In the heart of the American Midwest, surrounded by rolling hills and fields of golden wheat, lay the small village of Elmwood. It was a quiet place, where time seemed to move slower, and everyone knew each other’s name. Among its inhabitants was a boy named Jack. At 17 years old, Jack was a dreamer—slender, shy, and known for his thoughtful nature. He wasn’t the strongest or the loudest in the village, but he had a heart full of curiosity and kindness.
Jack lived on a small family farm with his parents and younger sister. Every morning before dawn, he would help his father in the fields, and in the afternoons, he would find refuge under a large oak tree by the creek, reading books about faraway lands, heroes, and adventures. Jack longed for something more, something exciting to break the monotony of his rural life, though he didn’t know exactly what he was looking for.
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