Jason was raised in any average village of his time. They would tell stories of mythical creatures, horrid beasts, and Jason's personal favourite, heros saving lost maidens. Although they were treated as stories from the gods by most everyone in the village, Jason would push them to the side, claiming them all as fables; mere children's bedtime tales. He would still gather around the fire pit, listening intently to the elders share their favourite tales. However, on this particular night, no stories seemed to catch Jason's interest. One was about pigs and a wolf, one about some abused maid named Ella . Or maybe it was Cinder? Who would even name their kid Cinder? Jason wondered. The stories told seemed more fitting for the younger kids, rather than Jason’s age group. Once everyone took a small stretching break - even though the younger children didn’t want the stories to end - Jason walked away before the next story could be told.
He wandered his way to a stream not too far