Aimless Wanderer.

I couldn't get this idea out of my head, so I ended up writing it down. I ended up writing a lot more so I decided to split it in parts and take my time polishing each one.

I hope it's not so bad.

I will always remember that day, as if it was something that just happened yesterday. A moment in my life that impacted me and has never left my mind, the impact that person had in me was still strong to this day.

Before that day I was essentially aimless, a child without purpose, but everyone else in the village wanted to be something at that point, there were some who wanted to be bakers, others traders, guards, the next chief and so on, but I had never a clear goal in my mind. Something I was always reminded of every day when the rest of the people my age worked towards their dreams.

It’s not something I could ignore either, the people in town celebrated the interest these children had and encouraged them to keep fighting and working on their dreams, with me being the one child goofing off and doing something different every day.

It’s not like they hated me for it, but the thing is that it always hurt a little to see people cheering and celebrating others for something you just didn’t have.

That changed one day though, when our small and remote village was visited by a large group of people.

Back then the entire kingdom was under the final years of a war that had lasted for far longer than I had been alive (According to my grandfather, he was a child when it started), the visitors of our town being soldiers fighting that war. Later on, I would learn that they were passing through our village to cut time and reach their destination faster.

But the part that impacted me the most was the person they were led by.

A man whose presence shone brighter than the sun, riding on a horse and followed by several knights. Long hair cascading from his head, his face set with a perpetual smile that just oozed honesty.

The man was named Logan Molthart, one of the most esteemed generals in the King’s army, singlehandedly responsible for the biggest push of the war effort (at least during the years he was alive) and hero of a thousand different stories that spoke about his strength, courage and kindness to others in need.

The adults in town had referred to him as a hero, almost falling over themselves when fawning over him. The ones that were frozen by their awe simply stood with their mouths open while the others who were brave enough to move in his presence thanked him for exploits that I would later learn about, stories I would later ask to hear again and again.

They were simply moving through the village, but their appearance was something new and different to our people, something that got their attention.

As Logan slowly rode his horse through the village, smiles all around in response to anything the people said to him, his eyes wandering from person to person until they somehow found themselves on me.

It was a coincidence really, I was just one kid standing far away from the commotion, I didn’t even know what was going on and the fact that he just looked at me isn’t really something unique, he pretty much had to look at every person in town.

Grandpa used to say that eyes are a window to a person’s soul, a way to see into the person standing in front of you and for them to see into you.

When he looked at me, a small smile on his face, it was as if he was wearing his heart on his own shoulder, as if there was nothing to hide or worry about, and all the emotions behind them just… hit me.

His eyes radiated kindness and compassion, a man who had probably seen the worst of the world and its people in war and yet refused to bulge to the darkness of it all. A true hero.

Of course, back then I was just captivated by him, but as I grew older and relived that scene in my head… It was as if I could see more and more.  

That’s when my heart was filled to the brim with an inspiration I never had before in my life. A motivation to become someone just like Logan, a true hero. Not for fame or glory, but to be someone that was willing to help, who would stand against darkness, against injustice.

From that day on I had decided to become a hero, so I decided to start as an adventurer, but my decision to become someone who would put themselves at danger daily didn’t really sit well with my family, who wanted me to do something close to home instead of dealing with all the dangers of said profession.

They went as far as to go and speak with the Chief, who understood their fears and told guards and other people who could have taught me more to not do so, so that I would be dissuaded and end up doing something else.

Except that didn’t stop me, so I grabbed the nearest stick and started wildly swinging around for some days, copying whatever movements the guards did on their drills back when they let me see those, until the day I learned that our town’s blacksmith was once an adventurer.

The man hadn’t agreed with the chief’s demands, simply because they never agreed on anything, so I went and begged the blacksmith until he (reluctantly) agreed to teach me how to swing a real sword and how to survive in the wilderness, provided I helped him in his job.

Later on, when I asked him why exactly he decided to teach me when no one else did, he just said:

You’re gonna go out there even if you don’t know jack, so it’s better for my consciousness if I at least teach you to not to die so fast or something.

He was right, of course.