chapter 1

**Chapter 1: The Beginning**

The cold winds of late autumn swept through the narrow streets of Kelsar, a small village nestled in the shadow of the great mountains. Leaves, golden and brown, swirled in the air, adding a touch of color to the otherwise gray and dismal day. In the midst of this bleakness, a figure trudged along, shoulders hunched against the chill. This was Theron, a poor young man who had known nothing but hardship and toil since birth.

Theron pushed open the creaky wooden door of his modest home and was greeted by the warm, inviting glow of the fireplace. His mother, Elara, looked up from her sewing with a tired smile.

"Back from the fields already?" she asked, her voice soft and worn from years of worry.

"Yes, Mother," Theron replied, brushing off the dirt from his clothes. "The work is done for the day."

Elara's smile faltered as she noticed the lines of fatigue etched deeper into her son's face. "Sit down, Theron. I'll get you some stew."

Theron sank into the rickety chair by the fire, his mind heavy with thoughts of their dire situation. The harvest had been poor, and winter was fast approaching. They barely had enough food to last a month, let alone the entire season.

As Elara ladled the thin stew into a bowl, the door suddenly burst open. A figure, cloaked and mysterious, stood in the doorway, framed by the waning light of dusk.

"Who are you?" Theron demanded, rising to his feet. His heart raced, more out of surprise than fear.

The figure stepped forward, lowering his hood to reveal an old man with piercing blue eyes and a long, silver beard. "My name is Alaric," he said, his voice resonating with an otherworldly timbre. "I have come seeking the one who is destined for greatness."

Elara gasped, dropping the ladle. "Destined for greatness? Here? In Kelsar?"

Alaric nodded, his gaze fixed on Theron. "Yes, it is you, Theron."

Theron's brow furrowed in confusion. "Me? You must be mistaken. I am just a poor farmer. There's nothing great about me."

Alaric chuckled softly. "Greatness often comes from the most humble of beginnings. There is a prophecy, one that speaks of a mortal who will ascend to godhood. You are that mortal."

Theron shook his head in disbelief. "This is absurd. Why would I be chosen for such a thing?"

"Because you possess a heart of true goodness and an unyielding spirit," Alaric explained. "But more importantly, because the gods have chosen you."

Elara stepped forward, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and hope. "What does this mean for my son?"

"It means he must embark on a journey, one filled with trials and perils, but also immense reward," Alaric said solemnly. "Theron, you have the potential to become an immortal god, to bring peace and prosperity to not just Kelsar, but the entire world."

Theron looked to his mother, whose eyes were brimming with tears. He then turned back to Alaric, his resolve hardening. "If what you say is true, then I accept. I will go on this journey."

A look of approval crossed Alaric's face. "Very well. We shall leave at dawn. Prepare yourself, young Theron, for your life is about to change in ways you cannot yet imagine."

As Alaric turned to leave, Theron felt a strange mix of fear and excitement. He glanced at his mother, who nodded encouragingly.

"Go, Theron," she whispered. "Fulfill your destiny."

Theron took a deep breath and nodded. "I will, Mother. I promise."

As the night deepened, Theron sat by the fire, contemplating the incredible path that lay before him. Little did he know, this was just the beginning of an epic journey that would transform him from a poor farmer into an immortal god.