The young man narrated his tale from noon until night and back to day again. Neither he nor Greatest Grandpa could sleep anyway; the energy and pain in continually healing their weakened bodies wouldn't allow for rest. At least that's why the young man couldn't sleep; Greatest Grandpa never said anything nor asked for the young man to stop his story so that he could sleep, so the young man just assumed that Greatest Grandpa was in similar straits.

  The hours slipped by unnoticed, the stories flowing from one chapter to the next, as if time itself had slowed in the presence of this odd, unspoken companionship.

  The day star fell and rose once more before he finished running through the whole story up to his arrival at the very building they stood in. H He paused for a moment, thinking back on his many escapades, then to the stories that had once inspired them—the stories of Greatest Grandpa, told to him when he was younger. His favourite stories had always been those of The Tournament. The very same tournament that would begin anew this year.

  "I hope I can heal in time for The Tournament. I wouldn't want to miss out on such an awesome opportunity," he said, his voice thoughtful. Then, glancing at Greatest Grandpa, he added, "Hey, Greatest Grandpa, as someone who's seen the earlier Tournaments, you think I'll get invited, right? I mean, with my healing, I'm basically unstoppable, aren't I?"

  He didn't speak it aloud, but a part of him was eager to heal in time not just for the challenge, but for the prize—the wish granted to the victor. There were a few things he would wish differently now.

  The young man looked up at Greatest Grandpa, but before the elder even had a chance to begin signing his response, the young man cut in. "Actually, never mind. I don't want to know. Let it be a surprise." He chuckled to himself, a touch of uncertainty in his laugh. "Anyway, enough about me. How about you? Got any new stories to share?"

  The young man chuckled at his own joke, but to his surprise, Greatest Grandpa grunted an affirmative and signed back to him. "There is something I would like to show you."

  "Yeah, of course. Just guide the way." The young man pushed himself to his feet, moving as quickly as his aching body would allow, which was to say, uncomfortably slowly. He reached for the handles that protruded from the back of Greatest Grandpa's chair. The chair was specially designed to be mobile so that any of the family members could move Greatest Grandpa's old withered body wherever he pleased. It also functioned wonderfully as a supportive bar for his own weak body.

  It was at times like these that the young man remembered that he wasn't actually so young anymore. His healing abilities, so powerful and swift, made it easy to forget that his body, despite its youthful appearance, was still that of a seventy-three-year-old man.

  Greatest Grandpa directed the young man to carry him out of the house and down to the village square. At the heart of the square lay a large clearing, where a perfectly circular plot of grass gave way to a miniature park of sorts. A behemoth sequoia rose in the center of it all, its immense trunk and towering canopy overshadowing the entire park.

  It was a miraculous sight, a true wonder that drew the attention of adventurers and travellers alike, making the village a popular stop along their journeys. The tree had always been a favorite gathering spot of his when he was younger, a place filled with memories of laughter and shared moments. But now, standing at its base once more, it was nothing he hadn't seen before. He couldn't understand why Greatest Grandpa had brought him here.

  The young man waited for his elder to speak—or rather, to sign an explanation—but when none came, he couldn't help himself. "So, what did you want to show me?"

  Greatest Grandpa gave a weak nod, his chin lifting as if pointing toward the tree. Slowly, with deliberate effort, he signed his response. "What I have been doing recently."

  The young man blinked, still confused. "I don't get it. What have you been doing?"

  A grin tugged at the corners of the old man's lips when he heard his descendants' question. "I've been watching."

  The young man turned his gaze back to the towering sequoia before him. If this was yet another one of Greatest Grandpa's pranks, he certainly didn't understand it. The tree appeared precisely as he remembered it—tall, sturdy, its thick trunk and sprawling branches casting their familiar shadow over the village. Perhaps it had grown taller since he left, but beyond that, nothing seemed different. Nothing worth showcasing to others, at least.

  "I don't understand," he admitted, his voice tinged with chagrin.

  Greatest Grandpa took his time to sign back an explanation, each movement deliberate.

  *"At one point in time, this place was an open battlefield, and I watched as men and women of heavy resolve laid down their lives for what they believed in. The blood and ash from their turmoil seeped into the soil and became the fertilizer for a tree that I had planted there. I watched as that tree grew strong and tall. I watched as citizens from either side of that prior battle, their memories of conflict long washed away, came together here. I watched as they chopped down that tree grown of their ancestor's blood and used her lumber to build a firm town.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  I watched as that stump recovered from its wounds and grew alongside the new town. I watched as neighbours came and traded goods and values. I saw as others coveted what the town had built here. I watched as outsiders set fire to every hut and farm. I watched the town set ablaze and smoulder to nothingness.

  But the tree, too mighty and strong, survived the attack. And I watched as the villagers, undeterred by their tribulations, came together and chopped the tree down once more and built again.

  One more time, I watched both the tree and the village lick their wounds, growing stronger and closer than ever before. I watched families come and go, some born in filthy sewers, only to die in mansions high on hills. Others nurtured in ivory tragically fall to dirt. I watched conflict and consolation orbit around this tree, and now… I watch more.

  See that branch, third from the left? It has a slightly lighter green leaf than the rest. That leaf was just a little bit lighter yesterday. And though it might not be here in a year—or even tomorrow—I'm glad I managed to catch it on the by."*

  The young man stood motionless, his gaze fixed on the tree as he reflected on his ancestor's tale. "I understand what you mean now," he said slowly, his voice thoughtful. "I was conceited and foolish in my earlier stories. In the moment, everything felt like the most important event to ever occur, but if I step back… I can see it's just one piece in an endless cycle. Revenge begets revenge, and with such I now have my current injury. I, like the villagers in your story, should rather build anew and push forward undeterred by the err of those around me."

  "No, that's not it."

  The young man turned in surprise to find another villager standing next to him. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts and in Greatest Grandpa's story that he hadn't noticed the crowd that had quietly gathered around them. The villager spoke again, this time with a hint of gentleness in his tone.

  "The story's not just about personal growth or revenge. It's about the power of community and cooperation. Greatest Grandpa was showing you that if, instead of going off to seek revenge alone, you had sought help from others, you could have avoided this injury altogether."

  A woman carrying her infant child scoffed at the villager's words. "Are you crazy? You men are always trying to solve everything with violence." She shot a pointed glance at the young man, her eyes sharp with disapproval. "The story obviously had an anti-war message."

  An older man, who had been silently watching the exchange, chuckled softly as he stroked his long beard. The young man recognized him as his great-great-grandfather, a man with a knowing smile that often carried the weight of years well spent.

  "None of you know Greatest Grandpa like I do," the old man said with a hearty laugh. "You're all so focused on the villagers in his story, as expected from young'uns like yourselves. But you're missing the heart of it. You need to focus on the tree. The story is about sacrifice. It's not that revenge itself is wrong, but rather the reason behind it. You did well in fighting those bandits, not to avenge your fallen comrades but to stop them from hurting others again. That's what matters."

  Before the young platinum-haired man could speak, a young child in the crowd piped up, arms folded stubbornly. "That can't be right! I've talked to Greatest Grandpa before, and he says violence is bad!"

  The crowd erupted into a chaotic discussion, each person clamouring over the others, debating the moral nuance of Greatest Grandpa's story. The volume of voices blurred everything into a garbled mess, and the young man found it nearly impossible to hear his own thoughts over the din.

  "Enough!" he finally shouted, his voice cutting through the noise. "Why don't we ask Greatest Grandpa himself?"

  The crowd instantly quieted, all eyes shifting toward the elderly man in the chair. His expression was unreadable, his eyes still closed as they always were, and his frail form unmoving. The young man, taking a deep breath, approached and kneeled before his ancestor, meeting him at eye level.

  "Greatest Grandpa," he said softly, his voice both a plea and a reverence, "can you tell us what the purpose of your story was? What were you trying to tell us?"

  Greatest grandpa ever so slowly began to sign with his fingers to speak. "I just thought you'd like to know about my tree and how it was doing."

  Greatest grandpa's woefully anticlimactic answer was accented by the miraculous chime of a bell. In front of the young man there was what seemed to be a small pink rhombus that grew out of thin air, or it was a rhombus, but its body would reject any stable state. It would shift and transform, shrink and grow, continuously morphing into other forms. The pink shape finally locked into a form resembling that of a featureless human with only one limb. The arm was outstretched, holding a glowing parchment that was presented to Greatest Grandpa.

  Surprised by the unexpected visitor, Greatest Grandpa opened his eyes. The entire crowd let out a shocked gasp as they took in Greatest Grandpa's revolting blue eyes. Greatest Grandpa didn't pay any heed to the rejecting onlookers and instead focused on the glowing parchment: it read.