Sphan smiles at the formally dressed youngsters, "All of you look wonderful, a reminder of when I was young, forever ago it seems. Now, we're about to miss the play if we don't hurry."
Chuckling, Sphan gestures to the group to follow him. They exit out onto the streets, which were lit by a warmer light than the typical LEDs used throughout most of the year. Festive lamps hung suspended on invisble wire throughout the streets as they walked towards the plaza that the play was being held in. It seemed as though the spices and woodsmoke had intensified over the past few hours, and the number of people on the streets had multiplied, all smiling and chatting with their neighbors, cooking traditional meals and watching their children play in the streets. Several parents waved at the entourage as they passed, greeting Amelia and her group with friendly welcomes in their native tongue. Many of the children also stopped in their games as they were passed by, gazing in innocent wonder at the princess and the generalissimo. It was clear that they had never seen someone of royalty before.
As they entered the plaza, Sphan gestured at the stage set up in the center, whispering, "Look! We arrived just in time! The play's about to start!"
The stage was erected in a fashion unlike most other countries. Instead of a typical stage, with a defined front and back, with sides for actors to enter the play from, the stage was set up on the green in the middle of the plaza in a circular shape, with a central pillar that seemed to allow the actors to enter and exit as their roles called for. Backgrounds and settings were made clear by decorations hanging in varying segments around the pillar and outside circumference of the stage, a forest, a village, a castle. The lights in the main plaza dimmed, and the play began.
The play start out typically, telling a story of a young man born in a small village, always daydreaming over working, imagining life in the larger cities at the time. It became apparent that the boy cared for the natural world, often volunteering to venture out into the wilderness to gather materials, despite the danger that the old and dark growth presented, hiding predators and obscuring the path. It told the story of him strolling through the woods and coming onto a clearing, with rays of light shining down from the canopy. Strange stones lay scattered, carved with emblems of wolves and hawks. The boy heard the cry of an animal from the edge of the clearing opposite him, laying next to one of the stones. Gazing about, he walked over to the source of the cries and found a young hawk, lying on its back, one wing outstretched and the other curled against its body, injured. The boy took the hawk back to his house, caring for it despite the protests of his mother. Over the years, it grew proud and regal, a testament to its species, but it never betrayed the boy, who had grown into a young man by the time, kind and strong, though still prone to his fantasies.
It told the story of how the boy with the hawk had chosen to wander, taking leave of his village, promising to return. He walked into the woods, not once fearing the night and the predators hidden in the brush. And so he wandered, until he came upon one of the grand cities that had wound throughout his imagination for as long as he could remember. He entered the city, gazing around with wonder at the tall buildings and lively people, even as he was gazed at by them, confused as to the stranger with the hawk on his shoulder. But the city would not remain the bright and cheery place it was that day. In the night, as the boy slept, an enemy of the city attacked, rampaging and burning, almost unopposed by the sleeping populace. The boy woke, petrified with fear and confusion at the crimson night before him. The boy had not known violence of this scale, and he felt a great grief for those he had only seen for the first time a few hours previous. But he did not know how to fight or defend those he wanted to help, and he ran, crying at the savagery of those raiders and his own helplessness. As he left the city, he passed by a captain of the city's guard, collapsed against the gate, pierced a dozen or more times by spears and arrows, having breathed his last before the bow had seen him. By his side laid a trident and a round shield, mysteriously untouched by the blood and stains of war around them. With a confidence unknown to him, he picked them up, vowing to one day return to this city and protect those he couldn't.
For years he wandered, learning how to wield the weapons in the defense of the helpless. And as he wandered, he taught the helpless to defend themselves, leaving them with stories of a warrior who would appear, giving aid and strength to those who had none, and leave, a hawk soaring above him, each solitary save for the other. Over those years, he never forgot that city, and he never forgot his beginnings. He would return to his village, leaving the evidence of his new life as a warrior hidden, so as to no scare the children and elderly. Each time he visited, his parents grew older, but even as he never forgot them, they never forgot him, always greeting their son with a warm welcome, treating him to what were once his favorite meals.
One day, upon arriving at his village, he was greeted by a different sight. Those he had met through the years, whom he had protected and taught to protect, where gathered before him, kneeling in the village square as villagers from his childhood looked on in confusion. This time, he did not drop his weapons from view. The friends and elders of the village saw him, but they did not see the little boy who had once daydreamed instead of worked. They saw a warrior, a prince who would protect the masses from the raiders and murderers. His parents looked upon him not with anger or fear or grief, but with bittersweet acceptance of the life he had chosen, and he looked upon them with the same gaze, accepting that he was no longer the son they had raised. So they greeted each other for the final time, and the boy turned, vowing in his mind to return one day to this life he had left, and he and his new-found army left the village to its ways, and went to succeed in the promise he made all those years ago.
The play told the story of the boy's, now a prince, march across the land, freeing those long oppressed, uniting even more under his banner. His flag was red, showing the blood he had shed to protect the innocent, and emblazoned with a white eagle on a silver shield, showing the symbols that had become associated with the warrior, regal and fierce, but a guardian to those who were helpless. Slowly, the land united under him and the boy, once a humble son of two villagers, was crowned king, but not once did he forget why he had taken this road. And when he was old, as white in hair as the eagle on his banner, he returned to his origins, leaving the great land to his lords and his son, reminding them of the duty they had been chosen to uphold.
