Miradjinn

I have… always been different. Everyone's destiny is predefined, but it is when we reach the age of awareness that we gain the ability to choose it. My story might seem ordinary to some and extraordinary to others, but one thing is certain: nothing that has happened to me could have occurred if my existence had not taken shape at my birth. To understand what led me to become who I am, we must return to the origins, where it all began.

Year 717

The village was nestled in the heart of an arid valley, surrounded by imposing mountains and rolling dunes. The houses, built from stone and clay, blended harmoniously into the desert landscape. Small winding paths meandered between the buildings, creating a labyrinth of alleys shaded by date palms.

The day's heat was soothed by the coolness of the night, and it was in this tranquility that my life began. Inside one of the houses, the atmosphere was thick with mystery. The walls, adorned with colorful tapestries and geometric patterns, told ancient stories. Lanterns hung from the ceiling, casting a soft light that created shadowy plays in every corner.

At the center of the room, an hourglass rested on a carved wooden table, its grains of sand flowing slowly, marking the passage of time with an almost hypnotic precision. The hourglass was discreet yet omnipresent, like a silent witness to my imminent birth.

My family members, gathered around my mother, whispered prayers and words of encouragement. Their faces, illuminated by the flickering lantern light, were filled with serenity and determination. My mother, reclining on soft cushions, breathed deeply, her eyes closed, focused on the crucial moment.

The silence was only interrupted by the murmur of the wind filtering through the open windows, bringing with it the scent of the desert and the distant song of the dunes. It was in this ambiance, rich with tradition and ancient beliefs, that I entered this world, named Zayn.

As I grew, a particular trait set me apart from other children, especially boys of all ages. According to the village mothers and girls, I was "the most beautiful boy in the world."

My parents were very proud of me, not for my appearance, but for my curiosity. As soon as I learned to speak, I always asked my father questions about the landscape around us, and he shared his knowledge with me.

But I was also a child, with all the naivety and carefreeness of that age. I played, laughed, and cried. Sometimes I was stubborn, sometimes capricious, often overly confident, but always sincere and authentic.

In the evenings, to put me to sleep, my mother always read my favorite story, "The Legend of the Soulmaster." It was a fascinating tale, filled with magic and courage. It told the epic of a man whose destiny seemed mundane and ordinary. Born to farmer parents, his future was supposed to be limited to raising livestock and working the fields in the shadow of mountains and valleys.

Yet, against all odds, this man became humanity's savior. The legend said that when the world was on the brink of annihilation, threatened by dark forces intent on ravaging the global population, he stood up to fight these shadows. With an unsuspected inner strength and indomitable courage, he managed to repel the destruction and save humanity from certain extinction.

His birth, once insignificant, became the starting point of our calendar. Each year we count reminds us of the moment when a simple farmer became a legendary hero, a Soulmaster, forever engraving his name in the history of our world.

When I was three years old, my sweet mother announced some big news: I was going to be a big brother! Even though I didn't really understand what it meant, the idea of finally having someone to play with filled me with joy.

Days, weeks, and months passed, and my mother's belly grew larger and larger. I often stayed by her side, making sure everything was alright. Then came the long-awaited day: the birth of my little sister!

When I saw her for the first time, I was amazed at how small and fragile she was. It was when she grasped my index finger with her tiny hands that I truly understood what it meant to be a big brother.

At five years old, I had a well-structured routine during my free time. My parents, financially well-off thanks to my mother, the daughter of the continent's greatest merchant, and my father, who had become the president of the family business, ensured that I received an education even before starting school.

Every morning, I had breakfast with my parents before welcoming my private tutors. Initially, my tutors were both men and women, but my appearance so charmed the women that they spent more time coddling me than teaching me. It was during these lessons that I discovered my passion for poetry.

In the afternoons, I dedicated my time to exploration. I loved walking in nature, observing animals and plants. However, I spent most of my time alone, as the other village children avoided me.

In the evenings, after dinner, I often spent time with my little sister. I loved playing with her, telling her stories, and watching her grow. These moments were precious to me, but they were also tinged with sadness. I often wondered why I couldn't be like the other children, why I couldn't have friends to share my adventures with.

I remember nights spent gazing at the stars, wondering how to find a friend. Sometimes, I felt like a solitary star in the sky, shining with its own light, but separated from the others by an insurmountable distance.

Years passed, and at seven years old, my beauty became a source of jealousy. I attracted so much attention that I overshadowed my classmates. At that age, it is difficult for children to control their emotions. The line between right and wrong is often crossed, and not always for the better...