I was born to carry my father’s armor and to protect a village across the shining sea. My helmet is burnished and engraved with my ancestor’s names. A foreign place waits for me to protect it.
But you have need of my protection, too. You, my son, have need of light. You needn’t be afraid while I am with you, but someday, when you take up my father’s father’s helmet and strike out with intent across the shining sea, you will yourself stave off the fears of a hundred generations. Find this village of ours, wrap it in your will, and become as I am.
They will need armor; not for beasts and ghouls, but for the indecision and darkness in their souls. They will need to know that (though youth can sting) life is bright and safe. Someone will need to draw them out of their winding canyon to stand in the sunrise on the low dale and to say to them “Cry not, for I am here.”
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