The layers of fur did little to keep out the cold. The hero could feel it in his bones, and though he’d trekked over many a mountain, none had been as ferocious as this one.
But despite its harshness, the weather was only half the battle. The hero had also evaded three territorial snow giants, defeated a pack of starving direwolves, and survived a night in the prison-home of five man-eating hag witches. The journey was grueling, but he pushed on. Such was the life of a hero, after all.
Finally, the hero’s journey had come to an end—he had made it to the Temple. In the vast, dimly lit chamber that lay before him, the hero noticed the silhouette of a robed figure. “What brings you to the Temple, traveler?” a deep, ancient voice echoed through the empty room.
“Greetings, sage,” replied the hero, unwrapping the shawl that covered his face. “I come seeking the cure.”
The sage’s hooded robe shifted, as if nodding. “As do all men. Who are you, that deserves the cure more than your fellow man?”
“I am a hero, wise sage. I have slain many a dragon, saved many a maiden fair. I have guarded peoples, brokered peace between nations. I have sacrificed mind and limb time and time again to stave off the forces of darkness.” The hero undid his sword belt, laying the sheathed weapon at his feet. “And yet there is a beast I could not fell, a curse I could not break. It is the monster that dwells in mine own heart, feeding upon me like a gluttonous wraith, sapping me of my will and cheer.”
“The beast that is sorrow dwells in many a heart. Have you, even with your heroics, not vanquished it?”
“I have not.”
“But you fight on still.” The sage let out a weary sigh. “Why is it that you are a hero, sorrowful child?”
“Because it is my calling,” he answered without pause, squaring his shoulders. “Aiding others—that is my purpose.”
“You are a hero because it feeds your soul?”
The hero nodded. “Aye, sage. It is so.”
“Then are you a hero at all? Or merely a man seeking his own solace?”
The hero took a step forward, gazing at the sage. “Why must it matter what purpose I seek, so long as the actions I take bring about great benefit?”
The sage said nothing, but slowly spun in place, his robes dancing over the aged stone floor. “Follow me, then, and I shall give you what you desire.”
The hero followed the sage through the winding halls of the Temple and down a long flight of stairs, the echo of their footsteps breaking the eerie silence. After a few uneasy minutes, they came upon a brightly lit room. Cold rays filtered in from a skylight in the chamber’s high ceiling, illuminating a circular stone structure in the center of the room. The hero found himself looking upon a shallow pool of deep blue, its contents seemingly unaffected by the sunlight coming in from above. The sage floated to the side, gesturing with a robed sleeve to the dark waters.
“From the pool you shall drink, and you will attain what you seek. The beast within your heart will sleep, slumbering for year upon year. Ten times that shall be, and then the beast will roam free. When that time comes, seek the Temple again, for it shall be your duty to pay back the waters in kind.”
“I understand.” The hero stepped forward, kneeling before the pool. He cupped the water in his palms and drank.
Relaxing his shoulders, the hero felt a burden lifted. His heart unclenched, the knot in his stomach unraveling. He smiled and thanked the sage, then left the Temple a changed man.
Finally rid of his sickness, the man slowly settled into a new life. He fulfilled his ongoing oaths, concluded his unfinished quests, and passed on his heroic responsibilities to other aspiring adventurers. He hung up his blade and retired to a simple life of farming. One year later, he met a maiden, and they fell madly in love. By the end of the next year, they were married and living blissfully in a small house with a child of their own—a son that the man loved and cherished with all his being.
Dragons still razed the lands and needed slaying. Fair maidens were still captured and needed saving. But the man was no longer a hero—he was just a man, and a father too. His sword remained hung above his mantelpiece, and soon he forgot all about beasts and burdens. Instead, he spent his time raising his child and fulfilling his duties to hearth and home.
Over the years, his son grew into an aspiring young man. And the man had grown too—grown old. Before he knew it, the prophesized twentieth year had come to a close. Suddenly, the man began to feel the beast again. It clawed its way out of its prison, settling once more within his heart. The unease of the past reverberated through his body, spreading through his bones like the cold of that mountain twenty years ago.
The man knew it was time. Putting on his furs and shawl and packing his bag with necessities for the road, he bid his family goodbye.
“Where do you leave now, husband dear, after twenty years with us not a moment apart?” asked his wife as she watched him step through the door.
“I leave not, my dear. I merely journey forth to come back again. I will not be long.”
And so the man found his way to the cold mountain once again, scaling its harrying heights. But this time, he steered clear of the giants, hid from the wolves, and knew better than to seek shelter with the hags. For this time, his sword lay still above the mantelpiece and not on a belt around his waist. He found his way to the temple, and soon enough stood in its main chamber.
“You have come to fulfill your duty,” said the sage.
The man shifted uncomfortably. “Perhaps.”
“Then don my robes and take my place, and await the next man to come through these doors.”
The man was taken aback. “What ever could you mean?!”
“It is the oath you made, your duty to pay the waters in kind.”
“Surely there must be another way!”
The sage’s hooded robes shook with his head. “There is not. To tame the beast within your heart, I had to invite it into mine, and I have carried it for these twenty years. That is my duty, fulfilled. Now, it is time for you to carry it for another.”
“This is madness!” shouted the man. “I have saved the world a hundred times, paid my dues a thousandfold in retrospect! Let me away so that I may continue to care for my hearth and home.”
“It is folly,” sighed the sage. “The beast cares not for your deeds. It merely covets a host, and only now that it has returned to your heart can you siphon it from the heart of another. For sorrow has no cure, it has no calling. It is merely passed from one to the following.”
“Then I shall not let it be me.”
“But it is your duty.”
“Then I shall forsake it.” The man turned around and left the temple, deafening his thoughts to the wind outside. So let it be, he thought. I shall handle mine own beast in mine own home. Better than hold it and that of another in isolation in a cold recess of the world!
Arriving at his humble home, he embraced his wife and held her tight.
“Back so soon!” she exclaimed, dusting snow from his hair.
“And never to leave again.” The man’s fierce expression softened into a gentle smile. “Now fetch me my fishing rod, and call for the boy. Mayhap we can still catch a couple of fish for a feast before the sun has set.”
“Oh, husband dear, here is the rod, but the boy is gone! A man now, he is, or so he insists. You should have seen him with your sword at his side! He said he was weary with the troubles of the world, and thus chose to cast them upon his own shoulders… He believes he’s found his purpose, his calling! Our son has grown to become a true hero.”
