"Will you tell me a story tonight, Grandfather?"

"I will tell you a story from when our world was young, child," said the old man.

"From when the gods were young, and the very earth was unsure. The mountains were angry, and the sky disliked their fiery protests. The sea desired to cover all the land, and the land quaked, unhappy with its burden of men and beasts.

"In those days, the stones said they would be calm when they rid their backs of pests. The flames said they would cease to burn and scar the earth when they were set free from their mountain prisons. The waves swore to bring all things under their dominion. The clouds spoke in bursts of deadly lightning and no man could fathom their language.

"In those days, child, there were no stars. No stars at all."

"Was the sky all black?"

"Yes, all black. And there were no sailors, for sailors need the stars to guide them on the wide, empty seas."

"Were there heroes then? Heroes like Father?"

"Oh yes. Many men and women crouched in fear of the elements as they shouted and warred, but some stood taller than the mountains."

"I want to hear a story about heroes!"

"That is good. All the best stories are about heroes," the old man said kindly. Then he began his tale.