On this warm summer afternoon, the entire eastern coast was full of life and energy. Somewhere a bird sang and settled subtly in the trees. Wildflowers swayed along old brick walls of modest abodes hummed over by a myriad of bees. The air carried the sweet fragrance of recent summer rain and was singing of endless insects. And no one was sad.

Sokam could constantly hear the lapping of water and sounds of odd clicks and birds fleeing. For a brief moment, the sky is crackling. It felt as though a torrent of water swept and carried him all the way out to the Floral Sea. He found himself on his hands and knees on the rocky surface. His face pressed against the unfamiliar hardness of riprap stones, where aquatic plants moved against him and caressed his soft underbelly.

Water splashed his face, and the ten year old child thrashed, convinced that he could not swim a lick. He let his breath go in a sigh of relief. He shuddered. A tingling sensation ran through his entire body and extended to both arms.

Sokam walked along the shallow edge, heedless of the swishing flow that washed around his leather sandals as the water cleaned the mud on his feet.

Sokam veered off shallow waters and stepped out to dry himself with the sun-starched towel. He was bare, covered only by the rubber swimming briefs, drops of water shining on his face and shoulders.

Under the shade of rustling trees, he sat on the flat boulder where the grass was soft and cool underfoot, drinking his tepid plant milk and eating his toasted peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

He reached for the sweet juicy fruits that bend the branches low and while picking a couple to share with his fellow brothers and sisters, he allowed his eyes to wander over the people walking on the Moonlit Path.

The moonstone tiles lit with each step followed by the hum of a pure musical note. Their vibration drifted alluringly on the morning air as if beckoning the residents to close their shops and retire for a siesta. During the hottest days, everyone gathered in the center of the city to share stories and laughter.

The “Ruins of Champions” stadium was a spectacular Neoclassical structure in the Central Circle, where some gaze into the Revitalizing Creek while passersby take their hogs on a peaceful stroll. Its exterior seamlessly blended with the enduring landscape surrounding it, offering no hint of its cruel history. The streets were lined with the illuminating glow of magefire.

Sokam followed the trail that meandered through the valleys until its pleasant route spilled out onto the grand monuments, built during the Age of Desolation, that framed the historical landmark. The stadium was a short distance away and built far from the waters, about as far as a child can walk in 30 minutes, for the creeks and river tend to overflow in the summer and autumn seasons.

Sokam walked the last few hundred meters down to find rest, refreshment. Here, people spent time on what matters most in life. Happiness. And today was going to be a happy day. Because the swordmaster Edgemon was going to be there.

He found himself a spot right beside swordmaster Edgeman. He hugged the swordmaster’s waist, and felt the defined chest that rose and fell with each controlled breath.

Edgeman quickly released his grip on his tankard of ale and knocked it back. His eyes screwed tightly shut. When he opened them again, the young boy was standing in front of him. Only someone like Sokam would fail to follow social etiquette.

The collar of Edgeman's kimono was left deliberately open, exposing the rippling muscle underneath the tight leather fabric. Abs that seemed almost unreal were oiled with sweat. For a brief moment Sokam saw the face barely containing a brute barbarian rapaciously clinging to life, staring out at him like an untamed beast unmoving.

‘Would you like one?’ the boy mentally spoke. He offered an apple, and swordmaster Edgeman nodded in acceptance.

Sokam brought out a fresh apple from his knapsack, and as he leaned forward to hand it over, he pressed his legs besides the other man's legs. The touch was perceptible, yet it left a subtle pain that seemed to sink deeper into his flesh with every passing second. Sokam looked at the swordmaster, and the older man smiled despite the pain of an old injury.

He felt closer with the swordmaster, sharing a sort of familial bond.

The boy just stood there looking at him, the tiny hands pressing on the older man’s taut muscles. Sir Edgeman’s hair was short, and his skin like polished metal. Sokam was reminded of the heroes in the adventure books everytime he gazed upon the man’s muscular frame. It was like a feast for the eyes, a beefcake marinated in discipline and dedication, each muscle a delectable serving of raw masculinity.

The swordmaster, breaking eye contact, turned to look up at the mountain that rose above the small city recalling memories of his own adventure, and was surprised at how sad those clouded memories made him feel.

Life was not easy. It wasn't easy for Sokam, his parents and the Matriarch.

Sokam's father and mother were working hard as a common crafter in one of the Hedgemon's territories. They travel long distances by the Rail System and they come back home an hour before midnight, too tired from working half the day.

Edgeman saw the Matriarch talking loudly in the old tongue to her in-laws. Though the Matriarch was 125 years old, she was no less beautiful because of her longevity. She was stern and boasted a loud voice, having to delegate mundane affairs with in-laws, but she could not abandon her special great grandson.

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She worried for him above all the other great grandchildren and great great grandchildren. The doctors told her not to push herself, given her medical history and numerous surgeries. It was not an easy task for a woman her age, to wash, feed, house and millions of other things. But she didn't seem to mind.

There was sadness, anger, resentment and worry in her eyes as Sokam reminded her of her late grandson, the brother of Sokam's father, who was cursed with mental affliction at a young age. By the time he was middle aged, he frequented the Enchanted Forest and his amulet was found fallen below a cliff, smashed like porcelain and almost unrecognizable. She, fearing the same curse may be transferred into a new host.

The man drank deeply from his tankard, gasping as the hot liquid burned down his throat. But in the end, he did feel better. He swung his feet to the floor, gently rubbing his tender skull.

"I want to ride you," pleaded Sokan. He jumped and seized the swordmaster's neck, using his tiny jealous hands and feet to crawl up the large man's giant form.

The swordmaster chuckled loudly with real mirth, having been fed an apple like a stallion. However, behind his jovial expression, his face expressed a different message, "I will not expend my energy to entertain a child."

"I could do better than those bigger kids," Sokam protested. "I know I could. I am not scared of heights." He was lying to himself.

“That was training. Not play.” Edgemon's shining cheekbones glowed even brighter. A trace of a smile appeared on his face, as though he were savoring something pleasant. Maybe just a little, he thought and began to undress. As he activated “Bloodswell Muscle Growth,” his body lightly sheened with perspiration.

“Bigger,” Sokam demanded obsessively, hammering his fists lightly on the man’s hard biceps in exasperation. The boy wanted more than just a pound of flesh. Though Edgeman did look bigger. His arms hadn’t been that dense, had they?

Edgeman looked like he’d packed on about ten pounds of muscle at first. Muscles then appeared on Edgemon’s body, covering him head to toe. The man was bigger than the hulk with biceps larger than Sokam’s entire body.

Edgemon flexed his double biceps. By contracting his muscles, he was pushing the inner fuel onto these muscle groups, making them grow even larger. The inner fuel burned, but wherever in him the inner fire spread, his muscles grew and gradually unclenched.

Edgemon squirmed on the ground on all fours. He encouraged Sokam to hop on. Right now, Sokam was tightly gripping the man’s musclebound abs. It was like riding on the Charging Bull, a giant bronze bull statue. His uncle Vin and his girlfriend did not have kids of their own, but they took him to that amusement park when he was temporarily living with them.

Despite being a scrawny seven-year-old at the time, Sokam couldn't help but be overwhelmed by the bull's towering presence. Little did he know, Edgemon effortlessly surpassed the bull's stature, leaving him in awe once again.

He tightly clung to Edgemon's neck, just like how he gripped the thick neck of the Charging Bull. Just like back then, his arm span failed to even cover half the neck circumference.of his mighty steed.

.

“Onwards!” he exclaimed. He sat up, still clinging to the man’s head. Edgeman trotted forward in the meadows, listening to the singing frogs playing a melody of the valley. The soft gentle, flowing tones meandered gracefully. He didn’t have to worry about falling anymore. If he were to fall, he would have someone like Edgemon by his side to pick him back up.

He sat on the giant man’s shoulders, smelling like the innocence of a still-unformed sprout that you find beneath soil, neither of them knowing what it will become in the abundance of the enchanted forest. He was, not knowingly, smiling and having fun.

In that instant, Sokam was someone who lived in time, living in the moment. He would cherish this moment, and realized that one day, he might look back on this experience even more fondly, when happy days were to be more scarce

Amidst the symphony of croaks, a frog's voice carried a tale of a ronin—a warrior severed from the embrace of a master's guidance. “Life”, it whispered, “demanded clearly etched goals.” As each passing moment became a precious resource, this truth rang heavier..

Without discipline, goals left behind,

Regret emerges, an unwelcome guest,

As realization dawns, air feels distressed.

In the fading light, time whispers its truth,

Each moment, precious, as it slips through.

Like melting ice cream in a glistening stream,

Regret lingers, as dreams remain unseen.

The song was full of mystery, with an underlying sense of dread. Sokam remembered a small local library that had a book. It was called “The Enigma of Amigara Fault” with pictures of human shaped holes on the flat mountain walls. It was as if a baker had used a human shaped cookie cutter to cut into the walls of the mountain.

A shiver ran down Sokam's spine as he recalled the book's contents. Those who dared venture into the eerie apertures emerged unrecognizable and stripped of their humanity. The chilling thought gripped his mind:

What if he were also to succumb to the same fate? The image of his own form twisted and contorted, barely recognizable, emerging from a narrow crevice on the other side filled him with a sense of unease.

The truth is, Sokam couldn’t be like children his age. For even his 10 year old self knew that he could only do what he was told. He didn’t have it in him to accomplish things on his own. He could participate in the tournaments, emulate advanced spells, and other virtuous goals. But he could never be courageous and strong like a warrior, intelligent and wise like a Wizarm, or successful and honored like an elite noble.

Sometimes, Sokam longed to return to the past—whether it be a year, two years, or even five years ago. The future, on the other hand, seemed distant, spanning decades. However, deep down, he understood that his future self would yearn to revisit the past, whether it be a couple of years, five years, a decade, or even several decades prior.

For Sokam knew something was wrong with himself. The harshness of reality gradually whittled him down as each injury, guilt, and ounce of sadness eroded his soul. He already felt the fragmenting. A noticeable piece of him was missing, carved away to fit into the hole of society.

And there were self-doubts. He was too malleable and naive, being unable to say no to strangers. Too willing to submerge himself in someone else’s will like a sponge that soaked in everything.

“One day I’ll be as strong as you and make you happy,” Sokam hugged the man. It was easier that way to focus his thoughts and project his words directly at the man. “The bakers said that the way their son was built he could never make any swordmaster happy.”

He buried his face in the man’s sculpted chest that smelled of earthy woods, sweat, and adventure. He glanced down at his hands. Suddenly they seemed strange to him, lying there: heavy, useless and stupid.

Edgemon pondered carefully, thoughtfully choosing his words.

Not many people used telepathy. Few people used sign language and even fewer people used telepathy. The process was exhausting like trying to solve differential equations before all his inner fuel was depleted. For the majority, it was simply faster to talk and speak. But Sokam didn’t want to sound like an inarticulate child.

The swordmaster spoke calmly, “So Hughie, the bakers' son, wants to be an apprentice to a swordmaster? The young man carries a fair amount of body fat but he does have a strong body. Why do you ask?”

“The baker said it was a matter of measurements. I have never felt the same since his parents said that even though it wasn’t directed at me. Is there something wrong with me?”

“You’re perfectly fine,” the swordmaster Edgeman said. He put his arm around Sokam and whispered into his ears. “You are O.K. There’s nothing wrong with you, Champ” The swordmaster smiled at the boy’s frustration. In many ways, it reminded him of himself at that age.

A delicate shimmer caught Sokam’s eye, a small glint of refracted sunlight angling out from beneath the rolling beads of sweat drying on the man’s bulky heaving breast. Sokam could see the words elegantly tattooed on the smooth shaven pec, “i carry your heart with me(i carry it in.” The ink had faded over time, but Sokam knew instinctively the next two words of the poem, as his feet caressed over the manly chest: “I carry it in my heart.”

For at the moment, both of them were beings who lived in time. And that means the boy and his role model, and every living person and beasts out there who is, or was, or ever will be.