The Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors
In a forgotten and untouched part of the world, mountains rose high into the sky and clouds often wore the color of dusk. This was the land of Wenig, a place where ancient stories whispered in the winds, and untamed greenery wrestled with colossal peaks.
In Wenig, there was a tribe—the tribe of Thumra. Known for their heritage and the lore of their ancestor Bakra—the revered warrior said to have slayed the havoc-wreaking beast of the mountains, Gorgo, ages before. They lived antiquated lives, cherishing the oral history passed down unraveled through generations.
It was amongst them a boy named Riko was born. The son of the tribe chief, he was destined to be the protector of Thumra. From a tender age, he was trained to be agile and robust. Yet, he didn't feel himself fit to be a warrior. Predominantly, because Riko was unlike any of them; he wasn't a warrior. Riko was a dreamer.
His heart inclined towards the songs of old, tales of valiant heroes, and miraculous adventures. His soul would illuminate with inspiration every time the tribal elders told stories of their great ancestor, Bakra. Though, he inherited an odd fixation; Riko began questioning the accuracy of the tales. Bakra, as per the generations-old narrations, was described as a god-like figure wielding powers no man possibly could.
One day, while listening to an elder narrating how Bakra confronted Gorgo, Riko interrupted, 'Was Bakra bestowed with powers by gods?' The elder was startled, a hush fell over. The question had shocked the tribe as no one ever dared to challenge narratives of their ancestors.
The chief, also Riko's father, weighed in, 'Riko, Bakra was a man, like us, but his courage was god-like. To us, that courage, that strength was a power!' Riko's heart sank, but his curiosity was intrigued. 'What if,' he thought, 'Bakra was a man who accomplished the impossible?'
The next day, Riko assembled the young warriors and shared his vision, 'What if we could retrace Bakra's footsteps through the uncharted mountains, find Gorgo's remains and bring them back. Would it not be the greatest honor our ancestors could get?' It was outrageous, dangerous yet breathtakingly adventurous. The young warriors agreed, and thus, began their quest, retracing the ancient journey of Bakra.
They climbed colossal mountains, trekked steep trails, navigated treacherous rivers, and faced the bitter cold. It was strenuous, but their spirits were undaunted. Approaching the rumored resting place of Gorgo, they were awestruck by an unusual view; a gigantic skeleton lay embedded in a natural cavern wall. The sight was terrifying yet exhilarating—they had found Gorgo at last!
Meanwhile, in the tribe, an anxious atmosphere awaited the adventurers. A surprise fell upon them when Riko and his friends returned, not with Gorgo's remains but with a massive sword—Bakra's Sword. 'This,' Riko pointed towards the sky brandishing the sword, 'is the symbol of Bakra's courage. We, the ordinary humans, have the strength to do extraordinary when driven by courage and determination.'
The tribe celebrated and lauded their young heroes while Riko's father looked on, pride gleaming in his eyes. Riko hadn't just become a warrior that day; he'd become much more—an explorer, an inspiration, a bridge between their valiant past and hopeful future.
Bravery and power weren't about gods or corrections in the tales, realized the tribe. They were about the spirit deep within oneself, and Riko awakened this spirit within them all. And so, the whispers of the mountains about Bakra's god-like power didn't cease, but echoed with newfound resonance—a story not of gods, but of man's irrevocable spirit.
And this tale of Riko's valor became an epitome, a new chapter in the Thumra's lores, emphasizing the power of a dreaming heart and a daring soul.