In a kingdom shadowed by prophecy and fear, where the whispers of fate could elevate a soul or condemn it to darkness, there was born a boy marked by destiny.
His first cry was not of innocence but of power, for upon his head gleamed a golden star, a sign foretold by the kingdom’s seer to be the mark of one who would marry the king’s own daughter. But this king, a man of greed and fear, saw not a future son-in-law in the babe but a threat to his throne.
The king, with a heart as dark as the deepest dungeon, ordered his most loyal servant to take the infant and abandon him in the river, hoping the waters would silence the prophecy. The servant, tears mingling with the river’s flow, left the child in a basket, praying to the gods for mercy.
The gods, it seemed, were listening. The basket, rather than sinking, became the cradle of fate, carrying the child downstream to a mill, where the miller and his wife, childless and kind-hearted, discovered the babe. “Look, a child sent by the river gods,” the miller exclaimed, his eyes wide with wonder.
“We shall raise him as our own,” his wife declared, her heart swelling with sudden love. And so, the boy, named Luck, grew not in the shadow of a throne, but in the light of humble love, his destiny unwritten.
Years passed, and Luck grew into a young man of uncommon kindness and courage, his golden star hidden beneath his hair, unknown even to him. But fate is a river returning to its course, and soon, the king, on a journey through his realm, stopped by the mill. His eyes, sharp as a hawk’s, caught the glint of gold beneath Luck’s hair.
“Who are you, boy, that carries the mark of prophecy?” the king demanded, his voice cold as the steel of his sword.
“I am but Luck, the miller’s son,” he replied, unaware of the storm brewing in the king’s heart.
The king, recognizing the boy he had sought to drown, devised a new plan. “If you are to marry my daughter, you must first prove your worth. Bring me three golden hairs from the devil’s head, and her hand shall be yours,” the king declared, certain of the boy’s doom.
Luck, with a heart unburdened by fear and a spirit as light as the feathers of Hermes’s sandals, set forth on his quest, his path winding through forests deep and valleys shadowed.
Along the way, he encountered three cities, each cursed with a plight: a well that gave no water, a tree that bore no fruit, and a ferry with no end to its toil. To each, he promised to seek the answers in hell itself, where the devil, hoarder of secrets and gold, resided.
Reaching the gates of hell, Luck found them unguarded, for the devil had flown on wings of night to sow discord among men. Only the devil’s grandmother sat by the fire, her eyes sharp, but her smile warm. “What brings you to hell, child, seeking what even the bravest dare not?” she inquired, her gaze piercing.
“I seek three golden hairs from the devil’s head, to save my love and aid those in need,” Luck replied, his resolve unwavering.
Moved by his courage and purity of heart, the devil’s grandmother transformed him into an ant and hid him in the folds of her gown. “Listen and wait,” she whispered, “for even the devil sleeps.”
As night fell and the devil returned, weary, he laid his head on his grandmother’s lap. She plucked the three golden hairs, each accompanied by a howl that shook the foundations of hell.
With each hair, she extracted a secret: the well was blocked by a stone, the tree needed to be split to release the phoenix trapped within, and the ferryman must hand his oar to another to be freed.
With the three golden hairs and the secrets of hell’s curses in his grasp, Luck returned to the world above, fulfilling his promises to the cursed cities, which blossomed anew with his help.
Upon his return, the king, astonished and fearful of the young man who had outwitted the devil himself, dared not refuse the marriage. Luck and the princess were wed, their love a beacon of hope.
As for the three golden hairs, they were kept as a reminder of Luck’s journey, of courage in the face of darkness, and the power of kindness over greed.
The king, humbled and afraid, never again doubted the will of fate, for in his greed, he had forged the path of his own undoing.
And so, the tale of Luck, the boy with the golden star, became a legend, a story told by the fireside and whispered under the canopy of stars.
It was a tale of destiny and daring, of a journey into darkness and the light found within, a reminder that even in the face of hell, one can find hope, and perhaps, change the course of fate itself.
In the end, Luck’s greatest treasure was not the devil’s gold, but the love he shared and the lives he touched, a legacy far richer than any prophecy could foretell.
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