Days passed without any incident, and the echoes only troubled him every now and then.
Hence, August had a lot of free time to ignore that painful aspect of his life completely.
So, he decided to get himself a hobby.
One night his mother chose to read him a history book instead of a fantasy book, which proved to be the biggest headache of her life.
Ever since that day, August's interest in fantasy shifted into history.
He wanted to read all of the epic tales from past times.
Just like now, when he was trying to grab a book from the top of the shelf in his parents' room.
He stretched out his hand but even after several attempts of jumping he wasn't able to reach the top of the bookshelf.
However, during his unfruitful attempts he somehow managed to make the towering bookshelf lose its balance and it began to fall toward him.
Terrified, he covered his eyes with both of his hands and stood there like a five year old child.
Well, he was five years old alright.
The heavy wooden shelf fell down, moments away from hitting him. Someone pulled him away suddenly.
The loud crash he expected never came—the shelf stopped midway and slowly returned to its place.
August slowly opened his eyes. Only to see his mother standing next to him.
"What are you doing?" She asked. Her voice, full of worry, "you are not hurt are you?"
He never replied, only shook his head and looked at the bookshelf which was already returned back to its place.
No book, no ornament, nothing on the shelf had moved. Everything was just as before.
August was surprised. Was he imagining things?
For a moment he thought he felt a cold gust of wind and also he saw faint smoke …mist maybe?
Unbeknownst to him there was a hidden companion who always saved him from every possible harm.
Dazed in his thoughts his gaze returned to the history book placed on the top again.
Then he pointed a finger towards it, gesturing to his mother,
"Ah.. so you wanted the book. Why didn't you just ask me to grab it for you?"
She sighed playfully and turned to him,
"..and what would you even do with that? You don't even know how to read properly yet."
At her words August looked at his mother with a deep frown,
"I know how to read momma." He puffed out his chest.
"Oh do you now?" His mother raised a brow. She grabbed the book, handed it over to him and gave him a teasing smile,
"Come on then, read it to me."
Faced with the sudden unexpected challenge, August scratched the back of his head—
"Okay," he said, putting down the heavy book weighing on his tiny arms. Then he opened it and went through some pages until he finally stopped.
The page he was on had a picture of two armies facing each other. He turned to his mother with a serious expression,
"Listen well, I will read it to you now."
His mother only nodded, her eyes growing narrower as she tried to listen carefully—curious to see his next move.
August placed a finger on the picture and said confidently,
"They are fighting."
His mother let out a chuckle.
— —
Even if August didn't know how to read now, his mother respected his interest in history. So she started to read him the book like an ancient tale,
"Many years ago, in the fallen era there lived a king."
"Momma, what is a king?" he asked.
His mother gave him a playful smile,
"Wouldn't you like to know." She said, raising her brows, "A king is someone who helps people and protects them."
"He protects people?" August asked, with shining eyes, "like with a big sword?"
His mother contemplated for a moment —even if it was a dangerous world she couldn't possibly expose the cruelty of it to her five year old child.
"Yes he protects people, not with a sword but by doing good things." She replied.
August knitted his brows together in a frown,
"But what about bad people, does a king not fight them with his sword?"
His mother looked him with a pleasant smile,
"That's right, there are bad people out there but a king does not recklessly hurt anyone. He takes responsibility and helps everyone."
She made sure to gain his attention,
"Hear me baby, no soul in this world deserves to get hurt. Do you understand?"
August heard her carefully and nodded. At the next moment it seemed he remembered something as he asked,
"Momma dad has a sword, does that mean he's also a king?"
His mother gave a warm chuckle,
"That's right. He's a king."
"Wait," he jumped on his seat. "Does that mean I am the son of a king?"
"That's right you are," replied his mother. "...and what do you call the son of a king?"
"Oh! Oh!" He raised his hand with a confident spark in his eyes, "a priest?"
"No," she gasped playfully.
"He's called a prince."
— — — — —