Due west of Param, where the skies stretched ever blue and clouds drifted like wisps of cotton, lay the town of Telones.


    Its people—rugged and humble—made their living from the surrounding forests. With sharpened axes, the men felled the mighty trees of Shloam, as the ancients had named this land long ago. Here, the legendary Mukbar trees grew—great towering giants that defied decay.


    Each day, the forest trembled with the deep, resonant crash of falling timber. The river that cut through Telones roared as logs tumbled from nearby cliffs, rolling into the current to be carried downstream. In town, the women took up their craft. With practiced hands and an array of tools, they sawed, carved, and smoothed the Mukbar wood into forms both useful and beautiful.


    Chairs, tables, statues, toys—there was nothing the women of Telones couldn’t shape from the wood.


    Thus, the men and women worked together, their labor intertwined like the roots of the great trees.


    As for their children, they busied themselves with all manner of interests—bug catching, river diving, book reading.


    One boy, in particular, had a fondness for the tiny creatures of the forest. Snot-nosed and perpetually dirt-streaked, his hands were never clean—always clutching a fistful of soil or some squirming critter sure to send the girls shrieking.


    “Leonard!”


    His fun was always cut short by that familiar call, echoing from their home at dusk—always before dinner.


    “Coming, Mother!” he shouted back, stuffing his latest prize—a truly magnificent bug—into his pocket. Another fine addition to his collection.


    While the outdoors filled young Leonard’s mind with wonder, nothing could beat the warmth and safety of home.


    Stepping inside, he was greeted by the comforting glow of the fireplace and the rich aroma of his mother’s stew.


    “No dilly-dallying this time,” his father remarked, clearly impressed as he tended the fire.


    “But dirty as always,” his mother added with a chuckle. “Go wash up—and tell your brother to get his nose out of those books.”


    “Yes, ma’am,” Leonard replied, throwing a playful salute.


    The water was stored outside in a massive jug, nearly twice his size, which his father faithfully filled each day. He tied his beetle down nearby, stripped off his dirt-caked clothes, and scrubbed just enough to rid himself of the day’s grime—a skill ingrained in him since before he could remember.


    Once finished, he peeked around the corner of the house, spotting a flickering light up in the treehouse. It had been his idea, built by his father after relentless begging. Yet, after just a few days, Leonard had grown bored of it.


    His older brother, however, saw it differently.


    Like a thief in the night, Leonard crept up the wooden rungs, careful not to make a sound. As expected, there Richard sat—eyes narrowed, squinting at the pages of a book, the dim glow of a lamp barely enough to illuminate the words.


    “Richard!”


    The sudden shout sent his brother jolting upright, nearly knocking over the lamp he’d placed precariously beside him.


    “Brother!” Richard gasped. “You scared the lights out of me!”


    Leonard grinned. “That’s what you get for being distracted.” With a triumphant flourish, he pulled out his prize. “Look what I found!”


    Richard’s eyes widened. “That’s a King’s Beetle!” he breathed, nearly yanking the creature from his brother’s hands. “Where in the world did you find this?”


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    Leonard puffed out his chest. “A little bit of honey, some sticky sap, and a simple trap,” he declared.


    “Good work,” Richard said, heading toward a small pantry filled with glass jars. Inside them, their past treasures gleamed—beetles, scarabs, and all manner of critters carefully preserved.


    This was their childhood. Their daily ritual. A life that, in young Leonard’s mind, felt like it would last forever.


    Until the carriage arrived.


    Their father pulled Richard into a tight embrace, his rough hands trembling. “Be good, my boy,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.


    Their mother cradled Richard’s face in her hands, memorizing every detail. “I’m so proud of you,” she whispered between shallow breaths.


    Leonard stood frozen, a fresh-caught beetle clenched in his small fist. He couldn''t comprehend it—not fully. His world, the one where he and Richard collected bugs and played in the treehouse, was suddenly shattering before him.


    Noticing this, Richard knelt down, bringing them eye to eye.


    “Hey, little brother,” he said gently. “Got something in your hands?”


    Leonard’s grip tightened. “What’s it matter?” he muttered, his young heart brimming with anger. “You’re leaving anyway.”


    Richard smiled, though his eyes wavered. “Still… would you show it to me?”


    After a moment’s hesitation, Leonard slowly opened his hand, revealing a golden scarab, its shell glinting in the light.


    “Fantastic,” Richard murmured, his smile tinged with sadness.


    “Will you come back?” Leonard asked, his voice barely above a whisper.


    “I don’t know,” Richard admitted, his words catching in his throat. “I’ll have a wife now. A family of my own. Things will be… different.”


    Leonard hesitated.


    “But,” Richard said finally, placing a firm hand on his brother’s shoulder, “we’ll always be brothers.”


    Leonard never truly understood those words—not then. He didn’t understand why Richard had to leave or what awaited him beyond Telones. But those final words, simple yet heavy, etched themselves into his heart.


    Months passed before he received a letter. A short one. Richard wrote of his life as a husband, his studies, and the prestigious academy he had joined—an academy filled with the brightest mages in the country.


    The mere mention of magic set Leonard’s young mind ablaze. From that moment on, he scoured every inch of Telones for anything even remotely magical.


    Then, one day, as he dashed about near the temple, swinging a stick like a wand and muttering made-up incantations, a familiar voice called out.


    “You better hold your horses, young fella, or your parents might ship you off like that talented brother of yours.”


    Leonard spun around to see Father Melan, the aging priest, fishing a cigarette from his pocket.


    “Father Melan!” Leonard cried, abandoning his imaginary battle to charge at the man—headfirst.


    “Oof!” The priest staggered, his cigarette slipping from his grasp. “Easy there, boy! I ain’t as young as I used to be.”


    “Father Melan! Richard sent me a letter,” Leonard declared, barely hearing the priest’s protest. “Magic is amazing!”


    The old priest chuckled, shaking his head at the boy’s relentless enthusiasm. “Is that so? Then I take it you can fire off a spell or two by now, huh?”


    Leonard’s grin faltered. “Mother says mages are rare. I told her I’d train to be one like old man Simon, but she said that’s different. I don’t get it.”


    Father Melan sighed, scratching his beard. “That’s because old man Simon is a warrior who happened to learn magic later in life. His training didn’t make him a mage.”


    Leonard groaned in frustration. “Aww…”


    Seeing the boy deflate, guilt gnawed at the priest. He glanced toward the forest, then pointed at the massive tree towering above the rest.


    “See that tree over there?”


    “The Tree of Ancients?”


    “That’s the one,” Father Melan said with a knowing nod. “Legend has it, a powerful being was sealed inside long ago.”


    Leonard’s eyes widened. “Is he stronger than you?”


    “Yes.”


    “Stronger than the Hero?”


    “Well…”


    “What about the King?”


    “Now hush, before someone lops off our heads for dishonoring royalty,” the priest chuckled nervously. “It doesn’t matter how strong he was. All you need to know is that if someone were to cut that tree down, the being inside would grant them any wish they desire.”


    “Any wish?” Leonard’s eyes sparkled with newfound wonder.


    “Any wish,” Father Melan confirmed with a smirk.


    To the priest, it was nothing more than an old legend—a story to ease a child’s aching heart.


    But to Leonard, it became a goal.


    A goal that, fifteen years later, he was still chasing.