Finn sat on the old wooden stool, leaning forward eagerly as Old Thom's voice filled the tiny, candle-lit cottage.
They were outside, enjoying the soft chirp of the crickets, and the cool evening breeze blew gently through Riverwood Village.
Still, Finn's entire world hung on every word from the old man's lips.
"And then," Old Thom said, his eyes sparkling, "the hero Gallan stepped forward. He was as strong as ten men, Finn, muscles like iron! Some even said he could lift a horse with one hand!"
Finn's eyes widened, his mouth hanging slightly open. "Really? One hand?"
Old Thom chuckled and nodded slowly, stroking his long gray beard thoughtfully. "Oh yes, Finn. I saw him myself when I was younger than you. His strength was extraordinary."
He was still beaming with a smile when he said, "But strength alone didn't make Gallan great. He wielded fire itself. Imagine flames dancing along your fingertips, obeying your every command."
Finn leaned back, his eyes bright with wonder. He raised his own hands, examining his thin fingers closely.
"Fire? You mean something like magic, Old Thom?"
Old Thom nodded solemnly. "Magic or power, call it what you want. Heroes like Gallan didn't just fight with swords and shields. They controlled elements of fire, water, wind, and earth. Each hero had their own special gift."
Finn glanced at the candle in front of them, imagining flames bursting from his own hand.
"I wish I could do that," he murmured quietly. "Then I could protect our village."
Old Thom smiled gently, placing a reassuring hand on Finn's shoulder. "Ah, but not everyone is born with such gifts. Those heroes were rare. They didn't appear just like that."
"Then how did they become heroes?" Finn asked, his voice filled with youthful curiosity. "Did someone train them, or were they born special?"
"A bit of both and maybe more," Old Thom replied. "Like a fateful encounter."
"Fateful encounter?"
He looked away, eyes lost in memories. "Some said their powers came from the gods. Others believed they were chosen by fate. But one thing I know for certain… each hero had courage and determination."
"What do you mean by that?"
"They didn't wait for greatness… they chased it themselves."
Finn nodded, absorbing the words deeply.
He stared thoughtfully into the flickering candle. "Do you think… I could ever be a hero?"
Old Thom's expression softened, and he squeezed Finn's shoulder gently. "You're already a hero to me, Finn."
He then added, "You've grown strong, smart, and kind-hearted. Maybe you won't wield flames or storms, but true heroes come in many forms. Who knows what your destiny holds?"
Finn felt warmth rising to his cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and pride.
Old Thom, his wife, and daughter had always treated him like family, ever since the day the old man had found him abandoned near the village entrance.
Finn had grown up without knowing his origins or the identity of his parents. But he didn't care about that. Old Thom's stories made him dream about becoming someone important, someone people would admire.
After a moment, Finn finally looked up again, eyes shining. "One day, I promise I'll become strong enough to protect you and the village, even if I don't have powers."
"I have no doubt, my boy," Old Thom said with pride in his voice. "You'll be whatever you want to be. You have the potential."
He slowly stood up and stretched his aching bones. "But right now, what you need is rest. It's late, and tomorrow will come early."
Finn reluctantly stood as well, nodding. "Alright, Old Thom. Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Finn. Dream big."
As Finn walked away from the cottage, a cool wind swept across the village, gently rustling the leaves and grass.
He gazed up into the clear night sky, stars twinkling like tiny gems. His thoughts were filled with legends of heroes and magic, but deep down, a quiet determination stirred within him.
"I'll become a hero my own way," he whispered softly, smiling at the stars. "Just wait and see."
Finn walked slowly through the quiet streets of Riverwood Village, his footsteps muffled against the packed dirt path.
The night was peaceful and calm, illuminated by the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the clouds above.
Riverwood was small and simple, nestled comfortably at the foot of the great Graypeak Mountain. The mountain, which could be reached from the North Gate of Riverwood, loomed protectively over the village, its rugged peaks cloaked in mist and mystery.
To the east, the dense Whispering Forest stretched far beyond what the eye could see, thick and filled with unknown creatures that kept most villagers away.
To the west, there was the clear Silver River that flowed gently along its western edge, bringing life and fertility to the fields and farms nearby.
"I wonder what's deeper in the forest," Finn mused. "Maybe I should check it out in the morning."
At fifteen, Finn believed he should be braver. He also thought he had the strength to confront the wild beasts deeper in the forest.
Finn paused for a moment, looking thoughtfully at the village around him. Roughly two hundred people lived in Riverwood, most of them farmers, hunters, and fishermen.
Life here was simple but challenging. With limited resources, the villagers had built a modest wooden fence around the village's perimeter.
Finn eyed it critically. The fence was weak, constructed mostly from logs, branches, and ropes. It was only just enough to keep stray animals out, certainly not strong enough to stop determined bandits or wild beasts.
At each of the village's four gates—north, south, east, and west—stood two strong villagers on watch duty, gripping wooden spears and short swords.
They weren't trained soldiers or heroes from Old Thom's stories, but just regular villagers doing their best to protect their families and homes.
"Keep up the good work, everyone!" Finn said, nodding respectfully at the guards at the East Gate as he walked by.
"Of course! We'll do our best to keep everyone safe!" they replied with warm smiles, recognizing the young boy they had watched grow up.
With them standing guard, he always felt a sense of comfort and security despite the village's humble defenses.
Finn continued walking toward his own tiny cottage near the village outskirts, near the East Gate.
As he walked, he found himself glancing toward the shadowy edges of the forest. Old Thom's stories still echoed in his mind, filling him with a mix of excitement and longing.
He wondered if heroes like Gallan ever started out as ordinary villagers just like himself.
"Maybe someday," he said softly, kicking a small stone off the path. "Maybe I can really do something important."