Every set of eyes holds a story like no other.
But what about the Chosen One?
The so-called Savior?
What kind of story does he carry?
And what... is his name?
"Azriel…"
The name is whispered under the breath of a mother who loved too deeply and suffered too silently.
A child born of poverty—
Soil so poor it barely grew crops, yet rich in the joy of simpler things.
Their lives weren't easy.
Money was scarce.
But laughter?
Laughter overflowed.
Yes, a hero's childhood was stitched together with struggle, but also love. And with his own hands—his own blood—he helped build something that felt like home.
"Azriel! Come help with the fields—and play our favorite game after!"
"LET'S GO, DAD!" the boy grinned.
They played hide and seek among the stalks of golden grain, the game woven between moments of work and laughter. It wasn't much—but it was everything.
One afternoon, as the sun dipped low, a man appeared at the edge of the farm.
