Every child grows up hearing tales of great heroes and their great adventures. No stories are greater than those of the Myrmidons. Seven champions, chosen by the sacred weapons they wield. When one wielder dies, retires, or is found unworthy, a new one is chosen to take up the mantle. I'd heard many stories of their heroism. Mira the Annointed, wielder of the spear Odin. Meriadoc the Brave, wielder of the scythe Hela. Garret of Valara, wielder of the morning star Thor. Sappho Ferris, who wielded the twin blades Tyr and Loki. Kern the Kind, who bore the katars Freyja and Baldr. Artorias the Wild, who held the bow Ullr. And Sir Hamund Dane, who took up the greatsword Valkyrie.

My life as a child wasn't great, but all the tales of heroes fighting monsters and saving the world, those were the things that kept me entertained. I'd often dream about joining them as an adult...But real life doesn't work the same as a fairy tale or a dream.

When I was six and a half years old, the Myrmidons came to the orphanage. They were on pilgrimage and wanted to check in on nearby areas as they came to them. To see them at our doorstep, it was like a miracle. Kids asking for anything and everything, from sweets to adoption. No one wanted us in our town, but surely these heroes would be able to. I wasn't quite naive enough to think that possible. They were wandering champions. How could they have the time to take care of one kid when the whole world depended on them?

And then one of them came up to me. I'd been crying for an hour thanks to this punk kid Tomas and his gang of hoodlums twice my age deciding it would be fun to pull on my horns and tail. I remember the face of this giant, chiseled and scarred from a thousand battles. Bright blue eyes and hair like waves of gold silk. Armor marred and repaired time and again, the wear and tear obvious even to my young eyes. And upon his back, the greatsword Valkyrie, blade shimmering even in the late evening with the sun behind us. I remember being enamored, yet afraid. He was huge, and I was a little kid!

This giant kneeled before me, plucking an iris from his pack and holding it out to me. Then he scooped me up in arms the size of pillars and held me. I rested my head between his pauldron and his neck. The fear was gone. I was infatuated now, my only wish being to hold onto this feeling. This man, Hamund Dane, became my world for a full minute before he put me down as gentle as if he were tucking me into bed.

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"Why?" I remember asking him.

"Why what?" He responded, a confused look returning my gaze. I looked at my feet, fingering the iris. For a long moment, we stood there in silence, the child and the giant, before I managed to figure out how to word my question. "Why are you being nice to me?"

At this, he laughed. A long, hearty laugh that caught me by surprise. "Little one, you were crying. Is it not the job of adults to soothe a crying child?" I thanked whatever gods were listening for the tint of my skin, the first time I think I'd ever been grateful for it, as it hid the rising heat in my cheeks. "But I'm...I mean, ya know-" "A tiefling, yes, I'd noticed. And?"

His blatant response gave me temporary pause before I found my words again. "So then why?"

This giant laid a hand on my head, patting my hair. "Because it's what we do, not where we come from, that defines us. Our character, that's what matters. My wife's an orc. People are always leveling their preconceptions at her. She doesn't let that stop her from being the kind of person she wants to be." Poking my nose, he smiled, a bright grin that lit up the world around me. "We are not our blood. We are our actions, and our reasoning behind them."

He spoke with conviction, like that of the sisters when they made their prayers to the gods. But his words rang in my ears long after I'd gone to bed, and even after I awoke the next morning to find the Myrmidons leaving for their next destination. I couldn't let him go without letting him know how much those words meant.

Rushing from my bed and to the front door, I called out to them to stop. As they halted, I caught up and held out a fistful of daisies I'd picked not a few days earlier. But the articulation of my words failed me; all I could say was "Thank you" as I handed them to Sir Hamund. He smiled and took the daisies, removing the gauntlet from his right hand to do so. "You should keep that flower I gave you. Irises are special."

"How so?" I asked, clutching at my tail and the hem of my dress, the numerous bits of dirt and stains turning a soft white to a sort of brown.

"They symbolize three very special virtues. Wisdom to know what to do, faith that you can do it, and hope that it will all work out when it's done...Hope. I think such a virtue suits you, little one. You should have more of that."

I watched them disappear over the horizon, holding that iris clutched in my hands like a precious treasure. I decided in that moment what my name was going to be.

I never cried again...Not for another six months.