Chapter 3: The First Tale

Days melted into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years, each moment weaving itself seamlessly into the fabric of Geschicht and Harriet's lives. Time flowed like a quiet river, carrying them forward, shaping them in ways neither could fully grasp. The days stretched long and languid, yet there was an unspoken understanding between them—a silent acknowledgment that these years were not just passing but sculpting them, molding them into the people they were destined to become.

By the time adulthood settled upon them, the bond they had forged in their youth had deepened, as natural and inevitable as the changing of seasons. What had begun as a weird friendship had quietly transformed into something far more profound, a connection that neither could deny nor escape. It was as though their lives had always been intertwined, their paths converging with a quiet certainty.

Harriet, with his extraordinary ability, became an integral part of the village's daily life. His powers were not just a spectacle but a seamless extension of his character. He would mend roofs with a flick of his unseen hands, carry burdens too heavy for others, or retrieve lost items from impossible places, all with an effortless grace. The townsfolk came to rely on him, not out of necessity but because his presence felt as natural as the sunrise. He never sought recognition, yet his actions spoke louder than words, embedding him into the rhythm of their lives.

The children of the village, wide-eyed and curious, watched him with a mix of awe and admiration. To them, Harriet was more than a man with strange abilities—he was a quiet hero, a figure who made the extraordinary seem ordinary. They marveled at the way he could move objects without touch, as if the air itself obeyed his will. Yet, it wasn't just his powers that captivated them; it was the kindness behind his actions, the way he made the impossible feel within reach. To the children, Harriet was a living legend, but to the adults, he was simply Harriet—a part of their world, as familiar and essential as the earth beneath their feet.

In this way, Geschicht and Harriet became threads in the tapestry of the village, their lives blending seamlessly with those around them. The years passed, not with fanfare, but with a quiet, steady rhythm, each moment a testament to the unspoken bond they shared and the lives they touched along the way.

On a day when the sky was painted with soft clouds and the sunlight barely broke through the overcast, Geschicht found himself walking toward the house his father had just completed the day before. He was used to seeing Harriet in odd places, but today, he spotted him lying casually on the roof. "Hey Harriet," he called up with a smile, squinting against the pale sun. "What are you doing up there?"

Harriet's golden hair glimmered faintly in the light as he lifted his head slightly, acknowledging his friend's voice. "Oh, I'm just resting up here," he replied with an easygoing tone, his eyes scanning the sky as if contemplating something far away.

Curious as ever, Geschicht decided to join his friend and climbed up the ladder that led to the roof. The shingles were still fresh, a sign of the hard work his father had put in the day before, and as he reached the top, he took a seat next to Harriet. "Got any plans for today?" he asked, his tone light but with a hint of genuine interest.

Harriet turned his head slightly, his golden eyes reflecting a certain calmness. "Nope," he answered with a shrug, seemingly uninterested in the passage of time. "But I did notice something."

Geschicht raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "What's that?"

"I've seen you carrying something on your waist lately," Harriet continued, his voice casual, but his words carrying a quiet curiosity. "It looks like you've been bringing it everywhere with you."

A flicker of realization crossed Geschicht's face, and he placed a hand on his waist, where his leather pack normally hung. "Oh, this?" he said, reaching down to pull out the small notebook he'd been keeping with him. "It's a journal. I've decided to start recording everything I find interesting. You know, thoughts, observations… things like that."

But as his hand fumbled around his waist, he felt a sudden unease. His fingers didn't graze the familiar leather cover. He searched again, but his book was gone.

"Wait a second..." he murmured, turning his head to look at Harriet.

Harriet, now holding the very same journal in his hands, gave a small, knowing grin. "Why does most of it have me in it?" he asked, his golden eyes twinkling with a mix of amusement and something deeper, almost as if he knew more than he was letting on.

Geschicht blinked in surprise, his mouth going dry. How could Harriet have his journal? He was certain he'd kept it secured in his pack. Confused, yet oddly fascinated, he stared at his friend, who seemed as nonchalant as ever, flipping through the pages with a quiet chuckle.

"Well, you're the most interesting person in this town," Geschicht said with a small grin, his eyes glancing toward the streets below where a few children were playing, their innocent laughter ringing through the air. "Kids see you as some kind of hero."

The moment the word "hero" left his mouth, Harriet turned his head, his golden eyes locking with Geschicht's. His expression shifted slightly, as if pondering the idea. "Do I?" he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity, almost as if the concept of being a hero was something he'd never really considered for himself.

Geschicht, still sitting beside him on the roof, paused for a moment. Harriet's reaction was unexpected, and it made him think for a second. He reached out to take the journal back from Harriet's hands, brushing his fingers lightly against his friend's as he did so. "Well," he started, the corners of his mouth curving into a soft smile, "you might be. To them, you are." He held the book close to his chest, his thoughts drifting back to all the times he'd seen the children watching Harriet with awe, their eyes filled with wonder. "You've helped so many people around here... It's hard not to see you that way."

Harriet looked at him for a moment, the golden sheen of his hair catching the faint light as he processed the words. He seemed both humbled and uncertain by the idea, his eyes distant for a moment before he shrugged, he let the thought go—or at least pretended to.

"If you don't have any plans for today, then come to my house. We're celebrating my coming-of-age ceremony," Geschicht said with a smile.

They both leaped off the roof without hesitation, landing with a grace that should have been difficult from such a height. For Harriet, it was effortless, but Geschicht, despite not being as nimble, found himself landing softer than he expected. It wasn't the first time he had felt it—that strange sensation, like unseen hands gently steadying him just before impact. He glanced at Harriet, who acted as if nothing unusual had happened, brushing dust from his sleeves.

They exchanged a single glance—no words were needed. In the next instant, they took off, feet pounding against the dirt road as they raced toward Geschicht's house. The wind rushed past them, carrying their laughter as they weaved between startled townsfolk and leaped over small obstacles in their path.

Harriet, with his effortless speed, pulled ahead at times, but Geschicht refused to fall too far behind, pushing himself forward with determination.

As the familiar sight of Geschicht's home came into view, neither of them slowed down. The race wouldn't be over until one of them touched the door first.

Their breaths came in quick bursts as they neared the house, neither willing to give in. Harriet, as expected, had the edge—his movements were smooth, almost unnatural in how effortlessly he avoided anything in his way. Geschicht, on the other hand, had to push himself harder, weaving through people and nearly stumbling over a stray chicken that had wandered onto the road.

At the last moment, Harriet reached out, aiming for the door—only for Geschicht to lunge forward, slamming his palm against the wooden surface first.

"I win!" Geschicht declared between breaths, his grin wide with triumph.

Harriet blinked, surprised, then laughed as he placed his own hand beside Geschicht's on the door. "You really wanted that win, huh?"

Geschicht turned to him, still catching his breath. "Of course. Not every day I get to beat you at something."

Harriet smirked but didn't argue. "Well, I'll let you have this one."

Before Geschicht could say anything else, the door swung open, revealing Ehrhart standing there with his arms crossed, an amused expression on his face.

"So, that's what all the commotion was about," he said, shaking his head. "Racing like wild animals through town—hope you didn't knock anyone over on the way."

Harriet scratched the back of his head, trying to look innocent. "We made sure not to, right, Geschicht?"

Geschicht straightened up. "Definitely."

Ehrhart chuckled and stepped aside. "Well then, come in. The celebration's about to begin."

With that, the two boys stepped inside, the warmth of the home welcoming them as the sounds of laughter and conversation filled the air.

As soon as they stepped inside, the scent of roasted meat and fresh bread filled the air. The room was lively, filled with familiar faces—neighbors, friends, and even a few traveling merchants who had decided to join the celebration. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting a golden glow over the wooden walls.

Geschicht barely had time to take it all in before someone shoved a wooden mug into his hands.

"Here, drink up! It's a special day, after all!" One of the older villagers, a broad-shouldered man with a thick beard, grinned at him.

Geschicht looked down at the liquid inside. It smelled strong—too strong. "Uh… what is this?"

Harriet peered over his shoulder, smirking. "Looks like mead."

The bearded man let out a hearty laugh and clapped Geschicht on the back, nearly making him spill the drink. "It'll put some fire in your belly, lad! You're a man now, aren't you?"

Geschicht hesitated. He'd seen grown men drink mead before, watched how it loosened their tongues and turned their laughter louder. He wasn't sure he was ready for that.

Harriet nudged him. "You don't have to drink it if you don't want to."

Geschicht considered that, then lifted the mug slightly. "I'll… take a sip."

He brought it to his lips, letting the liquid touch his tongue. The taste was sharp, sweet, and burned all at once. His throat tightened as he forced himself to swallow.

Harriet's grin widened. "And?"

Geschicht coughed, setting the mug down on the table. "It's… strong."

The bearded man roared with laughter. "Aye! You'll get used to it, boy! But if you'd rather something softer, we've got cider too."

Geschicht exhaled, nodding. "I think I'll take the cider."

Harriet chuckled, picking up his own drink—water, of course. "Smart choice."

As the evening carried on, Ehrhart finally found a quiet moment with his son. The guests were still celebrating, but the two of them stepped outside for some fresh air. The night sky stretched above them, clear and endless, with the faint flicker of lanterns from nearby houses casting a warm glow over the village.

Ehrhart leaned against the wooden railing of their porch, arms crossed. "So, Geschicht," he began, his voice steady but thoughtful, "have you given any thought to your future?"

Geschicht, still holding his mug of cider, glanced at his father. "Future?"

Ehrhart nodded. "You've got the skill for masonry. You've been learning since you could lift a chisel. If you wanted to take over one day, I know you'd do well." He looked at his son carefully. "But is that what you want?"

Geschicht hesitated, swirling the liquid in his cup. The truth was, he didn't know yet. He liked working with stone, shaping things with his hands—but since the first meeting with Harriet, something else had been pulling at him. The urge to observe, to record, to chase after things people overlooked.

"I'm not sure yet," he admitted finally. "I do like the work, but… I don't know if I see myself doing it forever."

Ehrhart studied him for a moment before letting out a quiet chuckle. "That's alright," he said, patting his son's shoulder. "You don't have to decide everything now. Just know that whatever path you take, I'll support you."

Geschicht smiled, relieved that his father wasn't disappointed. "Thanks, father."

Ehrhart nodded, then smirked. "Just don't expect me to go easy on you if you do stick with masonry. I won't have my son being the second-best mason in town."

Geschicht laughed. "Noted."

As Geschicht finished talking with his father, he glanced up at the roof of their house and spotted Harriet sitting there, legs dangling over the edge. His golden hair shimmered under the lantern light, and his usual easygoing expression was fixed on the night sky.

"I was wondering where you went," Geschicht called up, crossing his arms.

Harriet tilted his head down, grinning. "Well, you were busy. Figured I'd wait up here."

Geschicht sighed. "You really like climbing onto things, don't you?"

Harriet chuckled. "It's peaceful. And I get the best view." He patted the spot beside him. "Come on up."

Shaking his head but smiling, Geschicht made his way up, knowing Harriet wasn't coming down anytime soon.

As Geschicht sat beside him on the roof, Harriet's usual carefree demeanor seemed a little more distant, his golden eyes fixed on the horizon. After a quiet pause, he finally spoke.

"There's something that's been on my mind lately," Harriet said, his voice uncharacteristically serious. "I've been thinking about leaving… about going out into the world."

Geschicht turned to him, brows furrowed. "Leaving? Where would you go?"

Harriet's gaze lingered on the distant mountains, his voice quiet but firm. "I don't know yet. But there's something inside me that says I should. I want to help people, not just here in town, but everywhere I can reach. I don't want to just be someone they call when there's a problem here... I want to be someone who makes a difference, you know?"

Geschicht studied him for a long moment, feeling the weight of his words. He had always known Harriet as someone who acted first and thought later, but this… this felt different. There was purpose in his words, a conviction that made them feel more real than anything else Harriet had said before.

"I think I get it," Geschicht said slowly. "You want to help more people. You want to be... something more."

Harriet nodded without hesitation. "Yeah. Exactly. I don't know what it will look like, but I feel like I have to go. To find a way to really do something with this power of mine."

Geschicht couldn't help but feel a knot form in his stomach. The thought of Harriet leaving, of embarking on some grand journey, was sudden and strange. But there was a part of him that understood. Harriet had always been different. He had always stood apart, not because he wanted to, but because he was meant to.

"You really want to leave?" Geschicht asked, the question feeling heavier than he intended.

Harriet gave him a small, uncertain smile. "Yeah… I think I do."

The silence that followed felt thick, but there was no need for more words. The decision was already made, and now it was just a matter of when.

"Hero... You want to become a hero?" Geschicht broke the silence.

Harriet shifted slightly, his golden eyes meeting Geschicht's with a mixture of uncertainty and quiet determination. "I don't know if I want to be a hero," he said after a long pause, "but I want to help. I want to make a difference. And if that means being called a hero, then... maybe that's what I'll be."

Geschicht took in his friend's words, watching the way Harriet's gaze seemed to drift over the town, as if envisioning the many places he could go, the many people he could help. There was something in Harriet's tone that made Geschicht believe it wasn't just about the title, but about the purpose that lay beneath it.

"You're already a hero to the kids around here," Geschicht said with a small smile. "They look up to you, you know."

Harriet chuckled softly, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yeah, I know. But it's not about them, is it? It's about something bigger. Something that feels... right. I just can't shake the feeling that there's more for me out there. That there's more I can do."

Geschicht felt a pang in his chest, a mix of pride for his friend and a knot of uncertainty about the path ahead. He had always known Harriet was different, but hearing him speak with such clarity about his desire to help others made the reality of their futures feel all the more imminent. Harriet wasn't the same boy who had arrived in town all those years ago. He had grown, changed, and now had a purpose that called him away.

"I think you'll make a great hero," Geschicht said, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him. "Whatever you decide to do, I know you'll do it well."

Harriet smiled, but it was a small, bittersweet smile. "Thanks, Geschicht. I'm glad you think so. But I can't do it alone, can I?"

Geschicht hesitated. The words hung in the air, and for a moment, he found himself frozen. His mind wasn't in the clear, thinking of the future that seemed so uncertain. Could he really leave everything behind to go with Harriet on this journey?

"I… I don't know," Geschicht murmured, his voice quieter than he intended. "It sounds like a lot."

After a long pause of silence, Harriet shifted slightly, his gaze still fixed on some distant point beyond the horizon. Then, without a word, he pushed himself off the edge of the roof, landing gracefully on the ground below. He glanced back up at Geschicht, his expression unreadable but his eyes holding a quiet intensity. "I'll wait," he said simply.

Without another word, Harriet started walking, his golden hair catching the last rays of the fading sun. As he moved away, his strides were purposeful, as if he was already envisioning the steps ahead—each one leading him closer to the journey he had long been dreaming of. His mind was set now.

The words "I'll wait" echoed in Geschicht's mind. They felt like a promise. He stayed on the roof a little longer, the cool evening breeze brushing against his skin, as the village below settled into the calm of twilight. He couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted, something undeniable, and he wondered if Harriet felt it too.

The night air grew still, and the fireflies began to flicker above him, their tiny glowing bodies dancing like soft stars in the twilight. But it wasn't just the gentle breeze or the flickering lights that caught his attention. No, it was something else—something more elusive, like an invisible hand pulling at his very soul.

Without thinking, without a plan, his feet started moving. There was no rational thought behind it, no decision made in his mind, just a quiet, undeniable pull that guided him forward. His body seemed to know where to go, as if he were being led by something far greater than himself.

He walked toward the green hill by the lake, the one that had always felt... different to him, even though he couldn't explain why. The soft hum of the world around him seemed to fade, replaced by an intense quietness that only he seemed to notice. It felt like the world was holding its breath.

As he reached the top of the hill, the familiar sight of the lake spread before him, its surface shimmering under the pale light of the moon. And there, standing at the edge of the water, was the divine boy.

Geschicht's heart raced, but there was no fear—only an overwhelming sense of purpose. The boy turned to face him as though he had been waiting, and in that moment, it all felt right. It felt like an answer, like the culmination of a question that had been hanging in the air between them since their first meeting.

"Why am I here?" Geschicht asked aloud, more to himself than to the divine boy.

The divine boy's eyes, empty and yet full of knowing, studied him quietly for a moment. Then, with the faintest of smiles, he spoke, his voice carrying across the stillness. "Perhaps you're here because the answers you've been seeking have always been within you."

The divine boy's voice was soft but carried weight, like a gentle breeze that still managed to move the tallest tree. "Out there, in the world beyond this place, there is much insanity and emptiness. A world without heroes. Without tales. Without legends." His words felt like they were echoing from a faraway time, a time before Geschicht had ever thought to question the world around him.

Geschicht blinked, confused, the very concept of such emptiness foreign to him. "Without heroes?" he repeated, as though trying to understand. "But... there's always something happening in the village. Stories... stories of people helping one another, of people fighting for what they believe in." His mind raced, trying to make sense of what the divine boy was saying.

The divine boy nodded, as though acknowledging Geschicht's confusion. "Those are not stories in the true sense. They are simple accounts, fleeting moments that people tell themselves to feel connected. But there is no real understanding of what a tale is. A story, Geschicht, is something more than just what happens. It is a thread that ties people, places, and events into something greater, something timeless. The world you know has forgotten what it means to have stories—true stories, with heroes and legends."

"What do you mean... real stories?" he asked, his voice quiet, almost uncertain.

"Real stories," the divine boy repeated, "are not merely told. They are alive. They shape the world and the people in it. The ones who live them become more than just individuals—they become part of something greater. Heroes, legends, myths… they are the fabric of what keeps a world alive. Without them, the world falls into chaos and meaninglessness."

The weight of the words hung in the air, and Geschicht's mind swirled with questions. He had always heard about the lives of the people around him, their struggles, their victories, their everyday lives. But these things were just stories—weren't they?

"No one talks about heroes where I'm from. There are no myths. No tales. It's like the idea itself is lost…" Geschicht murmured.

"Exactly," the divine boy said. "You've already begun to see it, haven't you? You live in a world where people have forgotten the meaning of these things."

"What do I do?" he asked, his voice filled with wonder and determination. "How do I bring stories back?"

The divine boy smiled softly, the faintest shimmer in his eyes. "You already have the answer."

He pulled out his journal, the worn leather cover creaking as he opened it. The pages inside were filled with his thoughts, his observations—fragments of the world he had seen. But now, it felt like he was opening a door to something far greater.

"The world needs to know about him," he muttered softly to himself, his voice steady with resolve.

His eyes glided over the blank pages of the journal, the ink waiting for his words. A sense of clarity filled him—this was the moment he had been waiting for. His hand hovered over the page, quill ready to dance across it, as if the words themselves were eager to spill out. He was no longer just recording his thoughts or his observations. He was recording a story—the story that would change everything.

"This is where it starts," he whispered, the weight of his decision sinking in. The world might not know it yet, but it was on the brink of something far greater. And Geschicht Snow would be the one to make sure it was remembered. He had begun to write.

"What would you call me?" The divine boy's voice echoed with the same question he had asked years ago. At that time, the answer had been elusive, shrouded in uncertainty. But now, with the weight of everything they had seen, experienced first-hand, Geschicht knew exactly what to say.

"You are curiosity itself," he said, his voice firm with realization. "You are the firefly... no, I suppose that you can be amongst the first fireflies, perhaps older than the ones who walked on the earth before us all, that sought to illuminate everything, following some sort of… primal instinct, to chase after that unknown flash of light so you could understand it all up close. You are the Primal of Curiosity."

The divine boy's gaze softened, he stepped forward to Geschicht.

The divine boy placed his hand gently on Geschicht's journal, and as he did, fireflies began to emerge from the air, their soft glow flickering in the dark. One by one, they flew into the open pages, disappearing as they touched the paper, leaving behind a trail of warmth.

"Let this be my gift for your answer," the Primal of Curiosity said, his voice low and profound, as if the act itself carried an ancient weight. The journal seemed to hum with an energy all its own, as if the fireflies had infused it with something far beyond the ordinary.

Geschicht stood silently for a moment, his heart pounding with the weight of the Primal of Curiosity's gift. The journal in his hands felt different now, almost alive with a presence he couldn't fully grasp. He closed the book slowly, feeling the warmth of the fireflies' energy still lingering in the pages. With a deep breath, he tucked the journal back into his leather pack.

The night air felt cooler as he made his way home, each step purposeful. The world around him was still, the distant hum of the town carried by the wind. But in his heart, there was a flicker of something weird, something his heart had always wanted. He now understood that his journey had only just begun.