The echo of the last words died within the warm room. The old parchment was rolled with extreme delicacy by the steady hands of Barin, the wandering merchant, while the fire in the hearth crackled, tinting the stone walls with golden glimmers.
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"That's the story, lad," said Barin, straightening his travel robes, worn smooth by the winds of so many kingdoms he had traversed. "The lineage of the Dawn Twins ruled and brought a thousand years of abundance to these lands, but today that splendor lies buried in the past. A thousand more years have passed since their crown was lost, a whole millennium in which other kings and lesser dynasties have occupied the throne without glory. The balance is a thin thread, Valdrick... We must never forget where we came from."
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Seated on a fine rug, young Valdrick kept his eyes wide open, completely absorbed by the tale.
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“It’s my favorite story, Barin,” Valdrick replied enthusiastically, straightening his fine clothes. “I never tire of hearing it. The Twins of Dawn must have been the greatest kings of these lands.”
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But the tale hadn’t only been heard in the warmth of that noble home.
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Outside, where the night wind blew with an unrelenting chill, reality was quite different. Pressed against the house’s window, a street child shivered with cold. His name was Lucian. His clothes were threadbare, patched with old scraps, and his hands were blackened by the soot of the alleyways. To get a glimpse inside, Lucian had carefully climbed onto an old, overturned wooden crate. His ear was pressed against the fogged glass, devouring every word the merchant Barin spoke inside. He was fascinated by these legends, and in his weary eyes shone a spark that poverty hadn’t been able to extinguish.
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Unfortunately, the excitement of the story's ending caused Lucian to move abruptly. His bare feet slipped, and the old wood gave way beneath his weight.
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***CRACK!***
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The creaking of the wood shattered the night's silence, followed by the thud of the boy's body hitting the alley's stone floor.
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Inside, Barin reacted instantly. His instincts, those of a seasoned merchant hardened by perilous routes and ambushes on the roads of many kingdoms, put him on high alert. He stood cautiously, his hand reaching for the pommel of the dagger at his belt.
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"What was that?" Barin whispered warily, glancing toward the window. "It could be a bandit trying to rob the house, or some danger lurking in the night. Stay back, Valdrick."
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Barin walked with slow, deliberate steps to the heavy wooden door, throwing it open, ready to face whatever threat. But as he stepped out into the cold alley, the scene stopped him in his tracks. There was no bandit. Only a small boy, frightened and in pain, trying to get up from the icy ground. Lucian was clutching his right leg, from which a trickle of blood oozed from a deep cut caused by a splinter of broken wood.
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“What were you doing out here, boy?” Barin asked, frowning but loosening his grip on his weapon at the sight of the child’s vulnerability.
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Before Lucian could come up with an excuse to escape, young Valdrick poked his head out from behind the merchant’s body. Seeing the injured boy, Valdrick spoke without hesitation, looking firmly at Barin:
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“He’s always there, Barin. Every time you come to this kingdom to sell your wares, and while you’re telling me about your travels, I see his shadow pressed against the window. He’s always secretly listening, but I never dared say anything for fear of being chased away. Please, help him! This will be a secret between us; Whatever happens, I won't tell my mother or father, but don't leave him out there. Let's go help him.
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Barin looked at Valdrick, surprised by the noble young man's courage, and then looked down at the little boy bleeding on the ground. The justice and sense of equality that defined the old merchant wouldn't allow him to leave a child suffering in the street.
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"Is that true?" Barin asked in a much softer tone. "Come on, don't be afraid. Come inside, we'll take care of that leg and keep you warm. What's your name, son?"
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The street child looked at the warm interior of the house, then at the young nobleman who had just promised to keep the secret, and finally at the old merchant. He swallowed and, in a whisper, replied:
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"My name is... Lucian, sir."
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Barin nodded slowly and, taking him gently by the shoulder, led Lucian inside.
As he crossed the threshold, the clash of worlds hit the street child like a slap in the face. His bare feet, cracked from the cold, sank into a carpet so soft he was afraid of soiling it with the mud from the alleyways. The warmth of the fireplace embraced his frozen face, and the aroma of freshly baked bread and seasoned meat stirred his empty stomach. Lucian gazed at the polished stone walls, the bronze chandeliers, and the fine wooden furniture as if he had entered a mystical palace from legend.
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"Sit here, boy," Barin ordered softly, indicating a wooden stool near the fire.
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The merchant knelt before him. With the skill of one who had tended to arrow wounds and sword cuts on the perilous roads of the kingdoms, Barin took a leather flask of strong wine from his satchel and retrieved a clean cloth from Lord Valdrick's house.
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“This is going to sting, Lucian. Hang in there like a man,” the old man warned.
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When the liquid touched the open wound, Lucian gritted his teeth and held his breath. His small hands gripped the edge of the stool so tightly his knuckles turned white, but he didn’t utter a single whimper. Barin watched him out of the corner of his eye, silently impressed by the street urchin’s resilience. With steady hands, he removed the splinter and bandaged the leg with the cloth.
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As the merchant packed up his things, Valdrick approached slowly, observing the guest with a mixture of curiosity and respect. He stood directly in front of him and extended his hand.
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“I am Valdrick,” the rich boy said, lowering his voice and glancing sideways at the stairs leading to the main chambers. “I already promised you out there, and nobles don’t break their word: my parents won’t know anything about this.” Tomorrow I'll make up a story about the clean canvas falling into the fire if they ask about it. This is a secret between the three of us.
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Lucian looked at Valdrick's clean hand and then at his own, stained with soot. He hesitated for a second, but ended up shaking it shyly.
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"Thank you..." Lucian whispered, feeling for the first time in a long time the warmth of security.
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Barin stood up, crossing his arms as he looked at the two boys. The spark of Dawn that the parchment spoke of so often seemed to be reflected in a strange way in the encounter between these two very different children. The merchant walked to a table, took a piece of thick medieval bread left over from dinner, and offered it to Lucian.
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"Eat," Barin said. "An empty stomach doesn't help the flesh heal. But tell me something, Lucian... You've been out there many times. Why risk being caught by the kingdom guard just for listening to my stories?"
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Lucian took the bread in both hands, as if he were carrying a treasure of pure gold. He looked at the old merchant and then at the fire in the fireplace, before replying with a seriousness that belied a child his age:
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“Because when you speak, sir merchant, the cold of the street leaves me. The stories of Dawn… they make me feel that this mud isn’t the end of everything.”
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Barin and Valdrick remained silent at the boy’s words. The old merchant felt a strange weight in his chest; he knew that the words of a street orphan sometimes carried more truth than those of a scholar in his tower.
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“Stories have that power, Lucian,” Barin said, softening his gaze. “They remind us who we are, even when the world tries to make us forget.”
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The merchant walked to the large oak table where the parchment lay. He carefully placed it in its tooled leather case and made sure the brass clasps were securely fastened. Then he looked at young Valdrick.
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“It’s late, lad. Your parents will soon send the servants to search the halls. If they find Lucian here, your promise of secrecy will be worthless, and the boy will end up in the guards’ dungeons. You must leave before the guard changes in the alley.”
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Barin approached the back door of the house, the one that opened onto the darkest alley, far from the royal patrols. Due to the dampness from the recent rain, the heavy wood was wedged against the stone frame. The old merchant had to bend down and push hard with his shoulder; it was precisely from this sudden physical exertion that the leather cord he wore hidden in the folds of his robe tightened, slipping from around his neck.
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A heavy object fell to the ground with a dry, metallic clang.
It was a circular medallion of dark iron, forged in the ancient fires of the medieval era, with a stone of such intense red mineral embedded in its center that it resembled living blood. The metal was engraved with the outstretched wings of a falcon, a design so striking it had withstood the ravages of centuries. This insignia was a sacred relic: only high royalty or families directly descended from the original lineage of the Dawn Twins possessed the knowledge to recognize its true meaning.
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Lucian, who had already risen from the stool, enduring the painful strain in his leg, reacted purely on instinct. He bent down firmly, picked up the medallion from the ground, and before handing it back, froze, staring at it. His eyes widened, fixed on the red gleam of the mineral.
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With intense curiosity and a strange familiarity, Lucian looked at Barin and asked:
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"Mr. Barin... What is this?"
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Barin, maintaining his usual caution, narrowed his eyes and asked him directly, testing him:
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"Have you seen it anywhere, boy?"
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Lucian swallowed, contemplating the red relic before placing it in the old man's hand.
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"Yes..." the street urchin replied softly. "That badge almost always appears in my dreams. It's not clear, very blurry, but I know it's round, red, and very strong. I always dream about it."
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Upon hearing this, Barin's blood ran cold. A violent storm of thoughts erupted in his mind, and the hand with which he received the medal trembled imperceptibly for a second; he had to clench his teeth tightly to hide his shock from the two boys. Barin was no ordinary merchant; his family had been directly in the service of the Twins of Dawn ten centuries ago. His lineage knew the entire history, the dynastic secrets, and the hidden symbols. He knew perfectly well that, after the great war of the hundred thousand men and the passage of a thousand years, the royal bloodline had been presumed extinct, lost in the oblivion of time.
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That an orphaned and starving street child should dream of the sacred emblem of the Dawn was like seeing a ghost from the past: it meant that Lucian was, possibly, one of the direct descendants of the lost twins.
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Despite the shock that nearly took his breath away, the old merchant demonstrated his wisdom. He composed his expression, closed his fist around the medal, and discreetly tucked it back into his clothing.
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"It's just an old amulet from my travels, son. Go on, go back home before it gets too late," Barin said, gently nudging him toward the exit with a tone of voice that tried to conceal his astonishment.
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Lucian nodded, giving Valdrick one last knowing look, who raised his hand in farewell. The street child took a step back and disappeared into the darkness of the medieval alley. The heavy wooden door closed with a dull creak.
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Inside, Valdrick stared at the door latch, lost in thought about everything he had just witnessed.
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"There's something different about him, Barin," the young nobleman said, breaking the silence. "Street children usually beg or look on with envy. He... he was looking at that badge as if searching for something he'd lost."
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Barin walked to the fireplace and stirred the embers with an iron poker, sending the last sparks of the night flying toward the ceiling. He gazed at the flames before answering Valdrick in a deep voice:
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"Destiny is a strange river, Valdrick. Sometimes it mingles the clearest waters with the mud of the road to form a new channel." We're going to have to see that boy more often... It's good that you two are becoming such good friends. Go to bed, boy. Tomorrow a new day begins in the kingdom, and I have a feeling things are about to change.
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Barin stood alone before the fireplace, his hand on his chest, feeling the weight of the medal beneath his robes. His aged eyes gazed at the flames, taking in all he had just witnessed.
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And somewhere in the darkness of the alley, Lucian walked toward his nightly refuge, unaware that he had just crossed a threshold from which he could never return. Unaware that, from that moment on, his life no longer belonged to him alone.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwm0wOmkTAT
and then Add to home screen.