In the year when King Bulian sat on his father's throne, in the last month of the farming season, when the people were sowing seeds into the ground, my mother sat me down in the open field, smiling at me. I remembered vividly that war was going on, and my father had gone to battle but never returned.
My mother sat me in the middle of the field. It was a sunny day, and though my hat hung on my head I still felt the heat, she placed her own hat on a little plant while She told me that her father and mother had once said: In life, there are four pages.
The day you are born is the first page. On the day I was born, our country won a great war. That day was filled with celebration, and the hero of the war was my father — he killed King Wollem with his bare hands. But instead of celebrating with him, my mother was lying on a bed, trying to bring me into the world. I was stubborn, but she was even more stubborn. That was how I came out crying, swung by the nurse. My mother didn't recover herself for two weeks, but when she did, she became very strong.
The second page is childhood. I would run around the farmland, playing with friends, pretending we were warriors. We would chase animals around the fields, hoping to catch them. From morning to night we thought only of what to do, what to eat, where to play, and when to sleep. We never worried about the future — only about the presence. It was one of the most important times we had.
Then came the third page: adulthood. I remember asking my mother, What about when one is a teenager or a youth? She smiled and told me that those days still belong to childhood. Adulthood begins when nothing can shake your mind, when you focus on improving your character. This is the time when you are responsible for everything you do. It is the time to choose — to be a warrior or a farmer, rich or poor, known or forgotten. It is the time when you call the sky your limit, when you marry and build your family. It is rough and tough, but memorable. Some people never see this stage. Some don't even pass the first or second page. But if you reach it, congratulations — for you will see many things that others cannot.
The last page is old age, the time when death draws near. It is when you reap all you have sown, when regrets may visit, and when you count your days with the clock, the calendar, and the clouds as your companions. If you reach this place, don't just congratulate yourself — celebrate, because life is a book, and every page matters.
So, my dear son, take care of your life. The book is short, just like the story. Make sure the book doesn't tear or become rough, for others will one day read it.
Those words were told to me long ago. If I calculate well, it was 80 years ago, which means I am now on the last page of life. But I will not die yet. I am not done with all I came to do. I must tell my story myself, and I must accomplish my dream. I have done little — that is why I am here, at this ungodly place, at this unholy hour, at the junction of life, with the man called Hope. I am ready to take my chances and move my life forward.
Ochar sat in a very old chair, ready to collapse, watching as the sorcerer came out of his secret room, smiling.
"Are you ready?" the sorcerer asked, doubting his readiness.
Ochar smiled. "I am ready to be a beast and live long," he said, though his voice trembled under the weight of old age.
The sorcerer's smile widened. He began to chant strange words. Immediately, the windows shook, the roof joined in a loud tumult, the clouds darkened, and thunder shook the earth in a violent dance.
Ochar closed his eyes, surrendering to the chant. Before they shut completely, his eyes bulged, growing larger and larger. His hands swelled, blue fur bursting from his skin. His feet expanded, and his body grew so massive that the room became too small for him.
The chanting stopped, but Ochar's body kept growing. He lost control of his mind, crashing his head against the walls. Finally, with all his strength, he thrust upward, shattering the roof. Nails flew into the air as the entire room was torn away, leaving him beneath the open heavens.
He roared loudly, so loud that birds scattered in fear and small animals fled to hiding. He pounded his chest in fury. But within seconds, his body began to shrink — not back to old age, but to the form of a strong young man, just like a thirty years old. He looked at the sorcerer and laughed, his face full of joy.
"You know the rules," the sorcerer said. "You must drink human blood every day. Once a month, your beast will return, uncontrolled for two days. But if you learn, you can tame it."
Ochar looked at his new skin. The words barely sank in, yet he understood. He would never see this sorcerer again. Perhaps there were others like him, in other worlds. Smiling with satisfaction, he nodded, then bolted from the room at great speed, chasing the wind.
"I will not count my days," he thought. "I will enjoy them."
Seer
Let me tell you a story of a wolf and a beast, mixed in one.