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A Legacy Lives On


by sylviau

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The story I had been told did not take place in the cliché settings of bustling Neopia Central, nor in the floating violet clouds surrounding the majestic castle of Faerieland.

     The man who told it to me was not a plain, yellow Gelert, who battled the struggles of poverty by daily support from the Soup Kitchen and Money Tree, despite how ‘they’ say it goes.

     It was an enthralling tale, filled with deception and lies; of secret letters written in the dwindling light of a dying flame, and harsh betrayals at the brink of great discoveries.

     The man who told me of these stories was an adventurer himself; the land’s finest. They were his truths, his own memories he lay down before me. He painted pictures of far off lands with just his voice, as I’d stared up at him with my wondering child’s eyes.

     His laughter - how infectious, as he told me of the people he’d met; the fine ladies he’d danced with at winter balls held on sailing ships, how he’d sailed those ships himself as the captain’s mate. He told me how he’d battled the arctic conditions on the peaks of Terror Mountain, combated the intense heat that radiated from every grain of sand in the Lost Desert.

     He had a talent for telling stories, and he loved it with the passion he reserved for adventure itself. I watched as his eyes flashed, reliving his finest moments, remembering the sweetness of every victory. That spark in his eyes; he passed it onto me; sowed the longing for adventure into my heart. He’d perch me on his knee, and I’d stare into his wise old face, as he tipped the fedora off his head and onto my own.

     Perhaps I knew then, that I would follow in his footsteps. Perhaps I knew.

     The man had watched me grow up, but over the years I saw less and less of him and I resented that. I still came to him for advice, watched him push his hat back and look up at me from over the tops of his glasses. A reassuring smile he always had for me, and I regret that I never fully appreciated it. I should have sensed that something was wrong then, but I was too busy living life, chasing after adventures he’d never had. I remained oblivious.

     The next time I saw him was several years later. He’d stood at the top of a great cliff, his back to me, watching the great waves crash on the rocks below.

     He’d turned to me just then - I’d had my first real look at him in years. I searched the familiar face for the smile I had grown to know, but could not find it on his old Kougra face. His eyes were dull, the spark had gone out; a bitter smile of resentment now a permanent part of his features.

     He was the ruin of the man he used to be; that great explorer that I’d once admired. He shook his head and waved away my concerns. “It’s over for me, Jake,” he said, his voice hoarse and cracking, like the inside of the molten volcanoes he’d once stood at the rims of. “I’ve had my share of adventures.”

     With a sense of finality, he took the fedora from his head, and set it carefully on my own. “It’s your turn. Go have an adventure for the both of us.” He’d smiled; the last genuine smile I ever saw from him. “Go forth, Jake the explorer.”

     That was the last time I ever saw him...

     (End of Jake’s narration)

     * * *

     Years later found the adventurous young Kougra at his greatest, returning from a month long voyage at sea. The past four weeks had been spent resting on the deck of the majestic Belinan, a small Shenkuuvian merchant vessel that had been steered under the admirable Captain Wyhp.

     After several weeks at sea, the daring Koug was looking forward to returning to spending some time at home, where an eager audience awaited a recollection of his tales.

     It was on such a day, a few after his return from the voyage; that Jake wandered up into the attic of his old wooden house. Pushing aside the trapdoor, he breathed in the musky, familiar scent of the small room. Instantly forgetting his reason for coming, his attention was drawn by the many treasures that the room contained.

     He marvelled at a display of model ships that stood in one corner, and at an old portrait of a desert princess that leaned against the wall next to a locked chest. He wondered at the many souvenirs that a long line of adventurers had passed down to their descendants, who had eventually forgotten their value and stored them up here.

     What really drew his fancy was an old photo album. It was an ancient, leather-bound book, and it gave the impression that something remarkable was kept within its pages. Indeed, rifling through it, Jake let out a small gasp of surprise. Inside was a collection of old photographs and small portraits; generations of adventurers that were captured in their finest moments. He looked upon their smiling faces, and thought of his own adventures.

     As he set the album down, a single sheet of faded paper slipped from between its pages, and drifted slowly down to the floor. Stooping to pick it up, he recognised the elegant writing almost immediately.

     Dear Jake,

     It will be many years before you read this, yet as I write this I know in my heart that the words will remain true when you do. I have no doubt that you’ve had your share of adventures, Jake, and that you’ll have many more to come. Over time, you’ll discover what your strengths and weaknesses are, and learn to deal with them. Remember that you must overcome your greatest fears in the pursuit of your dreams, but the adventures you have on the way will make it all worthwhile.

     Never lose sight of what’s important, Jake. Don’t make the same mistakes I did; follow your heart in any direction it may take you. Life is an adventure in itself, so take whichever path it shows you with grace, and dare to stray off of it. You’ll do great things in your lifetime, and I sincerely hope you can share your love of exploring with others. Go off and have your greatest adventure; I’m with you in spirit. Fulfill your destiny.

     I believe in you, Jake the Explorer...

     The letter was brief, and finished off with a gracefully curling signature. He read it over several times as tears began to pool in his eyes.

     “I’ll do it,” he whispered the promise to himself over and over, vowing that he’d carry on the family legacy.

     He’d pass it along.

     * * *

     “Grandpa Jake,” the little Kougra called, running across the freshly cut grass toward the little house. Within seconds he had climbed the three wooden steps of the porch, and seated himself on his grandfather’s knee. The older Kougra smiled and leaned back in the ancient rocking chair that had been passed down through his family.

     “Grandpa Jake, tell me a story,” the little one said, already reaching for the older one’s hat.

     With a twinkle in his eye, that ancient Kougra face smiled, as he began to retell his grandest adventures. His grandson stared up at him with wondering child’s eyes, as the longing for adventure was sown into his own heart.

     The legacy would live on.

The End

 
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