(The inception of woven tales unfolds.)
Narration:
Here unfolds but one of the whispered fables that linger in the murmurs of folk... In times of yore, a realm thrived wherein a gilded potency lay concealed. A land of plenty, adorned with emerald woods, towering peaks, and tranquility. Yet, a malevolent soul chanced upon the golden might, usurping it for his own dark dominion. With its puissance under his sway, shadows draped the kingdom in dismal folds. Yet, when all optimism waned, and the harbinger of doom cast its long shadow... there materialized a lad, adorned in verdant attire, seemingly conjured from the ether. Brandishing the blade ordained to quell malevolence, he incarcerated the nefarious force and bestowed illumination upon the land. This lad, a temporal voyager, hailed as the Hero of Time. His saga, relayed through epochs, burgeoned into myth... Nevertheless... a day dawned when an ominous gale began to sweep through the realm. The formidable malevolence, believed vanquished by the hero, once more slithered from the subterranean abyss, eager to resurrect its somber machinations. The populace clung to the belief that the Hero of Time would reappear to safeguard them... Yet, the hero remained elusive. Confronted by the deluge of malevolence, the people were left with nought but entreaties to the deities. In their dwindling moments, as calamity loomed, they entrusted their destiny to the capricious hands of fate. What transpired in that realm? None lingered who held such knowledge. The recollections of that dominion ebbed away, yet its lore endured upon the zephyr's breath. Upon a specific isle, it became tradition to attire youths in the hue of sylvan meadows upon attaining maturity. Clad in the verdant garb, their aspirations took flight in pursuit of valorous blades, intent on dispelling malevolence. The elders harbored a sole desire—to instill courage in the hearts of the youth akin to the legendary hero...
(The dawn of woven tales concludes.)