Fairy-Tale & Reality

What is a hero ?

To the man lost in a desert with a broken leg, no more food, water, or tea, a Hero would be the first person to find him and offer to help. Of course. But to this young boy who listened intently to his father's exploits as if they were part of a collection of fairy tales, suddenly, the existence of this Hero felt a lot more real and palpable. More awe-inspiring too.

"Dad, why does Mama's name come up so often in your stories ?" The boy asked his father.

"Because Mama was the most important person in my life before we had you." He answered with a meaningful smile.

"But Mama is not a hero." The boy insisted, looking perplexed.

"This might not be the case in the eyes of the world, no. To me however, she is. Mama is Papa's Heroine without a doubt." He assured. Leaving his son confused. "Isn't she your hero too ?"

"I don't know..." The boy confessed, worried this might sound like he didn't love his mom as much as he usually said he did.

In his father's opinion, a hero, or heroine, didn't need to be someone that was necessarily out of the ordinary. To this man, basically anybody could become a hero as long as even one single other person believed in that somebody to be one. 
This probably went against the common trends and beliefs found in the fairy tales of old, where a hero was either born one, or made one later on by a higher authority such as a king or a god. Nevertheless, to him, everybody deserved the right to believe in the one they chose to portrait as such.

In reality there has been a lot of complaints leading to this day, about heroes and their representation. Since more and more people had either earned, or been given the right to think and speak for themselves over the centuries –regardless of the world, those criticisms had only multiplied and followed their own kinds of trend. They ranged from people finding political or idealistic undertones behind the formerly overused yet appreciated idea of the "handsome knight in its shiny armor", or even "Robin Hood" for a more concrete example; to people simply wishing Heroes were more relatable, and looked and sounded more human 
–or any other racial equivalent in this case– for better or worse. 
As such, and while it probably sounded cowardly or even corny to some people, that boy's father, and hero, he at the very least, had decided to adopt a flexible viewpoint. One that suggested anybody could become one. A hero. 

                                                                        _____________

Judging by the position of the sun as well as the temperature, it seemed to be around midday. And while I would usually be hunting in the surrounding mountains around this time, I found myself coerced into joining this minstrel's performance.

The shady-looking musician wore a dark grey coat with a hood which cast a shadow over his eyes. Underneath he had a simple black lether breastplate over a grey shirt, and by the sound of it, it seemed he wore a chainmail still underneath. With dark grey pants and black knee-high boots, he did all but inspire trust into anybody meeting him for the first time.
What's more, whether acting as a dissuading measure or rather as an everyday asset of his arsenal, he always kept a curved short sword at his waist. As for his instrument, his "Phorminx" as he called it, it highly resembled the Lyre. I had to say, the clash between such a delicate product of craftsmanship and his overall appearance, felt almost disquieting.

This guy's not just a bard, I guarantee it. I thought absentmindedly.

“Yes, you have guessed it, the representation I have prepared for you today is indeed a re-enactment of the legend of Taitaku Hyouma—aka Taiyo– the summoned hero from another world. From his rebirth to his disapearance in the span of a measly two years.” He declared with enthusiasm.
“This is an heroic tale... this is a tragic tale; it is the inspiring endeavor of a foreigner forced to shoulder the hopes and dreams of thousands of people previously unknown to him. For in this faraway world lived people in distress; in desperate need of a Hero. One who would be able to shine as bright as the sun, but also one that could do more than simply shine over or bring warmth to their everyday lives.” 

After making one of his customary pauses to both gauge his audience's reaction and brush a few strings of his instrument, he then spread both of his arms wide, took a deep breath, and introduced the aforementioned main protagonist of the play. Or at least the lead actor meant to impersonate said hero, that is to say, me.

“Now without further ado, allow me to present you the man I have personally selected to embody the fallen hero." He declared, gesturing for me to come join him. "Wielding the infamous Hero's garb, that is to say what used to be akin to a second skin to the man, please welcome Eclipse, the hero-killer!”
With a round of applause, the audience celebrated my appearance. I went to stand beside the bard and bowed at the waist. I really need to get used to this nickname... I thought dismissively.
This Hero-killer had become something akin to an urban legend over the past ten years.
I had, in fact. However, since the Heroes I had supposedly killed had actually only disappeared, rather than being found dead, most people took me for a manufactured myth aimed at scaring children against greed, or against the unrelenting and unhealthy pursuit of fame. Which isn't entirely wrong to be honest.

With that out of the way, the stage was now set. I was about to experience one of the most unforgettable memory I held, once again, all before the innocent eyes of people completely unrelated to this whole chapter of my life story.
Though I was a little nervous at the prospect of appearing before a crowd again after so many years, I actually think I might enjoy this more than I had anticipated after all. I thought, as a playful smile creeped its way onto my lips.