Hero, saviour, chosen, that’s what I was called now; But what was I really, fraud, fool, a patricide. When we had returned from the battle, me carrying my father’s lifeless body in my arms, and the others dragging the carcass of the damned creature, we were hailed as saviours, and when the other warriors said, that I was the one who had dealt the killing blow, I was showered with undeserved praise; but for what cost… Three days later, my father got the funeral he deserved; that of a true hero and warrior, an honour bestowed to only a few. I was the one who caused his death, I was the one who foolishly ran straight into danger, and yet I was hailed as his equal, as his legacy. People were trying to comfort me, saying that he was a great man, and that he would surely be proud to have such a son, who will certainly overshadow him. They didn’t know what I knew, They didn’t understand, They didn’t listen. Even though I tried to tell them the truth, they only thought I was being humble, and that that was the grief talking. The final blow came at the end of the funeral ceremony; due to all my “accomplishments” and due to my legacy, it would be only fitting for me to become a new leader of my clan’s warriors. A title held by my father before his untimely death. I protested, I didn’t deserve it, but I had no choice in the matter, it had already been decided. And as a reward for slaying the terrible leviathan, and saving our clan from starvation in doing so, I was to be given a powerful item, that would forever remind me of my deeds. A helmet fashioned out of the scales of the leviathan, enchanted during a great shamanistic ritual, that left our shaman and all his apprentices on the brink of complete exhaustion. That item would surely forever remind me of my deeds that day, that was for certain, the image of my father’s frostbitten body protecting my foolish self, would be shown to me every time I would look at the helmet. This was the breaking point, This all was too much. All the attention was focused on me, and everyone was silent. They were probably expecting a speech of some sorts, or anything at all. But I was only standing there, with the helmet in my hands; paralyzed, incapable of speech. I craved solace, I craved to be alone, so I did the only thing that could come to my mind at this moment… I ran away. Ignoring the crowd of people, ignoring everything, I ran out of the village, I ran a mile, two, five; before I was able to gather myself and fall to the ground. I scorned myself for acting childish again. This wasn’t what my father would want me do to, I was now responsible for my clan, I had weight on my shoulders, I was no longer the brooding moody child, like I was during my initiation, I should return to the village and act like a man. As all these things were running through my mind, A storm started roaring above me. Cold winds were rising, and snow started swirling. My already weakened vision, left me nearly blind in these conditions, and I tried to find my way back to the village. I donned on the helmet, and found it to be most useful in this situation. It kept me safe from the snow and made me breath and see clearly. But no matter how useful the item was, I had to admit one thing… I was lost. Lost in the middle of a blizzard, not knowing where I came from, and not knowing where I was going. I was in the hands of gods now, and I wasn’t keen on finding out what else they had in store for me.