Martin's Destiny

Many centuries ago, in a time when the world was still young and the air was filled with the whispers of ancient magic, there lay a vast, untamed land. This land, rich with towering forests and rolling hills, was a place where mythical creatures roamed freely, and every shadow held a story of old.

Nestled within this land was a small village, a humble collection of wooden huts and cobblestone paths that meandered through the thick, emerald-green foliage. The village was surrounded by dense woods, where the trees stood tall and proud, their canopies forming a protective arch over the quaint settlement. The villagers lived simple lives, their days dictated by the rising and setting sun, their existence intertwined with the rhythms of nature.

In the heart of the village, there stood a modest, wooden cabin. Its walls were weathered by time, the wood darkened by countless seasons of rain and sun. Despite its age, the cabin exuded a warmth and charm that spoke of a family's love and resilience. Smoke curled lazily from the stone chimney, blending with the early morning mist that clung to the ground like a soft, ethereal blanket.

Inside the cabin, the first light of dawn began to filter through the tattered curtains, casting a soft, golden glow across the worn wooden floor. The furnishings were simple—a sturdy oak table, a few mismatched chairs, and shelves lined with handmade pottery and woven baskets. An old, faded rug lay in the center of the room, its intricate patterns a testament to better days long past.

Martin lay on his straw-stuffed mattress, staring at the ceiling. The beams above him were rough and weathered, their surfaces etched with the marks of time. He listened to the soft murmur of the forest outside, the rustling leaves whispering secrets in the early morning breeze. Birds chirped a lively tune, heralding the dawn of a new day, but Martin's heart felt heavy, burdened by the weight of unspoken dreams and untold fears.

Martin was a young boy of thirteen, with tousled brown hair that framed his pale, freckled face. His eyes, a deep, thoughtful green, held a wisdom beyond his years, a reflection of the hardships he had endured. He was slender, almost wiry, his frame a testament to years of hard work and scant meals. Despite his frail appearance, there was a quiet strength in his gaze, a determination that burned like a hidden flame.

The sun beat down relentlessly, casting a golden hue over the small plot of land where Steven and his son, Martin, worked tirelessly. The fields were vast and demanding, every inch of soil a testament to the labour and love poured into it. Steven's hands moved with practiced ease, guiding the plow through the earth, muscles rippling beneath his tanned skin as sweat dripped from his brow.

"Dad, let me do this; I also want to help," Martin called out, his voice a mix of eagerness and determination. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, smearing dirt across his already grimy face. His eyes, wide and hopeful, watched his father with a yearning to contribute, to share in the toil that sustained their family.

Steven paused, leaning on the plow for a moment. His gaze softened as he looked at his son, seeing the earnest desire in his eyes. "No, son, you're too young for this kind of work. I'm almost done here. Just wait a couple more minutes."

Martin's shoulders slumped slightly, a pout forming on his lips. "Bah, Dad, it's too hot out here. Please hurry, I'm not feeling well."

Steven's expression grew concerned, and he nodded, quickening his pace. "Okay, we're done, boy. Let's head home. It's really hot."

As they made their way back to the cabin, the sun's rays seemed to intensify, casting long shadows behind them. The village lay quiet in the midday heat, the usual bustle subdued by the oppressive warmth. Martin trudged alongside his father, the weight of the sun and his earlier exertion making each step feel heavier.

"Dad, you work so hard, but Mom is always angry at you," Martin said, his voice small and weary.

Steven sighed deeply, his heart aching at the words. "My dear boy, she just worries about us. She loves us deeply, but she doesn't show it. She's angry because I'm unable to give you a luxurious life."

"But you do the best you can for us," Martin replied, his admiration for his father clear in his tone.

Steven smiled, a bittersweet curve of his lips. "Maybe you're right, but we can't change her nature. She comes from a good family. Her father is a chef for the king, and I'm just a peasant."

Their conversation continued as they walked, the cabin coming into view through the trees. Martin's steps quickened, a burst of energy propelling him forward. "And we're home!" he shouted, rushing inside. "Mom, Mom, we're home!"

Rosemary looked up from her work, her expression stern. "Martin, wash your hands and eat your food."

"Okay, Mom, I'm coming," Martin called back, his excitement tempered by his mother's tone.

Rosemary turned to Steven as he entered the cabin, her eyes narrowing. "Steve, don't you want to eat?"

Steven nodded, setting the bucket down and wiping his hands on a cloth. "Yes, I do. Just give me a second."

As they settled down for the meal, the atmosphere in the cabin was tense. Rosemary's frustration simmered just beneath the surface, a constant undercurrent in their interactions. "And what did you think about us moving to the capital?" she asked, her voice sharp.

Steven's jaw tightened, the familiar argument sparking once more. "Look, Rose, we can't leave this town. This is our land, our people."

Rosemary's eyes flashed with anger. "What about those dreams he frequently has?"

Martin, sitting quietly, perked up at the mention of his dreams, his heart pounding in his chest.

Steven's face darkened with concern. "Yes, but we can't afford to move to a new place."

Rosemary's frustration boiled over. "Why don't you sell your land and this house? Perhaps then we will have enough money." She stood abruptly, leaving the table in a huff.

Martin's heart ached as he watched his mother leave. "I don't want to live here," he sobbed, his voice trembling. "I want to leave this place forever."

Steven reached out, his voice gentle. "Hey, Martin, come here, boy. Let's eat."

Martin walked over to his father, tears streaming down his face. "But Dad, Mom is right. We probably should move to the capital. Then I might not have those dreams anymore."

Steven's silence spoke volumes, the weight of unspoken truths hanging heavy in the air. He thought to himself, *How can I tell them there's no more land left to sell? The little that's left is barely enough to feed us, and some of it is rented.*

Martin's tears flowed freely now, his voice breaking. "Dad, please. I can't do this any longer."

Steven's heart shattered at the sight of his son's pain. "Martin, we can help you. Just trust me. Don't think about it. If you still have that dream, just punch it, and it will go away."

"But Dad," Martin whispered, "I haven't slept for two days."

Steven's eyes filled with tears, his helplessness palpable. "I'm sorry, son, but we can't do anything about it. You just have to sleep."

Martin's sobs grew louder, his pain echoing through the small cabin. "Dad, one day I will return." With that, he turned and ran, his footsteps pounding on the wooden floor as he fled the cabin.

"Martin, stop! Martin!" Steven called after him, his voice breaking. 

Meanwhile, Rosemary stood in the doorway, her heart breaking at the sight of her son's distress. She thought to herself, *I'm trying my best to make him a great man, but I don't know why I use a rude way. I just want to protect him.* Tears streamed down her face as she watched Martin disappear into the woods.

"Steve, what happened?" she asked, her voice trembling with fear. "Where is Martin?"

"He ran away," Steven replied, his voice hollow. "He was stressed from this life. I didn't dare to stop him after all he's been through."

Rosemary's sobs grew louder. "I told you, Steve, it's really difficult for a boy his age." She collapsed into a chair, her body shaking with grief.

Steven's heart ached as he watched his wife fall apart. "I couldn't do anything, Rose. I already sold the land for your surgery. I'm sorry."

Rosemary's eyes widened in shock. "Those dreams he had, he told me once that some creatures were chasing him and that he was the chosen one."

Steven's face grew pale. "He told me that someone calls to him every single night, that they need him."

Rosemary's breathing grew laboured, her body weak. "Steve, I'm not feeling good. Help me!" she cried, collapsing to the floor.

"Rose, look at me! Look at me, Rose!" Steven shouted, his voice filled with panic. He rushed to the kitchen, grabbing a cup of water. "Here, drink this. You'll be okay. I'll get the doctor."

Rosemary's voice was faint, her strength fading. "Steve, what about Martin?"

Steven's heart broke at the question. He forced a smile, trying to hide his fear. "Don't worry about him. I'll leave in the morning to find him and bring him home. Just rest now. I'll get the doctor."

Steven rushed out of the cabin, his footsteps pounding on the cobblestone path as he ran to the doctor's house. He knocked frantically on the door. "Doctor! Doctor! Help!"

The doctor opened the door, his face calm and composed. "What is it, Steven?"

"My wife, she's not well. She had heart surgery four months ago," Steven explained, his voice trembling with fear.

The doctor's face grew serious, as he checked Rosemary. "I'm sorry to say, but she doesn't have much time. No more than an hour or two."

Steven's heart shattered. "No, it can't be. Rose..."

The doctor placed a hand on Steven's shoulder. "I'm truly sorry. There's nothing more I can do. Don't worry about my fees." With that, the doctor left his footsteps echoing in the stillness of the night.

Steven walked back to the cabin, his heart heavy with grief. He knelt beside Rosemary, tears streaming down his face. "I'm sorry, Rose. I failed both of you. I failed as a father and a husband."

Rosemary's voice was faint but calm. "Promise me you'll find him."

"I will, Rosemary. Please, stay with me," Steven begged, his voice breaking.

Rosemary's eyes fluttered shut, a small smile on her lips. "I love you," she whispered, her breath fading away.

"Rose, no! Rose!" Steven cried out, his voice echoing through the night.

Rosemary lay still, her body peaceful in death. Steven's heart shattered, his grief overwhelming. He knelt beside her, his sobs wracking his body as he mourned the loss of his beloved wife and the uncertain fate of his son. The cabin, once a place of warmth and love, now felt cold and empty, the echoes of their voices lingering in the stillness.