhood innocence unfolded. Two young boys, their laughter as infectious as the warmth of the sun, played in the spotted shade of a towering oak tree.

Their bare feet danced in the grass, and their voices echoed "Catch me brudder" said the younger one, running ahead with the carefree joy that only childhood can bring.

"Williyuum, Stop fah me," said the older boy and giggling running after the small packet of joy.

The older of the two, with tousled hair the colour of earthy-brown and bright, forest-green eyes, chased after a fluttering butterfly. His laughter bubbled forth like a clear mountain spring as he tried to capture the elusive creature.

"Hehe..cetch mey" His companion, a younger boy with raven-dark hair and grey eyes, watched in amusement.

He sat down on the grass, his small hands forming intricate patterns with colourful pebbles he had gathered earlier.

"Ahhhhh" they screamed and giggled as the older boy stumbled over the younger and fell rolling on the soft grass.

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"Brudder..luek" Willam Stormrider , said and pointed a finger at children playing together at some distance. the little one wiped his drool by hand onto his clothes and stood up running in a zig-zag pattern to them. whereas the older one, Kael Stormrider, stood there picking his nose and then doing the same as his brother "Wait!!", he exclaimed.

Around the playing children, the village seemed to breathe with life, its thatched-roof cottages standing as sentinels of time. Smoke gently spiralled from chimneys, carrying with it the comforting scent of home-cooked meals. The villagers went about their daily routines, their lives woven together in the tapestry of this close-knit community.

During this serene scene, the two boys continued to play with others, the children's laughter and energy a testament to the enduring spirit of the village.

Laughter echoed through the quiet village streets as the two mischievous boys, with their father's approach still a while away, decided to engage in a bit of playful mischief. Their neighbour, a kind and elderly woman known as Mrs Elmsworth, was tending to her garden nearby, unaware of the forthcoming prank.

The older boy, with a glint of mischief in his earthy-brown eyes, exchanged a sly grin with his younger brother.

"Willyum...let's play with auntie!" he exclaimed, to which William giggled They had a mischievous plan in mind, one that promised laughter but no harm.

Giggling conspiratorially, the boys tiptoed closer to Mrs. Elmsworth, who was carefully tending to her vibrant flowers. Their tiny feet crept silently through the grass as they drew nearer.

With a sudden, synchronized pounce on her, they leapt forward, playfully bumping into her. Startled, Mrs. Elmsworth let out a surprised gasp, and the bucket of water she had been carrying wobbled dangerously. Her eyes bobbed wide as she realised the moment.

Before she could regain her balance, the boys scampered away, their laughter trailing behind them like a joyful melody. Mrs Elmsworth, momentarily unsteady, staggered backwards, her arms flailing.

In a lovely twist of luck, she landed in a soft pile of freshly raked leaves, her garden seemingly conspiring with the boys in their playful antics. A cloud of leaves swirled around her, creating a whimsical spectacle.

Amidst their gleeful laughter, the boys rushed to help her up, their innocent faces filled with concern. "Are you all right, Mrs. Elmsworth?" the older one asked, his voice tinged with genuine worry.

She couldn't help but chuckle at their antics, her heart warmed by their youthful energy. "Oh, you little rascals," she said with a wink. "I'm just fine. But you two, you're quite the handful!"

Their father's hearty laughter would surely join in when he arrived, and Mrs. Elmsworth couldn't help but appreciate the lively spirit of the village's youngest troublemakers.

As the sun began its descent behind the distant hills, casting long shadows across the village, a familiar figure appeared on the winding path leading to the village house. It was their father, a man known throughout the village for his skill as an iron maker and a master of swordcraft.

The two boys, who had been playing on the lawn, spotted their father's approach and let out joyous shouts of recognition. "Fayther.....!!!!, With boundless energy, they sprinted toward him, their laughter ringing through the tranquil evening air.

Their father, Hector Stromrider, a sturdy and warm-hearted man with a twinkle in his grey eyes, welcomed their embrace with open arms. He scooped them up, one in each arm, and swung them around as they giggled in delight.

"Ah, my little warriors," he chuckled, his voice filled with affection. "Have you both been good today?"

The older boy, Kael, his earthy brown hair dishevelled from play, nodded eagerly. "Yes, Father, we caught a butterfly!"

The younger one, William, with raven-dark hair, added, "And I made a pattern with pebbles!"

Their father smiled proudly at their small and cheering achievements. "That's my brave sons."

With gentle care, he placed them both on his magnificent horse, Ustas, a loyal companion that had carried him on countless journeys. "Want to have a ride", The boys looked at each other, Kael moved forward to hold William, and the little one looked at his brother with big grey eyes and then at his father, Hector raised his eyebrow and looked at his two pieces of joy, without giving Hector any notice The boys ran and clung to his strong form as he began to walk, leading them toward a nearby meadow. The sun cast a warm, amber glow on the rolling hills, and the meadow was decorated with wildflowers in a riot of colours.

Their father regaled them with stories of his day's work, his tales filled with the magic of the forge and the artistry of crafting fine swords. His words painted vivid pictures in the boys' imaginations, and they hung onto his every word.

As they strolled through the meadow, a sense of contentment washed over the trio. The village, with its thatched roofs and chimneys releasing plumes of fragrant smoke, felt like a haven of peace and warmth. In the embrace of their father, the two boys couldn't help but feel safe and loved, knowing that their family was their greatest treasure.