The room was small but cozy, filled with the soft glow of a single candle flickering on the bedside table.
The walls were made of rough-hewn wood, and the faint scent of pine filled the air.
Three young Harengon siblings lay huddled together on a large bed, their bunny ears twitching with excitement.
Ismael sat in the middle, his wide eyes gleaming with anticipation. To his left was Felicia, her ears perked up and her hands clasped together. To his right was Cecily, who, despite her usual skepticism, couldn't hide the curiosity in her eyes.
"Mom!" Ismael called out, his voice filled with the boundless energy of youth. "I want to hear that story again! The one about the hero!"
Their mother, a gentle Harengon woman with soft gray fur and kind eyes, stood by the doorway. She smiled warmly but shook her head. "I just told you that story last night, Ismael. Don't you remember?"
Felicia chimed in, her voice eager. "But we want to hear it again! Please, Mom?"
Cecily crossed her arms, her ears flattening slightly. "Yeah, tell us again. Even if it's the same story, it's still better than going to sleep."
Their mother chuckled softly and walked over to the bed. She sat down on the edge, her weight causing the mattress to dip slightly. The candlelight cast a warm glow on her face as she began to speak, her voice soft and soothing.
"Once upon a time," she started, "long, long ago, before the tribe of Harheim even existed, there was a great war. The demons, filled with hatred for what the god Bequeathal had created, sought to destroy the world. They spread darkness and despair wherever they went."
Ismael's eyes widened, and he leaned forward, his ears standing straight up. "And then what happened?"
Their mother continued, "In the midst of all that chaos, a hero emerged. He was chosen by Bequeathal himself, a brave soul who stood against the demons and fought to bring peace to the world. With courage and determination, he faced countless dangers and eventually succeeded in driving the demons back."
Ismael clapped his hands together, his face lit up with joy. "Then what happened after he brought peace? Did he live happily ever after, like in all the fairy tales? I bet he did! He's a hero, after all!"
Their mother's smile faltered for a moment, and a shadow of sadness crossed her eyes. She shook her head gently. "No, Ismael. That's not what happened."
Cecily frowned, her arms still crossed. "If it doesn't have a happy ending, then it's just a bad story. What's the point of hearing it?"
Their mother reached out and gently touched Cecily's cheek. "Not all stories have happy endings, my dear. But that doesn't mean they aren't beautiful. Sometimes, the most important part of a story is the journey, not the end."
Felicia leaned closer, her eyes filled with curiosity. "But I want to know how it ends. What happened to the hero?"
Their mother's gaze softened, and she looked at each of her children in turn. "You will," she said quietly. "Someday."
With that, she leaned down and kissed each of them on the forehead. Her lips were warm, and the gesture filled the room with a sense of comfort and love.
She stood up and walked to the door, pausing for a moment to look back at them. "Goodnight, my little ones. Sleep well."
The door closed with a soft click, leaving the three siblings in the dim light of the candle.
Ismael lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. His mind was racing with thoughts of heroes and adventures. "I'm going to become a hero," he declared, his voice filled with determination. "And my story will have a happy ending!"
Felicia giggled and nodded. "Me too! I want to be a hero just like the one in the story!"
Cecily rolled her eyes, but there was a small smile on her face. "I can't believe you two actually believe in those myths. Heroes don't exist."
Ismael turned to her, his eyes shining with resolve. "Then I'll become a hero! That way, they won't be myths anymore!"
That night, Ismael's dream of becoming a hero was born. He imagined himself as a light in the darkness, a protector of those who couldn't protect themselves.
He wanted to be a beacon of hope, someone who could stand against the forces of evil and bring peace to the world.
•••••
Years later, Ismael found himself lying on a battlefield, his body battered and broken. The sky above was dark, filled with swirling clouds of ash and smoke.
The ground around him was littered with the bodies of fallen warriors, their lifeless eyes staring up at the heavens. Among them were his allies, now turned into undead monsters by the necromancer demon commander, Gerlahim.
Ismael coughed, blood spilling from his lips. His once-shiny armor was now dented and stained with dirt and blood.
His sword lay broken beside him, and his strength was fading fast. He looked up at Gerlahim, who stood tall and menacing. The demon's eyes glowed with a cruel light, and a twisted smile played on his lips.
"It turns out," Ismael said, his voice weak but filled with bitter laughter, "all heroes' stories end in tragedy."
Gerlahim sneered. "You were never a hero."
One of the undead Harengon knights, once a comrade of Ismael's, stepped forward. Its hollow eyes stared at him as it raised a spear, aiming it at his chest. Ismael closed his eyes, accepting his fate. He had fought bravely, but it wasn't enough. He had failed.
But just as the spear was about to strike, a loud thud echoed through the battlefield.
Ismael's eyes snapped open, and he saw the head of the undead knight rolling on the ground. Standing in front of him was a man, his back turned to Ismael. The man's presence was calm yet imposing, and in his hand was a mantis scythe, its blade gleaming in the dim light.
Ismael blinked, trying to make sense of what had just happened. He hadn't sensed the man's arrival, and it was as if he had appeared out of thin air. The faint shimmer of fading invisibility around the man explained how he had come so suddenly.
Before Ismael could speak, a warm, golden light enveloped him. He felt his wounds healing, his strength returning. The pain that had been coursing through his body began to fade, replaced by a sense of renewed energy.
"Big brother!" a familiar voice called out. He turned his head and saw Felicia running toward him, her face filled with relief. She threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly. "We came to help you! He came to save us!"
Ismael hugged her back, still confused. "What's happening? Who is he?"
Felicia pulled away and pointed to the man standing in front of them.
Ismael looked at the man, his heart pounding with a mix of awe and curiosity. The man turned to face him, his eyes calm and emotionless. His face was stern, but there was a quiet strength in his gaze.
"Who are you?" Ismael asked, his voice trembling slightly.
The man's voice was steady and clear. "I am Keiran Graywood. I am a hero."