Autumn had just begun, bringing with it a soft drizzle that blanketed Willowdale in a gentle mist. In the halfling lands of Upsurgeth, the Cloudsongs were bustling with excitement and anticipation. The noble family was preparing for a grand celebration: Jessamyn, the youngest of Cae and Ginny Cloudsongs' five children, was turning twenty-two that September—a significant age, as she was about to become a tween.

The Cloudsongs were well-known throughout Willowdale and beyond, their name synonymous with wealth, nobility, and old blood. As descendants of the early halflings from the First Era, they had established themselves alongside humans and other creatures in the Risingt Realms. Their fortune was built on extensive landholdings and a near-monopoly on meat farming and poultry in the Willowdale marketplace—a fact that caused no small amount of envy among other families, like the Heathertoes, who also aspired to be landowners. Yet, the Cloudsongs’ influence extended beyond their wealth; as medics and lawyers, they held a respected position in society. Their generosity and Cae’s reputation as a philanthropist made them beloved, even among the poorest hobbits.

However, not every Cloudsongs fit the mold of a wealthy, land-owning halfling. Jesse Cloudsongs, the fourth child, stood out as an eccentric figure in the family. While his siblings were content to stay within the comfortable confines of Willowdale, Jesse longed for adventure. Raised by his aunt Delphie, who believed in an old prophecy from a soothsayer that Jesse was destined for greatness, he dabbled in swordplay and writing, exploring paths that were unusual for his kin.

"Elves and Dragons!" Aunt Delphie would often say, shaking her head with a fond smile. "Cabbages and potatoes are better for me and you, Jesse. Don’t go getting mixed up in the business of your betters, or you’ll land in trouble too big for you."

Jesse would grin and shrug off her concerns, his mind already wandering far beyond the halfling lands.

Despite his family’s disapproval, Jesse couldn’t ignore the pull of adventure. He had grown up on stories of Anwrick the Tall, the legendary halfling warrior who had defeated the Lantern King of the Fae with the enchanted sword Thorn—a sword that Jesse’s aunt Delphie often claimed was connected to their family. “You’ve got Anwrick’s blood in you,” she’d say, much to the dismay of other halflings who thought Jesse’s aspirations were far too grand.

On the eve of Jessamyn's birthday, the village was abuzz with activity. Halflings from far and wide, including the Flatfooted Halfkings, Twilightmoons, and Undtrees, traveled across the land to pay court to Jessamyn. They filled the inns like The Daybreak, resting their feet and preparing for the festivities. But amid the preparations and merrymaking, Jesse made a decision: he would leave Willowdale before the celebrations began.

"Are you really leaving before the feast, Jesse?" Aunt Delphie asked, her voice cracking with emotion as tears welled in her eyes.

"I have to, Aunt Delphie," Jesse replied gently but firmly. "I don't want to interfere with Jessamyn's big day. Besides, I can't stay here any longer—I need to find my own path."

Delphie clutched her apron and sighed deeply. "Couldn’t you at least stay until your own coming of age in December? Thirty is a significant year for a halfling."

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Jesse shook his head, determination set in his eyes. "No, Aunt Delphie. My mind is made up. If I stay, it’ll only be harder to leave. I’ll be leaving for Eissenfeste at first light, to find a party and start my journey."

His father, Cae, who had overheard the conversation, approached with a solemn expression. In his hands, he carried a finely crafted arming sword—an heirloom that was far too large for a halfling, resembling a greatsword in Jesse's hands.

"This was meant for human hands," Cae said as he presented the sword to his son, "but it’s yours now. It may not be easy to wield, but I know you'll find a way." Jesse took the sword, his grip unsteady as he marveled at its weight and craftsmanship.

“Thank you, Father,” Jesse said, embracing Cae. “I’ll make you proud.”

"Just promise me you’ll stay safe," Cae whispered, patting Jesse on the back. "I wish you didn’t have to go, but I understand. Your siblings will inherit the lands, and I know you’ve always wanted more than to be a gatekeeper or huntsman. Find your own way, Jesse."

Jesse nodded, a lump forming in his throat. “I will. But please, don’t let anyone see me off tomorrow. It’s already hard enough.”

The morning of his departure, Jesse rose before dawn. He packed his leather armor and set off on foot, forgoing the expense of a donkey. As he made his way past Farmer Gobby's fields, his journey was interrupted by the frantic barking of dogs. To his surprise, he saw a half-dwarf paladin running through the fields, a symbol of an elven rune of light emblazoned on his armor.

“Oi! What’s a halfling like you doing out here so early?” called the half-dwarf, who introduced himself as Rhys of Aegle’s Order, a stout figure with a buzzcut and scruffy beard.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Jesse replied. “What brings a paladin near halfling lands?”

Rhys eyed Jesse warily before responding. “Imps are running wild in the woods of Eissenfeste. It’s not safe, especially for a halfling on his own.”

Jesse’s heart sank at the mention of imps, but he steeled himself, remembering his resolve. “Then I’ll help you deal with them,” he said firmly.

Rhys raised an eyebrow. “Have you fought a horde before?”

“No, but I’m not afraid to learn,” Jesse answered, his hand gripping the hilt of his new sword.

Rhys hesitated, considering the young halfling before him. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. But stay quiet and follow my lead.”

The two crouched low as they spotted a group of imps skulking through the fields. Jesse’s hand trembled as he struck his first blow, the impact jarring his small frame. Blood spattered his tunic, and for a moment, he froze, but the thought of Willowdale in danger spurred him on. Swinging his unwieldy sword, he fought beside Rhys, who wielded his warhammer with practiced precision. Together, they dispatched ten imps, panting and bruised by the end of the twenty-minute skirmish.

As they caught their breath, the army of Eissenfeste and some halfling gatekeepers arrived, praising Jesse and Rhys for holding the line. But their reprieve was short-lived. The general of Eissenfeste stepped forward, his face grim.

“A giant imp is gathering a horde at the hills southwest of the Kingdom of Eire,” the general said urgently. “We need a small group to take down this self-proclaimed King of Imps. Our forces are stretched thin guarding Eissenfeste and Willowdale. Will you join Rhys in this task?”

Jesse looked at Rhys, then at the general, his resolve hardening. “I’ll do it. I didn’t leave home just to run away from danger.”

With a determined nod, Rhys clapped Jesse on the back. “Welcome to the adventure, lad. Let’s go slay ourselves a king.”

And so, with a looming threat ahead and the promise of danger in every step, Jesse Cloudsongs set forth on a path that would test his courage and skill, and perhaps, as Aunt Delphie always believed, fulfill the prophecy that had been whispered about him since his birth.