Many years ago, the greatest swordsman in all the land met a beautiful maiden, and begot a young son. That son grew up with all of the advantages befitting a young man of his stature. When he was young, all coming to visit had to acknowledge that he truly was his father's son. He seemed to carry with him a natural poise and confidence. Adding to the that his father's training, and all said that he would naturally take up the laurels of his father and continue on in his stead. The road ahead seemed to be paved with his victories.
Unfortunately, the story didn't care to meander down that road. As time went on, he grew obstinate with his father and arrogant to everyone else. So sure of what he was, he ignored every instruction he had been given. After all, he had it all by nature. And yet, everything that had seemed so sure now faded away, until he left alone, tired and beaten.
So what are we to say? His nature was that of the victor. And yet, he did not make that nature his own. He left it aside, buried in the ground, at first convinced its everlasting quality, later convinced that he was preserving it for when it was needed, even later finding himself scared to see what it had turned into, sometimes hoping that it didn't matter one way or another.
Some might say that the meaning to such a story is that we shouldn't rely on our family history to take care of us. Others would point out that the problem was his arrogance and a belief that he could do it all himself. What do you think?