A book for the kingdom needs to be written...

...I'm not sure if this will be it, but I can hope. I've been toying with an idea, and am trying to work through the set-up. Critiques/comments are welcome!

(I don't have a title yet.)

Prologue

Bone-weary, the solitary traveler struggled against the wind. I will reach that door, he told himself. Snow drove ahead of the blasts, tearing his face like bits of shattered glass. At last he collapsed on the threshold, pounding the door, imploring the heavens for some respite from his trials. The heavens heard; at least, the inhabitant heard, and cracked the door to view his disheveled guest.
“I take it you want to come in for a while.” His face was ancient, but not worn. And the warmth in his eyes gave comfort to the supplicant.
“If you would be so kind as to extend your hospitality, I would be eternally gratef–”
“Yes, yes, I know what you would say: you would be eternally grateful, and would ask Heaven to bless me for the rest of my days. You are not the first pilgrim to beg shelter at my door.”
With these words, he grasped his visitor’s arm and led him to the fireside’s glow.
“You are not particular when it comes to eatables, I trust?” queried the host. “My fare is filling, but simple.”
“Anything, thank you,” came the exhausted reply. They ate in relative silence: the old man too intent on his supper to ask questions, his visitor too tired to answer any.
Sleep, was all he could think of. Rest, peace, escape from my sorrows – if only for a few hours.
“There is an extra bed here.” As if reading his mind, his host nodded toward a welcoming heap of blankets and lambskins.

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“Who are you, honored sir?” Sleep had sharpened his mind as well as his stomach.
“Names are of little use, here, lad. I am no one of consequence now, though I once was held in great regard in some circles.”
“What were you, then? I must know something of my host, if I am to beg Heaven’s blessings for you.”
“I wonder how well you understand what you say.”
“Sir?”
“Answer me this: how well do you think Heaven has treated you?”
The young man hesitated. “I used to think Heaven smiled on me. Lately, my life has become a shambles of what it once was. My family is dying, everything I attempt fails, and everywhere I turn, I seem to find a new enemy. That is how Heaven is treating me now.”
“Are you sure that is Heaven’s fault?”
“What?”
“How soon do you need to get on your way? If you have some time to spare, I would like to enlighten you on a few matters.”
“If you believe you can help me, sir, I will not turn away the offer!”
A smile livened the old man’s eyes as he settled back, lighting his beloved pipe. It was the smile of someone who was preparing to tell a favorite story: a smile of pleasure, a smile of memory.
“All men are born with a spark of magic within their souls. How you choose to use the spark – that determines what kind of person you become…”

Here the story really begins. What it will be is yet to be seen.