Semga, lost in his thoughts, remained seated on a wooden bench in the heart of an autumn forest painted in incredible shades of gold and crimson. Around him, falling leaves rustled softly, creating a peaceful atmosphere. After some time, his solitude was interrupted: a young dark-skinned boy sat down on the bench, keeping a bit of distance. The boy, with wide eyes, scrutinized Semga intently and with clear curiosity, as if trying to recognize or decipher something within him.
Semga, feeling this persistent gaze, turned his head slightly and, frowning a little, addressed the boy with a direct question:
"What do you want? Why are you looking at me so closely?"
The boy, however, did not utter a word in response. He remained silent, his gaze fixed on Semga, carrying something more than mere curiosity. It seemed as if he recognized Semga as someone very important or familiar—someone he might have heard of or seen before. He simply looked at him in amazement and unconcealed admiration, without blinking.
Receiving no answer, Semga decided to repeat his question, this time with a bit more persistence, but without irritation:
"Hey, kid, what is it? Why are you silent?"
After asking again, Semga waited patiently for the boy's response, who was still in a state of deep contemplation. Only a few seconds passed—though they felt much longer to Semga—before the boy finally made a decisive move. He reached out his small hand and cautiously took Semga's hand, as if trying to establish a closer connection.
Then, the boy finally broke the silence, his voice sounding with a sincere plea:
"Sir, please, tell me your story! I'm very interested to know who you are and what happened to you."
At that moment, Semga understood everything. He realized the boy had likely heard stories or legends about him and now wanted to hear them firsthand. Semga slowly averted his gaze from the boy, who was still holding his hand, and looked out at the surrounding autumn nature. He gazed at the majestic trees, their crowns vibrant with color, the falling leaves, and the play of light and shadow. Deep thoughtfulness reflected in his eyes.
After a short pause, during which he seemed to gather his thoughts, Semga finally spoke, his voice quiet but full of meaning:
"Listen... I will tell you."
The World of Sangaria
Year 736 from the Founding
Semga, immersed in deep reflection, sat at his old, well-worn table that occupied the center of his humble dwelling. His house, built of sturdy wood, consisted of only a few functional rooms: a small but cozy bedroom where he spent his nights, a kitchen for preparing food, a washroom for hygiene, and a hall that served as both a living room and a study. At that moment, his thoughts wandered through various topics, jumping from one to another with the ease of a free mind. For instance, when a butterfly flew past the window, its flight instantly triggered a chain of questions and reflections. He wondered about the speed of its flight, trying to imagine how fast it covered the distance. Then, his thoughts shifted to deeper questions: why was it flying at all, what was the purpose of its movement, and why in that specific direction? These reflections were permeated with the same naive yet profound wisdom of a child who sees universal truths in simple things. He might have thought: "This butterfly, so fragile and fleeting, carries the secret of motion. It doesn't know where it's going, but its flight is a dance of life. Perhaps it seeks a flower to gift its pollen, or simply enjoys the freedom of the wind. Or maybe it flies to show me that even the smallest creature has its purpose in this vast world. And if it flies, then I too must move forward, seeking my path, even if it seems as uncertain as the flight of this butterfly."
After a long period of deep and sometimes philosophical reflection, Semga, as if waking from a trance, picked up a small, slightly tarnished mirror. He looked intently at his reflection, studying every feature of his face. The mirror reflected a strong, muscular face that spoke of strength and endurance. His dark, slightly messy hair, falling down to his eyes, gave him the look of a man who didn't care much for outward polish but possessed a certain charm. Particular attention was drawn to a prominent scar on his lip, which seemed to tell its own story of past trials and battles. In this reflection, he saw a paradoxical combination: he was handsome in a rugged, natural way, yet there was a certain coarseness in his appearance that made him simultaneously "ugly" in a traditional sense. It was the face of a man who had seen and survived much.
"Soon I'll be 31..." he said aloud, breaking the long, oppressive silence of his home. His voice sounded low and slightly raspy, as if he hadn't used it in a long time. These words were spoken not so much for anyone else, but for himself—a statement of fact, a landmark on his life's journey that made him ponder the past and the future.
Suddenly, there was an insistent knock at the door, shattering the silence of the cozy home. Semga, previously lost in thought, quickly drained his mug of water, set it on the table, and with a light sigh, rose to open it. On the threshold stood a short but stockily built dwarf, whose thick beard blazed with a fiery red color, contrasting sharply with his completely bald head. His gaze, sharp and piercing, lingered on Semga before the dwarf spoke in a low, guttural voice:
"Semga Vengeta. You are summoned to the Royal Palace."
Semga, despite his internal amazement, maintained his outward composure; his face remained stoic.
"On what grounds?" he asked calmly, though deep down he already sensed something unusual.
"You were chosen by the Orb," came the laconic reply, which only deepened Semga's confusion.
Only a few hours passed, but to Semga they felt like an eternity filled with anxious thoughts. Finally, he entered the magnificent royal hall, his footsteps echoing on the marble floor. He was escorted by four tall and mighty guards whose armor glistened in the torchlight. At the foot of the throne, where the King himself sat, stood two more guards clad in unusual, expertly forged bronze decorated with intricate patterns. The old King, his face etched with wrinkles testifying to long years of rule, held the All-Knowing Orb—an artifact shrouded in legend and mystery.
"Orb, Orb, tell me..." the King began, his voice full of hope and impatience, "Is he the one? The one foretold by the ancient prophecies?"
The Orb seemed to fall into deep thought, its surface shimmering and swirling, reflecting the torchlight. A long silence hung in the hall; tension mounted with every passing second. Finally, from the depths of the artifact, a voice emerged—ancient and wise—echoing through the chamber:
"Yes, Arntronit II, he is the one who will save your world. He is chosen by fate to oppose the encroaching darkness."
Semga, obeying a silent command, stepped closer and, despite his pride and independent nature, knelt before the King. It was a gesture of respect that came with difficulty, but he understood its necessity. The King, with pride and triumph in his voice, declared:
"Semga Vengeta... You were one of the best warriors in our army; your valor and courage are known to all. And now, you have been chosen by me and the Orb for a great mission. Put on your armor, take your sword—your faithful companion in countless battles—and head to the portal in Venzall. The fate of our world is now in your hands."
At that moment, Semga realized the full weight and significance of the task laid upon him. He was being sent to kill the Golden Dragon, a powerful and ancient being that ruled the neighboring world undisputed. Just five years ago, thanks to the incredible magical abilities of the Sangarians, a portal to another world had been opened, named Venzall. This world was inhabited by creatures similar to humans but with beast-like features—beastfolk. Initial attempts to establish friendly relations proved futile; all efforts were in vain, and soon a bloody war broke out. Venzall was ruled by the Great Dragon Family, headed by the Golden Dragon, whose power and wisdom were legendary.
Semga set out on his journey, heading toward the mountain where the portal was located. The path lay through a thick, mysterious forest where every rustle and whisper of leaves seemed filled with hidden meaning. Suddenly, among the branches of old trees, he noticed two talking owls. Semga, accustomed to unusual phenomena, still couldn't hide his surprise.
"Hee-hee, look who's there!" whispered the first owl, its eyes gleaming in the forest's gloom.
"Hehe, he doesn't know yet!" chimed in the second, its voice full of malice.
Semga, possessing the sharp instincts and long experience of a warrior, instantly realized these were not just harmless forest dwellers, but enemies—perhaps spies or harbingers of doom. Without hesitating for a second, he made a swift dash forward and upward, straight toward the thick branch where the owls sat. With a powerful strike of his sword, he cut down the branch along with the two birds, instantly cutting off their sinister giggling. It was a quick and ruthless act, demonstrating his resolve and readiness for any trial.
Finally, after a long and grueling journey, he reached the portal. Its massive, ancient gates seemed to exude a mysterious energy, both alluring and terrifying. Semga stopped before them, his gaze fixed on the distance, into the unknown. He wondered... Would he find happiness in this world of endless war, where every day was a struggle for survival? Only this morning he had sat at home, immersed in boredom and routine, and by the end of the day, he had been chosen for a mission that could change the fate of two worlds. His heart tightened with the anticipation of coming trials, but at the same time, the fire of determination ignited within him. He was a warrior, and his path was predestined. He had to pass through the portal, face the Golden Dragon, and perhaps find his true purpose in this whirlwind of events. Questions of happiness and peace receded into the background, giving way to duty and honor. He took a deep breath, feeling the cold air saturated with the scent of ancient magic, and stepped toward the portal. His fate awaited him on the other side. He did not know what lay ahead, but he was ready for any battle, any trial. His sword was sharp, his spirit was strong, and he was ready to meet his destiny. He was Semga Vengeta, and he was the Chosen.