Black screen. A voice over. The narrator’s voice is old, male, and just bursting with wisdom, and a little madness.

You all know of the seventh son…

Seven men, dressed in medieval garb, drop down one at a time in front of the black background.

Of the seventh son…

From the last man seven boys pop into existence in a line extending out in front of him.

And how that seventh son is, without fail, a wizard.

The last son at the end of the line, a baby, clothes change from a diaper to overly large wizards robe.

And if you didn’t know that you do now, so shut up. I’m telling a story.

All the characters on screen look upwards at this outburst, shocked.

Now where was I.

We focus once more on the baby in the wizards robe.

Oh yes, the seventh son. Forget about him, this story isn’t about him.

The baby starts to cry.

Because this isn’t medieval times anymore…

All the men and boy’s clothes change from medieval garb to more modern attire.

And who the fuck is having seven sons! That’s madness. It’s also why wizards don’t exist anymore. No, people today, at least the smart ones, might have…three sons.

One by one the seven boys pop out of existence, followed closely behind by the last four men being lifted up and off the screen.

This story is about the third son of a third son…

The focus shifts to the third man. Three boys pop into existence in a line extending out from him.We focus on the last one, a small gangly boy.

And what he is destined to become.

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