Elyon and Lenea stepped into the building, greeted immediately by the sight of children playing around. Elyon, sticking closely to his mother's side, thought, Well, this looks more like a kindergarten than a school. He glanced around, taking in the vibrant, yet unfamiliar scene. The room was filled with bookshelves, many of which were lined with fairy tale and history books, their covers worn from frequent use. From the look of it, the books were well-loved and had been read countless times by the children who spent their days here.
The floor was scattered with toys—wooden swords, dolls, blocks, and balls. Children of varying ages played eagerly with them, some engaging in mock sword fights while others gathered in small groups, chatting and laughing. Elyon felt uneasy, watching them. He wasn't a child anymore, at least not in the way they seemed to be. The thought of joining them in their play felt strange, like it was something he had long outgrown.
Outside the building, a few of the children were running and shouting, their laughter carrying through the open windows. Elyon shifted his weight uneasily, his fingers tightening around the straps of his small satchel. As his eyes scanned the room, he felt like an outsider. The toys, the laughter, the easy camaraderie—it all seemed so foreign to him. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do here, or how he was supposed to fit in.
Just then, an elderly woman appeared, making her way toward them with slow, deliberate steps. She appeared to be in her sixties, though her face was soft and lined with years of experience. Her silver hair was neatly pulled back into a bun, and her simple, practical dress spoke of years of care and service in this place. As she neared, her face lit up with a gentle smile, and she greeted Lenea warmly.
"Ah, Lenea, how have you been?" the woman asked, her voice soft yet clear.
Lenea smiled back, her eyes warm as she replied, "I'm quite fine, thank you. And what about you, Miss Mary?"
"Oh, well," Miss Mary replied with a soft chuckle, her eyes twinkling with an unspoken understanding. She then glanced down at Elyon, who was standing quietly by Lenea's side. "And who might you be?" she asked, her voice full of warmth and curiosity.
Elyon, though still uncomfortable, met her gaze. There was something about the elderly woman's demeanor that made him feel slightly less out of place. "Hello," Elyon said, his voice tentative, "I'm Elyon."
"Well, hello, Elyon," Miss Mary responded with a smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "I'm Miss Mary."
She turned back to Lenea and said with a knowing nod, "He's quite mature for his age."
Lenea smiled softly and nodded in agreement, but before Elyon could respond, she bent down to his level, her voice gentle but firm. "Have fun," she said, her eyes scanning his face for any hint of discomfort, "and don't annoy Miss Mary."
Elyon nodded obediently, though a slight unease stirred in his stomach. His mother's reassuring smile lingered in his mind as she stood up straight and turned toward the door. "I'll come pick you up in the evening," Lenea said, giving him one last glance before she disappeared outside, leaving Elyon alone in the room.
The moment his mother was gone, Elyon felt a strange emptiness settle over him. He stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do next. He glanced around again, trying to find something familiar, something to anchor him in this strange new environment. The room, with its colorful bookshelves, the scattered toys, and the playful children, felt like a strange mix of a school and a home. It was warm, inviting even, but it made Elyon feel out of place.
As he stood there, Miss Mary approached him again, her warm smile never wavering. She crouched down to Elyon's level with a soft creak of her joints, her eyes kind and patient. "Well, Elyon," she said in her soft, melodic voice, "what do you think of the school so far?"
Elyon hesitated. The words he wanted to say—It's strange. I don't belong here—stayed lodged in his throat. He shifted his weight uncomfortably, trying to find the right words. "It's… different," he said finally, his voice trailing off. He wasn't sure how to explain it, but everything about this place felt foreign to him. The other children, the toys, the carefree laughter—it all seemed like something he couldn't quite grasp.
Miss Mary's lips curled into a gentle smile as she nodded in understanding. "I know it's a lot to take in at first," she said kindly, her voice warm like a lullaby. "But don't worry, Elyon. You'll find your place here. It's all part of learning, after all." She gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder, the touch surprisingly comforting, and Elyon felt a small, involuntary relaxation in his shoulders. There was something about her that made him feel, if not welcome, then at least safe.
Before he could respond, a tall boy with messy brown hair and freckles approached Elyon. The boy was holding a small wooden sword in one hand, and his other hand was extended eagerly toward Elyon. "Hey, wanna play?" he asked with an excited grin. "We're having a battle! You can be on my team!"
Elyon blinked, taken aback. Play? With these kids? He wasn't sure what to think. The idea of running around, pretending to fight, to play at being something he wasn't, seemed so foreign. Yet as he looked at the boy's eager face, a small part of him felt an undeniable pull, a curiosity about what it might be like.
"I—uh—sure," Elyon said after a moment, his voice hesitant. He wasn't entirely sure what he was agreeing to, but something about the boy's excitement made him want to at least give it a try.
The boy grinned widely and pulled Elyon into the game, laughing excitedly. "Great! You're gonna love it! We'll have so much fun!"
Elyon found himself standing outside the building, on a patch of dirt that had been turned into a makeshift battlefield. Some of the other children were already practicing their sword skills, their wooden swords clashing as they pretended to be knights or warriors. Elyon felt a strange unease in his chest. The children's movements were so free, so uninhibited. They didn't care about form or technique, unlike the strict training his father had instilled in him. This is all just play, Elyon thought, gripping the wooden sword that had been handed to him. It's not real.
He glanced around at the other kids, who seemed to move effortlessly, their faces full of energy and joy. Elyon felt an awkward disconnect. The sword in his hand felt unfamiliar, its weight different from the weapons he had trained with. He wasn't sure how to swing it the way the others did, and his movements felt stiff and controlled, unlike the wild abandon he saw around him.
As Elyon hesitated, the tall boy from earlier approached, grinning. "You've got to swing it like this," he said, demonstrating a sweeping motion that sent his sword flying through the air with ease. "Like you're a mighty warrior! Just like in the stories!"
Elyon watched, intrigued but still unsure. The boy's movements were so carefree, so different from what Elyon had been taught. His father had always emphasized precision, control, and strength, but this… this was something else. Elyon looked down at the wooden sword in his hand, then back at the boy, who was waiting for him to try. With a deep breath, Elyon swung the sword the way the boy had shown him. The blade made a soft thud as it hit the ground, far from the powerful clash he had hoped for.
The boy laughed, though it wasn't mocking. "It's okay, Elyon," he said, still smiling. "You'll get it! Just keep swinging!"
Elyon tried again, this time with a little more enthusiasm. His movements were still stiff, but there was something inside him that began to shift. Maybe it wasn't so bad after all. The other children cheered him on as he swung the sword again, their voices full of excitement. Elyon's grip on the weapon loosened just a little, and for the first time since entering the building, he didn't feel completely out of place.
As he continued to swing the sword, Elyon felt a small, but growing sense of connection to the children around him. This wasn't the world of controlled training his father had taught him. This wasn't about being the best or mastering technique. It was about having fun. And for just a moment, Elyon felt like maybe, just maybe, he could be a part of it.
"Good job, Elyon!" one of the girls with braids called out, her voice bright and encouraging as she smiled at him from the sidelines. Elyon couldn't help but feel a flush of warmth on his cheeks at her praise. He quickly pushed the sensation away, unwilling to allow himself to be too caught up in the moment. This is silly, he thought, but a small, undeniable part of him couldn't ignore the way the compliment made him feel. There was something oddly enjoyable about it—the weight of his father's expectations, the constant pressure to succeed, melted away, and for a brief moment, he just played.
His body moved with the rhythm of the game, and his heart raced with the excitement of pretending to be a warrior, a hero, even if it was only for a short while. The awkward stiffness that had initially gripped him seemed to fade as he grew more comfortable with the children around him. The wooden sword he gripped tightly in his hands felt lighter, less like a tool for battle and more like an instrument of play. As he swung the sword again, he could hear the laughter of the other children, the pure, unrestrained joy of it, and for once, Elyon wasn't focused on how he should behave or whether he was acting in accordance with the expectations of his father. For a brief moment, he didn't feel the weight of his training, the burden of his role as his father's son. He just felt... free.
Elyon's movements became more fluid, more natural, and he found himself drawn into the rhythm of the game. The children's laughter, the clash of wooden swords, and the rush of excitement reminded him of the stories he had heard as a child—tales of knights, dragons, and epic battles. He imagined himself as one of those knights, brave and fearless, standing tall against impossible odds. The sensation was fleeting, but it was real, and for once, Elyon allowed himself to be swept up in it.
After what seemed like only a few minutes, Miss Mary called to the children from the doorway, her voice calm but firm, cutting through the noise of the game. "Alright, everyone! Time to gather round for story time!"
The children groaned in unison, reluctant to stop their play, but slowly, they began to wander back toward the building. Elyon, still holding his wooden sword, found himself among the group, though he felt a little less self-conscious now than when he had first arrived. The sword, which had once felt so foreign in his hands, now seemed lighter. He didn't feel quite as out of place as he had before. The game, though just pretend, had offered him a brief escape from the uncertainty he'd felt since walking through the doors. It hadn't been exactly like training with his father, nor had it been a perfect imitation of the adventures from his childhood stories, but it had been something—something that reminded him, just for a moment, what it felt like to simply be a child again.
When they entered the building, Miss Mary led them into a cozy room, where the children gathered in a circle on the floor. Elyon sat down at the edge of the group, his legs crossed awkwardly beneath him, still unsure of how to fully engage. He could feel the energy of the other children around him, their excitement palpable as they settled in for the next part of the day. They looked up at Miss Mary expectantly, their faces lit with a childlike wonder that Elyon hadn't seen in years. He watched them for a moment, trying to understand the depth of the connection they shared with this place, this woman, and this experience.
Miss Mary, seated on a small chair at the front of the circle, adjusted the book in her hands, her smile wide and welcoming. Her presence seemed to command the attention of the room, and even the most energetic children fell quiet as she prepared to begin the story.
"Today's story," Miss Mary said, her voice rich and inviting, "is about a fallen hero. Along the way, he faces fierce dragons and wicked witches, but his courage and heart help him overcome every obstacle."
Elyon sat up slightly, curiosity piqued despite himself. He had heard many stories like this one from his father. But those stories had always been told through the lens of battle, of real danger and real victories. His father's lessons were practical, focused on technique and the harsh realities of survival. The world his father had taught him to navigate was one of discipline, control, and the weight of responsibility. This, however, was different. It was something else entirely—something that Elyon hadn't fully understood until now.
As Miss Mary began to read, her voice rising and falling with each page, Elyon felt something stir inside him. The words, the descriptions, the world that she painted with her voice—he found himself captivated. The story, though fantastical, was filled with moments of heart and courage. The hero, though fallen, had a strength within him that allowed him to rise above his circumstances. As the knight fought dragons, defeated witches, and overcame impossible challenges, Elyon couldn't help but imagine himself in the hero's place. For a brief moment, the boy with the wooden sword wasn't just playing a game. He was the hero, fighting battles not for glory, but for something deeper—something worth fighting for.
As Miss Mary's voice continued to fill the room, the children around Elyon were rapt with attention. They hung on her every word, their faces illuminated by the soft glow of the room, their expressions filled with wonder. Elyon couldn't help but be drawn into their energy, the shared experience of the story weaving an invisible thread between them all. Even though he had initially felt like an outsider, sitting on the edge of the circle, he now felt the quiet pull of the shared imagination, the way the room seemed to breathe with the life of the story. The other children were so absorbed in the tale that it was as if they were no longer in the room at all. They were lost in the world of the hero, just as Elyon was, his mind racing with the images of dragons, witches, and valiant battles.
The magic of the moment was real. Elyon found himself forgetting where he was, forgetting that he had ever felt out of place. For the first time that day, he didn't feel the weight of his own doubts, the uncertainty that had followed him into the building. The story took him to another world—a world where the hero's courage and heart were enough to overcome any obstacle, where good triumphed over evil, and where every battle was a lesson in strength and resilience.
Miss Mary's voice, soothing and steady, carried him deeper into the story. As the hero faced the final, most dangerous trial, Elyon felt his breath catch. He could almost feel the sword in the hero's hand, could almost hear the clash of metal against metal as the final battle was fought. His heart raced, and for a moment, he forgot that he was in a small room surrounded by children. The excitement, the tension of the story, felt as real as if he were experiencing it himself.
The children's faces around him were full of emotion, their eyes wide with excitement, fear, and wonder. Elyon looked around, and for the first time since he'd entered the building, he didn't feel alone. The connection to the other children, to the world Miss Mary was weaving, felt tangible. They weren't just kids playing with toys or running around. They were part of something bigger—a shared experience that transcended age or status.
As Miss Mary finished the story, she closed the book gently and looked around at the children with a soft smile. "And so, the hero triumphed, not because he was the strongest, but because he believed in himself and the goodness inside his heart."
The room was still, the silence thick with the weight of the story's conclusion. Elyon sat there for a long moment, his mind processing the words. The story, like the game earlier, had stirred something within him—a sense of possibility, of adventure, of courage. It was a feeling he hadn't allowed himself to experience in a long time. The lessons from his father had always been about control, about precision, about survival. But this… this was something else. This was about heart.
The other children began to stir, breaking the silence with murmurs of excitement and wonder as they discussed the hero's journey. Elyon, still caught in the afterglow of the story, remained in his spot, lost in thought. He wasn't sure if he belonged here, in this strange place, with these other children. But for the first time, he was willing to allow himself to enjoy the moment. He didn't have to be a warrior or a hero in the traditional sense. Perhaps, just for today, he could simply be a part of this world, if only for a little while.
Miss Mary, who had watched the children with a quiet, knowing smile, turned her gaze to Elyon. Her eyes, warm and wise, seemed to understand exactly what he was feeling. She didn't need to say anything. Her presence, her calm assurance, was enough. Elyon knew that, in this room, for now, he was safe—free to explore, to learn, and to grow, at his own pace.
And as the children's chatter filled the room, Elyon felt a small spark of hope. Maybe, just maybe, this strange place was where he could begin to discover something more—about the world, about others, and about himself.