Kotyhoroshko - Ukrainian

My story doesn't begin in a grand castle or with a royal decree. It starts in the rich, dark soil of a garden, with a single pea. My name is Kotyhoroshko, and I was born from that very pea after my mother ate it. I know it sounds strange, but in the lands of ancient Ukraine, magic was woven into the everyday world like thread in a tapestry. I grew not by the year, but by the hour, my strength astonishing my dear parents. But our home was shadowed by a great sorrow: my beloved sister, Olena, had been stolen away years ago by the fearsome, multi-headed serpent, Zmiy. His shadow loomed over our village, a constant reminder of our loss. It was for her that my strength grew, for her that my heart burned with a quiet fire. My tale is known as the story of Kotyhoroshko, and it is a quest for justice forged in a blacksmith's fire.

To face a creature like Zmiy, I needed more than just raw strength; I needed a weapon worthy of the task. I went to the village blacksmiths and asked them to forge a mace, an iron bulava, so heavy that only I could wield it. They worked for days, their hammers ringing like thunder, until they presented me with a mace weighing hundreds of pounds. I lifted it with one hand as if it were a willow branch. My parents watched with a mix of pride and fear, but they knew my path was set. After bidding them farewell, I began my long journey. The world was vast and filled with wonders and dangers. It wasn't long before I met others with gifts as remarkable as my own. First came Vernyhora, a man so strong he could turn mountains upside down. Then I found Vernydub, who could uproot the oldest oaks with a single pull. Finally, we met Krutyvus, whose mighty whiskers could dam a river. Seeing the justice in my cause, they pledged to help me, and together, the four of us set off toward the serpent's cursed land.

We traveled until we found a deep, dark hole in the earth—a gateway to the underworld where Zmiy dwelled. My companions were strong, but fear touched their hearts. I was the one who volunteered to descend. They fashioned a long rope, and I climbed down into the chilling darkness. In the serpent’s realm, I found not only my sister Olena but also a captive princess and many other prisoners. The monstrous Zmiy appeared, his many heads spitting fire and venom. We fought a battle that shook the very foundations of the underworld. With my iron mace, I vanquished the beast, head by wicked head, until it lay defeated. I sent Olena, the princess, and the other captives up the rope first. But as I waited for my turn, I felt a terrible jolt. My so-called friends, blinded by greed for the princess's reward and jealous of my victory, had cut the rope, leaving me for dead. The betrayal was a wound far deeper than any the serpent could have inflicted.

Trapped and alone, I wandered the underworld until I came upon a giant eagle's nest. The eaglets were crying, threatened by a storm conjured by the remnants of Zmiy's dark magic. I used my own cloak to shield them from the hail and wind. When their mother, the great Eagle King, returned, she saw my kindness. As a reward, she offered to carry me back to the world of the living. The flight was breathtaking, soaring through the earth's crust and into the sunlight. I returned to my own world, but I did not reveal myself at first. I arrived in the capital city, disguised as a humble traveler, just as Vernyhora, Vernydub, and Krutyvus were being celebrated as heroes for 'slaying' the serpent. At the grand feast, I asked to see the heroes' weapon. When they brought out my massive bulava, none of them could lift it. I stepped forward, threw off my disguise, and swung the mace effortlessly. The traitors confessed their crime, and justice was served. I was finally reunited with my family, our home whole once more.

The story of Kotyhoroshko became more than just an adventure. It was told around hearths and in villages for centuries as a reminder that true strength isn't just about muscle; it's about courage, perseverance, and an unbreakable will to fight for what is right, even when you are betrayed or left alone. It taught Ukrainian children that even someone from a humble beginning—a simple pea—can grow to overcome immense evil. The story represents the spirit of our people: resilient, strong, and deeply connected to our land. Today, the tale of the boy with the iron mace still inspires books, films, and art, a timeless echo of the idea that no matter how dark the world seems, a single person's bravery can bring back the light.