The pauper was a forgotten man, left to fend for himself in the gritty streets of the city. He had no family, no friends, and no prospects. But he had one thing that no one could take away from him: his spirit.

He wandered the streets aimlessly, searching for a purpose, a reason to keep going. One day, as he was scrounging for food in the garbage, he heard a voice. It was a voice unlike any he had ever heard before. It spoke to him in a language he didn't understand, but it was a language that stirred something deep within him.

The pauper followed the voice, drawn by an inexplicable force. He walked for miles, through dark alleys and abandoned buildings, until he reached a clearing. There, in the center of the clearing, was a sword. It was a magnificent sword, with a golden hilt and a blade that shimmered in the moonlight.
The owls hooted, and the wind blew gently carousing his hair

Without hesitation, the pauper reached for the sword. As soon as his fingers touched the hilt, he felt a surge of power coursing through his veins. He lifted the sword high above his head and screamed at the top of his lungs.
Then he woke up.
But a message has been sent.
That scream was heard throughout the land. It was a scream that shook the very foundations of the earth. It was a scream that called forth the chosen ones from their secret vaults and unknowingly to him, he was one of them.

The chosen ones came from all corners of the world. They came from kingdoms and empires, from castles and palaces, from villages and towns. They came to the pauper, drawn by the power of his scream.

The pauper stood there, surrounded by the chosen ones, holding the sword high above his head. He felt invincible, unstoppable, a king among men.

And then he woke up.

It was all a dream, a figment of his imagination. But it was a dream that stayed with him, a dream that gave him hope. And so the pauper set out to make his dream a reality. He worked hard, he persevered, he never gave up.

And one day, he found himself standing in the same clearing, holding the same sword. This time, it was real. And this time, he was ready.

He lifted the sword high above his head and screamed at the top of his lungs. And the chosen ones came. They came to the pauper, who was no longer a pauper, but a king.

And he ruled over his kingdom with wisdom and justice, always remembering the dream that had brought him there.
© elgnosis