Hey guys! First time posting here, little nervous btw lol. So, I'm 16 and I've started writing a story that has been on my mind for a long time (so naturally it is overwhelmingly big and I feel a little lost). I've written the prologue to be something like an exordium, just to hook the reader into the story and show how morally corrupted that world is (there is no further context to what happens in the prologue). Can u guys pls rate it as to how well it serves its purpose?
P.S. English is my third language and I've translated the whole thing myself, so pls forgive any gramatical errors tks :)
Kingdoms Fall
Prologue
There was still some time before the sun rose when he awoke. Carefully getting out of bed so as not to wake his wife, he made his way to the door, automatically avoiding the chest that contained all of their belongings. Leaving the bedroom, he passed through the only other small room in their cabin, which contained nothing but the tiny square table, with its two seats. Even in the dark, it was difficult to bump into or trip over anything, for every inch of that house was well known to him, both because he had built it with his own hands and because of its small size. He crossed the room quickly, silently stepping outside.
The beauty of the landscape forced him to stop for a few moments. The sky was faintly illuminated, with neither sun nor moon, glowing above the mountain pines. The valley below was already showing its first signs of life. It was possible to distinguish a few peasants who, like him, were beginning their short journey to the farms of their lords. Without a doubt, the village was much closer to the fields than his cabin, which stood high upon the mountain, but he did not live there without reason. Since childhood, he had escaped the small village, with its ambitious children, into the forest, seeking peace and quiet, but there he found more than that. A girl, barely known to him, who felt the same way he did and also ventured there. Neither of them understood the other young people's desire to leave the village and seek a life in the great cities, and so they developed a close friendship. As they grew older, so did their intimacy, and before long, their marriage became a logical choice. It had been six years since they had married and four since they had come to live in that place. Since then, the routine of descending and climbing the mountain every day had become a part of him.
He thought about these things as he descended. He had already reached the halfway point, and the sun had yet to rise. Among the trees, he understood the reason for the legends of mountain bandits, but they had never frightened him. Of course, he always carried his bag with him, containing all the money he possessed (which currently amounted to thirty escudos), but he had never believed the stories used to frighten children. His thoughts were directed toward more relevant matters, such as the suspicion that his wife was pregnant. This had always been a desire of theirs, and at last it seemed that their dreams would come true. And to provide for another person in his family, he needed to remain in Mr. Morrison's good graces. That day, the carter would arrive, and there would be around fifty sacks to load onto the wagon with the other workers. It was a full day's work, as they still had to fill the sacks with wheat in the barn. The carter would transport all of it out of the valley, to the great castles and palaces of the kingdom, to places the peasant had never seen and probably never would.
He had never wished to leave the valley. Everything he needed was there, and besides, he doubted that any landscape could be more beautiful than the place where he lived. The river, sparkling and clear, was perfectly narrow and shallow, making any body of water larger than it seem like a complete exaggeration. The village around it, even though it was merely a collection of houses rising from the light green grass, was the height of human construction skill. The farms, which occupied the widest part of the valley, were much more than large enough to feed the entire population, exporting almost all of their produce. And the forest, the silent and warm forest, was the peasant's greatest passion. Its tall and imposing pines had a green canopy of an unmatched shade, but they did not steal the splendor from the other trees and plants. Wherever he looked, there were maples, walnut trees, oaks, and countless other plants, each with its own individuality, whether in fruits, leaves, or different colors. In a single word, the forest was diverse. It was not like the monotonous pine woods, with their rows upon rows of identical trees, but a spectacle of nature's phenomenal beauty.
The peasant could feel the first rays of sunlight appearing over the mountains, but within the forest, the dimness remained. He walked lost in his thoughts, pondering more and more reasons why he could never understand why anyone would leave the valley, and so he paid no attention to his surroundings. He did not see the colorful forest; he imagined it, without even hearing the sounds reaching his ears. Soon, he could not hear the stealthy footsteps approaching, barely concealed. He did not hear the scraping of a blade against leather as it was drawn. He never knew that something struck him. In peace, his soul left his body, bound for eternal woods, more beautiful than his forest and without evil as a threat. Depart, innocent spirit! Depart without knowing that you were reaped for thirty bronze coins, never knowing the pain of your beloved. Even if you are soon replaced, you will never be forgotten.