《Elevated One》 My Bittersweet Life On the last day of Ramadan, in the sugar feasts of Bayram, I was born. All I can remember back then is the gentle touches of my mother, Amal, the fierce gaze of my father, and the sparks of the forge. I was fascinated with fire, its very nature held the same status of Allah to me. I grew up forging - learning the blades, the patterns, the handles, and hilts. From the Syrian scimitar, to the Arab shamshara, and the straight blade of the saif, I was fixated. "A sword can elevate one''s status, or used to," my father would often say. He was a warrior born in the wrong time, with surprising liberal views and a love for peace. My mother would often say that we were fortunate to have appliances, running water, and a place to bathe. We couldn''t have that in the olden times, she would muttered. In the outskirts of the Syrian city Damascus, I lived. Under olive branches and fig trees, I practiced the art of beating molten metal. At six I first managed to create the marbled oak pattern, through folding steel 45 times. "A little prodigy!" My father would shout, twirling me around. He would have me swing that single 8 inch blade with an olive branch handle for hours on end, till there was a pool of sweat the size of the dead sea in the yard and the cloth covering it was ragged. At twelve I folded the steel 75 times, and made a straight Saif 30 inches in length. I swung that too. In an era of machine guns and sniper rifles, swords were terribly outdated. But still I swung, and I became strong. Ropes of muscles squirmed across my back, and by the time Ramadan came around the 15th time I could best my father in a clean fight. Of course, his bones were not in the same shape as the day I was bone. He would reminisce of sturdy bones, not creaking and moaning ones. On my 18th Ramadan I folded the steel 100 times, 10 times more than my father. My hammer would swirl about and come crashing down, creating a curved scimitar 48 inches. That night, fire rained down on my world, and the gnarled olive and fig trees came crashing down, and as did my home. If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. My mother died that night. Frustrated, my father threw away his swords and joined the rebel army against Bashar Al Assad, the one who ordered the strikes. In the middle of the night he touched my lips with his hard calloused hands, and held my face in his chest. "Fight for peace," He said. "I no longer can." That night he left me, alone with swords and a hammer. I journeyed north, to Turkey, to go to university. They turned me away at the border, my sandals and garbs travel weary and sun-stained. I talked to the boss of the docks, Hamza, for a boat. "It''s a sturdy boat," He said. "Not like the other smuggler ones, it has a motor, and no leaks." I took that boat, until the waves reached twenty feet and shook the sides. Five miles off the coast of Greece, the sea took my body, my swords, and my father''s words. But instead of a darkness, I found light. Author''s Note: All of the names, dates, and everything else is from research. If anyone knows more about the topic of forging, swords and such, please leave me a review with information. It is much appreciated, Thank you. A New Life I came to in a place filled with pastel yellow flowers, and tall walnut trees left unattended. A voice projected out. "Son of Husan and Amal, welcome to this place." "Who are you," I shouted, "Allah?" "No, young one. You were born to the wrong life, you know. Few would have chosen your life, full of hardships." "What hardships?" I asked, perplexed. "To be born in a mundane world, with no comforts." "Swords are a comfort," I said. This being made no sense, my life may have been hard, but it had never been unhappy. Unhappiness was a life without life and family. "Your family was destitute, you may have been happy, but now I will grant you a place where you can become more than a mere man. You will rise above it all." A being radiating a white light emerged, wearing the finest golden cloth with an ornate western sword worn in a sash at their side. "Go now, or else you will regret staying in Purgatory." My vision spiraled out into darkness again, and I was moved to a place of darkness. I could barely see my hands, but the faint outline was there. Contractions began, forcing me out into sunlight. There I saw fragile woman, with a coarse hair covering her arms and a greatly bearded stout and short man. Both stared at me, love shimmering from their coal-black eyes. "Roah, he is finally born." The man spoke with a heartily deep voice. Roah, my mother it seemed, was exhausted. A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation."Welcome to our family, Husan," she said, saying my father''s name. It seemed I was going to be the sword which protected my family, like my father before. Days passed, and I crawled my heart away in our tiny shack. My mother was not worried, it seemed that the culture of these d-o-w-a-r-v-e-s was different than what I was used to. My father, Hana, showed me books of the various types of weapons he liked to craft. "Repeat after me, Husan. Morningstar." "Moohnung stahr!" I would shout. He would tell me about the process, and of what metals they were made of. It seemed that in this magical world anything was possible, and could exist. Everytime I crawled out and grow tired, a ding would appear in front of me, showing: Husan, Level 2/100, Infant Dwarven Halfling When I ate I would naturally gain levels, which led to me believing that I could grow even stronger. After a month my levels advanced into the twenties, and I picked up more of the language. It was called Half-Speak by my father, who said in scorn that halflings were the start of the dwarf society, and it was an affront that such a derogatory term would go towards halflings. I remained unperturbed, and instead focusing on leveling as much as possible. After 3 months, I heart two dings. Husan, Level 100/100, Infant Dwarven Halfling A voice, the same as the one I heard in Purgatory, said, "You may choose a levelup-race". - Sword-Forge Halfling (Child) - Metal Halfling (Child) - Wood Halfling (Child) - Shriine Halfling (CHild) Grinning, I chose the sword-forge halfling. It seemed I was finally destined for greatness in this world, amongst dwarves and what I once thought only existed in the Quran. The next morning, I woke up filled with strength, and a new desire for knowledge, knowledge to learn to forge in this new world.