Chapter 1: The Fateful Ceremony

Young Rowan opened his eyes and smiled up at the wooden slats of his bed. Today was his fifth name day, and the day of the job assignment ceremony. He tossed his thin blanket aside and swung his legs over the side of the mattress, toes wiggling eagerly in the chill morning air.

Through the small open window, the rising sun cast a soft orange glow over his humble home. Rowan had always loved this time of day when the world seemed full of promise and potential. Today that feeling was stronger than ever.

After dressing swiftly in trousers and a tucked‐in shirt, he hurried to the small kitchen where his mother was mixing dough for bread over the hearth. "Mum! It's ceremony day!"

She smiled warmly at her excitement. "So it is, my love. Have you thought on what title you might wish for?"

Rowan nodded seriously. "Dragon slayer, like in the old stories." He mimed fighting an imaginary dragon, swinging his arms mightily.

His mother chuckled. "A fine ambition, but such heroes are rare indeed. We shall see what the Council deems your path." She ran a flour‐dusted hand through his tousled hair. "Now eat, so you have strength for whatever adventures may come."

As Rowan happily ate his breakfast, his thoughts wandered to the great church and what destiny awaited revelation within its storied walls. Little did he know how his fate that day would shape the years to come. As Rowan finished eating, there came a familiar knock at the door. He leapt up excitedly and threw it open to find his dearest friend Elia waiting with a smile.

"Elia!" cried Rowan. "Come, help me finish and then we'll go together." She laughed and followed him inside. "Always so eager, Rowan. The Council isn't likely to start without you."

Nevertheless, she willingly pitched in, helping his mother tidy while he wolfed down the last of the bread. Soon they were waving goodbye and skipping down the lane toward the village square.

"What title do you think you'll get?" asked Elia as they walked. Rowan puffed out his little chest. "Dragon slayer, of course! What about you?"

Elia tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Well, since I am the best healer's apprentice around, maybe 'Surgeon' or 'Medic' would suit. But I wouldn't mind 'Dragon Wrangler' either."

They giggled at the thought of working together to wrangle scaly beasts. All too soon the great tree that shaded the church came into view, along with clusters of families gathering in anticipation. Rowan faltered slightly in his steps, suddenly feeling small. But Elia slipped her hand in his and gave it a comforting squeeze. "No matter what happens, we'll face our futures together. Now come on - our lives await!" Taking a deep breath, Rowan nodded determinedly and followed her into the crowd. Rowan and Elia squeezed together on a grain sack pew between various families in the packed church. All around them, village children squirmed in their best clothes, eyed eagerly by parents and siblings.

At the front, Elder Lenore stood tall behind a simple wooden podium. She smiled warmly over her spectacles as each boy and girl approached in turn. After a brief chat and examination of hands or posture, she would declare a fitting role – A Builder, Carpenter, Weaver, or Smith.

The assessments moved steadily along; titles awarded with hearty applause. When Elia's turn came, Lenore pronounced her apprentice Medic with a proud nod. Beaming, Elia rejoined Rowan, who offered hurried congratulations despite his twisting stomach.

Finally, only he remained. Rowan felt a jolt of nerves as Elder Lenore now called his name into the attentive silence. He rose, doing his best to hide a trembling lip as he marched towards her waiting hands. Hands sweaty, Rowan strode forward on trembling legs. "So, young man," said Lenore kindly. "What skills do you bring to the community?" Rowan gulped and mumbled something incomprehensible.

"Please, present yourself for assessment," the Elder said gently. Rowan drew in a breath and extended his small palms, staring hard at his cracked heels. Lenore studied his hands thoughtfully, but soon her brow furrowed in concern.

"I apologize, Rowan," she said at last. "But your hands bear no traits I recognize. My divination sees no role for you at present." A shocked gasp arose from the assembled families.

Rowan's chest constricted in horror and shame. No title? But everyone else... He gazed pleadingly at Lenore, willing her to change her mind. Her eyes were sad. "You must have patience - your path remains unclear."

Stumbling back to his seat, Rowan's vision swam with hot tears. Elia gripped his hand tight, murmuring reassurances, but he could only stare numbly at the other children now proudly showing off blades or linens bearing their new roles.

A purposeless nobody - that's all he was. As cheers erupted around congratulating families, Rowan buried his burning face in his knees. His dreams of destiny lay shattered, and an uncertain future loomed cold and dark before him. Rowan kept his head low as shuffling footsteps carried him back to his place. But strained whispers soon reached his ringing ears.

"No title, how strange..."

"Poor sod. Mark my words, trouble will find him..."

"Useless as a babe, that one."

Heat flooded Rowan's neck and he clasped his hands tightly to keep them from shaking. Out of the corner of his watery eyes, he saw fingers point and heard muffled giggles.

Elia's grip threatened to break his fingers. "Don't listen to them," she seethed. But the jeers grew bolder, carried by cruel smiles.

"Future beggar, that's my bet!"

"Oh dear, is the wee boy lost without a role?"

Tears spilled freely now down Rowan's burning cheeks. He shrank into himself, wishing the crowded floor would open and swallow him whole. Through the mocking din, Elder Lenore called for order, but the damage was done.

In that moment, as humiliation crushed his small frame, Rowan knew only a hollow, gnawing despair. All the promise of his dawn had curdled under the poisonous laughter. His future lay in tatters, and a bitter path stretched long before he might reclaim what was lost.

Bowing his head, Rowan hurried away from the church as swiftly as his numb legs allowed. Laughter followed his shambling steps no matter how quickly he moved.

"Rowan, wait!" came a familiar cry. Elia dashed after him, flushed and panting. "Please, don't leave yet. I'm here for you."

He stopped reluctantly, not wishing her to see his tear-stained face. But Elia grasped his hands firmly in hers regardless. "Don't listen to any of them," she said fiercely. "The elder was mistaken - I know you'll do great things."

Rowan shook his head mutely. Great things needed a title to begin, and he had nothing. But Elia placed gentle fingers under his chin, lifting his eyes to meet hers. "You have so much spirit and heart. Your path just is not clear yet," she soothed.

"And when it is, you'll blaze a trail all on your own. I believe in you." Her bright smile stirred something in Rowan's hollow chest, and he tried to muster a watery grin in return.

"Thank you, Elia. It...it means everything." She nodded, releasing his hands. "Now walk with me - there's still light left in the day." Sniffling, Rowan fell into step beside her as they began the journey home. Though a long night surely awaited, for now Elia's faith lightened his footsteps. The first small seeds of hope had taken root once more.

The sun hung low in the rosy sky as Rowan and Elia ambled down the dusty lane. Though his earlier humiliation still stung, conversing with his dear friend eased the sharpness... somewhat.

"I'll show them, one day," he murmured at last. "I'll prove the elders wrong by becoming someone great, title or not." Elia grinned. "You have the heart of a true hero, Rowan. No name can hold your spirit!"

He smiled, heart swelling with appreciation for her alone understanding. "You'll...you'll still stick by me, even like this?" Elia halted, gripping his shoulders earnestly. "Until the end, and after. Where you go, I will go - that's a promise."

Fresh tears pricked Rowan's eyes. "Thank you, Elia. You're the best friend anyone could ask for." She beamed and squeezed his hands. "And you will be the greatest person this village has ever seen! Just wait and see."

With Elia's belief fueling his resolve, Rowan walked a little taller as the first stars twinkled into view above. Though nothing could undo the shame of the ceremony, in her hands he found solace. And in time, with effort and her support, he vowed to justify her faith. His destiny had only been delayed - not denied. The future, once more, shone with promise.

Night fell swiftly as Rowan lay staring into gathering gloom. Through his small window, a cold moon rose steadily into a velvet sky, casting the world in pale relief. Within, an oil lamp flickered meager light across rough-hewn walls.

Rolling onto his side, Rowan's thoughts churned like storm clouds. Dread pooled heavy in his stomach at what tomorrow's mockery might bring. How long before he became the village joke, tasked only with menial chores by pitying parents?

Yet beneath despair stirred the first tendrils of determination. A future loomed bleak and uncertain without direction - but it would not defeat him thus. His spirit refused to be held. Hands balled tight around twisted sheets; Rowan breathed deep the night air.

"Elia believes in me. And her faith I cling to as a starved man clings to crumbs. One day they will see," he vowed silently to the Moon's listening face. "One day I will show them all." This he swore with the fervency of youth, calling on whatever powers might hear to see his oath being kept.

His destiny remained a blank page. But the pen was in his hand, and the first bold strokes had just begun.