Chapter I: To be a Hero

—What is a hero?

A question, sweet scented and softly whispered – within the abode of a bonfire – makes it to me and all the other children surrounding it. As the sparks of the fire incessantly continue, a new blaze burns within the children: the ever so shining radiance of hope and passion to become a hero.

“A hero is to save everyone!”

“A hero is to travel the world, contemplating each sight and enjoying a big adventure!”

“A hero is to… see each side and decide which is logically best, so as to find the best compromise.”

“Nah, the hero is simply the one that wins!”

“No, no, a hero is a champion of virtue, helping those in needs, not by the fist but with his words!”

As my eyes continue to languish within the bottomless void, all gazes turn towards me – all with a cheerful and colourful glint.

“And you, Athisia? What should a hero be to you?”

A hero…?

A hero could be anything and nothing at the same time, for, it englobes so much; and as the children have already said, a hero could be all of the previously mentioned.

He could save everyone, from all sides, even if they were enemies – a hero makes no distinction after all. He could help everyone, taking care of each little problem and improve their quality of life. He could be he a leader – always weighing his decisions carefully and rationally – that inspires the world by his mere words and always goes forward with the best. He could enjoy life, travelling from realm to realm, never worrying, never looking back – to truly live out an epic adventure. And of course, he could be the last one standing…

He could be, of course… he could be…

In my past life – when I still harboured the senseless dream of becoming a hero – I would however have deemed a hero to be a murderer standing tall upon a lump of flesh and corpses. But now, in this new life…

I trace the outline of my rosy pink lips with a finger, before forming a smile all the while tilting my head to the side.

“I don’t know.” I finally let out my answer.

Promptly and collectively, all the children sigh at my affirmation.

“You’re always no fun, Athisia! No fun at all, really,” a boy with brown hair, who goes by the name of Loris, pouts out at me with a tinge of red, “a c-ute boy like you isn’t supposed to act like this!”

I then take my silky hair – of a rare pristine pink colour – within my right hand, before playing with it.

It’s true, I am cute. But I am sorry, Loris, your love for me is one that I will never be able to reciprocate.

“Rather, let’s play a game!” And so, I ultimately suggest something else to distract the group.

“Hmpf!” And it seems that a certain someone continues on to pout.

They’re all very endearing in a way. I never imagined that I would enjoy a new childhood, it’s definitely weird but also so very fun.

-x-

Then, Loris died.

So very banally, he caught a disease and died. So, it’s true: children easily die in this world – most never passing the first formative years.

Thus, today, I stand within church – clothed in pure unblemished white – as the priest recites nonsensical words about paradise and the ever-merciful nature of our gods. But in the end, it doesn’t matter – it never will – as Loris won’t come back to us.

Then, my name is finally called upon by the parents of the deceased – who currently are watching the horizon adrift with vacant, empty eyes. Hence, I swiftly come forward, before presiding in front of all the villagers, from the altar.

Hereafter, as my finger gently wraps my lips from left to right, a faint smile emerges: mine.

“My dear friend Loris…”

How many has it been already...? How many deaths did I witness – be it in my past life and this life? And how many more will I witness?

In truth, my words here will have no sway and won’t matter in the slightest. After all, words are merely a colourless melody for the living, those who are still left; whereas the dead has already long departed from this world, subsequently making them unrequited to any more love.

But I suppose that in any world, the living needs the warmth of the words, so that they could continue on. Without, this very world would devour them from the inside out...

Then, is a hero’s duty to comfort the living, Loris?

-x-

Time goes on, day after day, season after season, year after year; and so, spring comes forth and alongside it, petals of a pretty pink scatter dancingly upon this world, falling upon the numerous wooden graves standing before me. And from these graves are born beautiful flowers, lively and so very delicate.

Thus, I pick up a pink flower – which seems to be a Hortensia – before smelling its ever so sweet flagrance. Right after, I outline my lips with a finger.

“A disease – of unknown nature – that consumes one’s insides, slowly transforming them into flowers. How terrible.” I say out loudly even though I am but all alone.

Then, from left to right, my eyes skim trough the graves, adorned without much decorum – yet, in what could be seen as unexpected, all of these are graves are squeaky clean, left without rot nor dust.

My smile goes up a bit.

But in the end... one by one, they left me, one after another – letting me decay in this dull colourless world of fantasy. First Loris, then Margius, Wiktor, Paul, Raphael, Mika, and so many others…

This village is dying. No, it is already dead.

Once more, I move my finger upon my lips, to then form a small smile; there is no other way after all.

Yet, it couldn’t last.

I wonder, why am I the only not affected? But most importantly… why am I always the sole one left behind? Why…? Ah, I truly miss my comrades from my past life; maybe they would have known on what to do.

Suddenly, a petal – lone and fleeting, of a pretty pink colour – falls upon my face, before quickly dropping to the ground.

I then forcefully crush that petal with my foot.

-x-

“Athisia.” A voice, feeble yet strong, calls out my name with serenity.

“Father…”

“Let me see your visage, please.” Then, strong and large hands tenderly come to caress my cheeks.

“Ah, how I wished to see you grow up, I truly would have loved to see it – after all, you are the sole legacy of my dearest wife… You have her beautiful face, her pristine white skin, her magnificent rosy eyes and her silky hair; you truly take after her.”

“Father…”

“Shuush, boy. My time has come,” he then looks up at the distant horizon, of a beautiful blue, devoid of clouds, “you know, you’re the best son I ever had, always taking care of your dumb father, bedridden for years, left in a rotting village where there are only but you and me. And really, I can’t thank you enough.”

Finally, he firmly looks at me in the eye.

“So, after this, it will be time for you to leave. It’s been fourteen too long years for you here, it’s ultimately fine time for you to discover the outside world.” A big smile, full of teeth, appears upon his face.

“But what purpose will I have out there!” I exclaim loudly in protest, maybe with a bit of denial mixed in.

“Heh, I think you already know, Athisia. I will always remember the fond conversations you had with your friends all these years ago. You and your friends always vividly began with ‘what is a hero?’, and each time, smiles emerged on all – even on your face. And you like me know more than anything that a hero could be so many things, anything really. So…”

I grip my torso, ever so slightly with my nails in.

“Son, never give in to despair, your life is only yours: go fulfil that that magnificent old dream of yours. Go, smile, and let a new shine glows within your ever so pretty eyes!”

A hero? Maybe I could let that dream lives once again, maybe I could really become a hero...!

“Let it out be known that your father will always stand by your side, even if I am no longer of this world. After all, you are my sole and only son, and I am proud of my sweet little hero!

“Then, I will become a hero, father…!” I proclaim softly, yet with determination as I stare incessantly within my father’s bright blue eyes.

“Ah, if so, I am relieved then. Take care, Athisia. I love you.” With a big dumb smile on his face, he gently yet rudely caress the top of my hair, ruffling all of it, creating a senseless mess – senseless yet endearing and of a warmth so very radiant.

But then, so very suddenly, the hand no longer moves and a silence – ever so unwelcome – envelops the room within its lament of monotony. Then, passing through the window, a sparkling light – of gold and amber – descends upon my father, making him shine one last time.

A hero? Maybe then, a hero’s duty is to remember everyone dear to him, engraving it deeply within his heart – never ever forgetting and always determined to accomplish his dreams, is that right, father?

And so, with one finger, I once again trace the outline of my lips, to then form a smile – and surprisingly, this one seems quite large.

“It’s me that should say thank you, dummy...” I whispered ever so softly as I look one last time at his face, one last time before the flowers eat him away.

“At the very end, it’s still you that stole the show; after all, you’re my hero, father.”