Marc knew very well that he was breaking a lot of rules by staying with Merlon and reading through the large book, but once he started reading, he couldn't seem to stop. He read through the pages significantly faster than Merlon, so he had to wait thirty seconds or so for Merlon to catch up and turn the page each time. According to Merlon, the book was called the Light Prognosticus. Marc immediately recognized the name, knowing that the Tribe of Darkness had its counterpart, the Dark Prognosticus.

Marc knew very well that the Dark Prognosticus was technically made first, and the Light Prognosticus he was currently reading from was written later to try to counter it. Where he was from, no one was allowed to even touch the Dark Prognosticus for reasons that he still wasn't quite sure of, so it was somewhat surprising that he and Merlon were reading this book so casually.

The pages were filled with stories and legends. Some small, others much bigger. There wasn't just one prophecy, but hundreds. Each foretold different heroes of light rising to defeat evil. Some were normal people, others were beyond powerful. While some of the legends almost seemed ridiculous, (what on earth is a void, and why is it trying to eat everything?) they were all still charming in their own ways.

At the end of the day, they were nothing more than stories. Stories that someone had written long ago.

Everything in the Light Prognosticus seemed so pure. The stories were all heroic and inspiring. Everything seemed so different from the world he had grown up in. In most stories, the Tribe of Darkness weren't even painted as the villains like Marc expected them to be. The Tribe of Darkness ALWAYS spoke ill of the Tribe of Ancients and painted them as the bad guys in their stories. Never in a story that Marc had written, of course. Not that he had ever actually finished a book, but whenever he did try to write, he would avoid topics like the war. He didn't like painting entire groups of people as villains. It didn't seem morally correct.

"Have you read this before?" Marc found himself asking Merlon while waiting for Merlon to catch up so he could turn the page. He looked up at the blonde, his silver eyes brimming with curiosity.

Merlon shook his head no, still keeping his eyes down on the book. "This is my first time actually reading through it," he admitted. "However, I have heard most of the tales through my companions. They talk and discuss the legends quite frequently. Honestly, it almost gets annoying sometimes."

"Annoying?" Marc questioned.

"Yeah," Merlon chuckled, closing the book, which made Marc slightly sad. They weren't anywhere close to completely finishing it. They had only read through thirteen different legends. "Annoying. I mean, I love the stories, but its something about their tone when they talk to me. Most of them are significantly older than me, so they talk to me with this strange, almost degrading tone, as if I'm still a child."

"Perhaps that's because you're short," Marc stated, before slapping both of his hands over his mouth, wishing he could take back his words.

He internally kicked himself for saying something so rude. Why couldn't he control his words?! Why couldn't he just be normal? "I'm sorry!" He quickly exclaimed. "I'm so sorry, that was incredibly rude, and I didn't mean that. I can't control what I'm saying. I'm sorry!"

Merlon wasn't insulted or angry, however. Instead, he burst into laughter much louder and more genuine than before. He hugged his stomach and closed his eyes, his face scrunched up and his smile bright.

"Is brutal honestly a common quality of people from your tribe?" Merlon asked, his words being partially interrupted by his own laughter.

"No," Marc muttered quietly, feeling awkward and nervous. "Just me, I suppose..."

Merlon continued laughing, then slowly started to calm down. He glanced at Marc's nervous expression, then offered a comforting smile. "Relax, I'm not mad. You look terrified."

I'm always terrified, Marc wanted to tell him.

"Oh... sorry. Most people don't take too kindly when I say such things," Marc admitted instead, slightly perplexed by Merlon's reaction. Marc saw nothing funny about calling Merlon short. Was it a laughing matter in the Tribe of Ancients? Where Marc lived, things were viewed much differently. "Most people consider pointing out someone's height rather rude."

"Well, would you be upset if someone called you tall?" Merlon asked.

"People do call me tall," Marc stated almost blankly. "And I do get rather upset..."

"Wait, really?" Merlon asked, his smile slowly fading away. His dimples vanished along with his smile, which made Marc frown slightly.

He wondered how many people in his tribe had dimples without him knowing, all because they never offered him a smile.

Marc nodded, which made Merlon ask him a simple, "Why?"

"Because they're pointing out my differences," Marc explained. "When people call me tall, they're telling me that I'll never fit in with them. They're telling me I stand out too much to blend in."

"Isn't that a good thing?" Merlon asked.

Marc quickly shook his head no. For his entire life, all he ever wanted was to blend in with the crowd and not be noticed.

"Huh..." Merlon muttered, bringing his hands together and furrowing his eyebrows, making a rather thoughtful expression. "Well, remember the second legend from the Light Prognosticus we read. The legend with the-"

"The legend with the man who carried a basket of sunlight into the woods and kept it safe from the darkness. Then, once the moon had defeated the sun, he released the sunlight, allowing it to take its place in the sky and bring light back to the worlds," Marc interrupted. "It was a wildly unrealistic legend, but I enjoyed the story."

Merlon raised his eyebrows, nodding. He was honestly impressed with everything that Marc was able to remember. There were so many stories in the Light Prognosticus that sometimes even Merlon had a hard time remembering them all, and he had heard them countless times.

"Yes. Well, the protagonist of that tale was quite tall too," Merlon stated. "I'm sure he was made fun of as well, but that didn't stop him now did it?"

Mark stilled, then looked at his glowing lantern, which was still situated on the table. His lantern permanently glowed the same color as the moon. One of the only things his powers were good for was making sure that his lantern continued to shine in the darkness.

"I suppose it didn't..." he trailed off, looking past the lantern and towards the window, where the golden sun was just starting to rise.

Funny, he had hardly ever watched the sunrise-

Wait.

Marc's face quickly paled. He suddenly stood up, grasped his lantern, then ran for the door.

"Oh no, I'm going to be late for my curfew," he frantically breathed.

Merlon frowned, confused. "I'm sorry, your what-"

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Merlon. Quite a pleasure," Marc quickly breathed, suddenly turning and shaking Merlon's warm yet soft hands. "However, I really must be going. The tribe has a rule that if we are not indoors by the time the sun rises, we will be in serious trouble and may be subject to punishment. If I'm caught outside during sleeping hours, I could be in serious trouble, so I really must be leaving."

"Oh," Merlon breathed, his eyes softening slightly. His voice grew slightly quieter, to the point that the volume change was hardly even noticeable. "Alright. Safe travels then..."

"Thank you, Merlon. I shall never forget the stories you have shared with me tonight" Marc stated, letting go, then quickly running out the door, and back through the woods. He was so frantic to leave, that he completely forgot to close the door behind him.

Merlon, seeing that Marc had left his door wide open, slowly walked over to shut his door, when he found himself stopping in the doorway, looking towards the woods and watching as Marc ran.

His steps were slightly uneven, Merlon noticed.

With a small smile, Merlon looked down, then closed his door.

Marc never was the most athletic person. Running was quite difficult for him. He had very little endurance. Even so, he could be fast when he needed to be. Especially since he was tall. He could take long strides, which helped him pick up his speed.

He could see the sun continue to rise through the trees, urging him to run faster and faster until he finally made it to his tribe's village. Once he made it into town, he made sure to go around the edge instead of walking straight through the village, that way he would be less likely to be spotted. He somehow managed to sneak his way in through the back entrance of his house without anyone noticing.

Once he was safe indoors, he rested his back against the wall and tilted his head back, letting out a sigh of relief. He couldn't remember the last time he had a night filled with such so much excitement and terror all at once.

He spent a few moments recatching his breath and slowing his heart rate, before finally walking to his bedroom, where he expected to see Danielle peacefully sleeping like an angel.

However, when he gently creaked the door open, he was greeted with an empty bed.

There was a note situated on the nightstand. He walked over and picked it up.

Marc,
I've decided to spend the night at a friend's house again. I'll see you tomorrow.
Much love,
Danielle

A soft wave of disappointment briefly washed over him, but he didn't let the feeling stay. He knew very well that there were some days when Danielle would opt to stay over at a friend's house. Marc didn't mind too much. Who was he to tell her where she could spend her time?

Still, after the night he had, he wished she was there with him so he could hug her and feel a sense of comfort in her arms.

For the time being, his blankets would have to do.

However, before he could get to bed, he found himself walking toward his writing desk. He pulled out his new notebook, which he hardly ever wrote in anymore. He had been trying to be careful with what he wrote so he could start a new story, but he never knew where to begin. In previous books, he would simply start with entries that resembled journal entries, then he'd try to find a way to build a story based on that. However, since his life had been so bland, he could never find the proper inspiration.

He pulled out his inkwell and quill, opening the book to the thirteenth page.

Ferbruary 23rd,
Last night, I met a mysterious man. His eyes were wide and expressive. They were golden, like rays of sweet sunlight. Something I see so little of here in the dark. At first, I was afraid, but the way his smile shone through his golden eyes led me to know that I had no reason to fear him. He had dimples, which disappeared whenever his smile vanished. This made me wonder... how many people in my life have dimples that I just don't see? I'll remember to keep count.
I still haven't the slightest idea what I want to write, but this man shared many amazing stories with me. He called them legends, which means that though they may not be real, they were in some ways born of truth. I suspect that most are metaphors. Still, it was shocking to me to hear about so many stories that have already been written. How do I expect to write anything when the world is already filled with so many tales? Is there even room for another story?
Perhaps, perhaps not.
The man was quite a strange fellow if I must say so myself. He treated me with the same kindness I used to see from Danielle. He looked at me with his golden eyes, leaning forward slightly. He didn't seem repulsed by my habits or my personality.
However, the strangest thing about him was how quick he was to forgive. I, unable to control my words, unintentionally made a rude remark, yet he forgave me without a second thought. I cannot get my mind off of the question, why? Why would he forgive so quickly? Was it perhaps to make me feel better, or did he simply not care?
Quite a strange man indeed.
Although I am forbidden from speaking with him, I do sincerely hope I may see him again. Perhaps in another life, that may be possible. A life with no war.

Marc set his quill down, then left his book open, allowing the ink to dry. There was a blank spot on the cover of the journal, waiting for a title to be written on it.

He couldn't fill that spot just yet, so he left it alone, hoping that soon something would guide and inspire him. He didn't want to waste any more years, sitting around and waiting for an idea to come to his mind. He knew from that moment that he would have to keep forcing himself out of his house and into town. Maybe not into the woods, since he knew he couldn't risk wandering into that other village and breaking his tribe's rules again, but even something as simple as walking outside could give him what he needed.

All he had to do was make a simple change in his life, and results would present themselves to him. He was certain.