In the quaint town of Eldermoor, where the sun dipped below the horizon like a shy child hiding behind a curtain, he lived a boy named Myuk. At sixteen, he was a ghost among the living—an inconspicuous figure who drifted through the halls of Eldermoor High like a whisper in the wind. He was not your average teenager; he bore the weight of a past riddled with shadows, a past that clung to him like a second skin.
Myuk had bright yellow hair that seemed to catch the sunlight and blue eyes that sparkled with an unspoken longing for a world beyond the pain. Yet, beneath that vibrant exterior lay a timid heart, bruised and battered by the hands of those who were supposed to protect him. His stepfather, a man of towering anger and relentless cruelty, had made Myuk’s childhood a living nightmare. The boy often found himself curled up in a ball on the cold, hard floor of his room, the chill seeping into his bones as he wished for the world to swallow him whole.
Each day at school was a mirror reflecting his home life. The laughter of his classmates echoed like a mocking chorus, reminding him of the moments he could never share—moments filled with joy, acceptance, and love. Instead, he faced the jeers of bullies who thrived on his misery. They would corner him behind the school, their laughter ringing in his ears as they shoved him to the ground. The taste of dirt and humiliation became a familiar flavor he had learned to swallow with quiet resignation.
After a long day of torment, Myuk would walk the familiar path home, his heart heavy with dread. As he approached the front door, a knot would tighten in his stomach, the weight of the impending confrontation pressing down on him. The moment he stepped through the door, the air would shift, thickening with tension that wrapped around him like a noose. His stepfather’s voice would boom through the house, a constant reminder of his worthlessness. “You’re a failure, Myuk! You’ll never amount to anything!” The words cut more profoundly than any physical blow, leaving scars that would never heal.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
On one particularly dreary afternoon, after enduring yet another beating from his stepfather and the relentless taunts of his peers, Myuk felt the last flicker of hope extinguish within him. He climbed the stairs to the rooftop of Eldermoor High, each step heavy as if the weight of his life was dragging him down. The wind tousled his yellow hair as he stepped to the edge, the cold breeze biting at his skin. The world below seemed so small, so insignificant. He spread his arms wide, feeling the rush of air against his skin, a fleeting sensation of freedom quickly overshadowed by the darkness surrounding his heart.
“This is it,” he thought, the words echoing in the emptiness of his mind. “The end of everything.”
But just as he was about to take that final step into oblivion, a blinding light erupted beneath him, illuminating the entire rooftop in a brilliance that defied description. Myuk squinted, shielding his eyes from the searing brightness that enveloped him. The light pulsated like a heartbeat, its rhythm syncing with his own, and in an instant, it swallowed him whole, lifting him from the depths of despair and into the unknown.
When the light faded, Myuk found himself in a place unlike anything he had ever seen—a vast, dimly lit dungeon adorned with ancient stone walls, flickering torches, and the faint sound of dripping water echoing in the distance. The air was thick with the scent of damp stone and old, forgotten things. Confusion washed over him, mingling with the remnants of his sorrow. He blinked, trying to make sense of his surroundings, when suddenly, a figure stepped forward from the shadows.
The lady who emerged was regal, her presence commanding yet ethereal. Long, flowing hair shimmered like liquid silver under the torchlight, cascading down her back in waves. She wore a gown woven with threads of gold and emerald, its fabric catching the light with every movement. Her eyes, a piercing shade of green, sparkled with a fierce determination that seemed to pierce through Myuk’s very soul. Behind her stood a group of knights, their armor gleaming and their expressions solemn, forming a protective circle around her as if she were the most precious treasure in the world.
“Welcome, summoned hero,” she proclaimed, her voice melodic yet commanding, resonating through the cavernous space. “You have been brought here to save our land.”