The hazy edges of my memories bring me back to a time when I was ten. Albert and I had become best friends by then, thick as thieves in our scrappy neighborhood. We were just children in a world where magic was more than just fairy tales, and heroes were more than just figures on television.

Every year, our city would observe a silent march in memory of the Aureate Guardians - heroes who had given their all to protect our world before I’d been born. We sat on the curb, Albert and I, munching on hot corn dogs and drinking lemonade, our fingers sticky and our hearts innocent. I just dropped my corn dog, and I stared down at it, crestfallen. I remember him giving me his, and reassuring me with a smile.

Even then, he wore the air of someone who would give everything for a scared little girl on the playground in a heartbeat.

I remember the procession of silent figures in the street. A giant float slowly advanced, with a row of sculptures depicting the iconic heroes of the previous era - the Aureate Guardians. At the forefront was the radiant figure of Arcadia Vox, her flowing robes and sparkling staff a beacon of hope. Beside her stood the stoic and ever-vigilant Comet Quake, the red hue of her heavy armor shining brighter than the sun. Nascent Abyss, ethereal and elusive, cloaked in dark silk and mystery, walked alongside the cunning and agile Storm Vixen, her spectral cloak fluttering in the artificial wind.

Then there was Paladis Shield, the sole male of the group. Even as a statue, his towering presence was undeniable. He was not a Magical Knight, yet he held his own against the magical girls. He was a Paragon - an individual who had earned a special talent from the [System] itself. His powers were not granted by mystical contracts, but by the world itself for reaching the pinnacle of his human potential and virtue.

He had started off as Arcadia Vox’s personal sidekick. Her squire, before jumping dozens of levels in one swoop in a rallying speech during the Guardians’ prior darkest hour. I remembered his statue bearing a shield, reflecting the glare of the sun into my eyes.

The floats that followed next were not as bright, but just as grand. They cast long, sinister shadows, depicting the dark adversaries that the Guardians had faced: the seven members of the Umbra Cabal. Mortifera Nox, Arcadia’s lifelong arch-nemesis and master of spirits, was the most prominent among them. Dressed in black and green robes, her expression was fixed in a snarl. Around her floated her ghastly companions, embodiments of evil known only as the Necrospheres, minions she had raised from restless spirits.

Next was the terrible duo, twins Pyre Thorn and Flare Thorn, their fiery forms forever locked in battle poses. A figure of towering armor, Osmium Titan, struck an imposing figure with his metallic bulk. Phantom Mirage, master of illusions, was depicted weaving spells of confusion and misdirection. In the shadow of these formidable villains was the figure of Red Masque, the youngest and least threatening among them. The biographical float depicted him as a rogue with no true loyalties, shifting alliances as easily as a leaf floats in the wind. Even back then however, he was feared for his brutal efficiency and merciless tactics. Yet he paled in comparison to his companions, their powers and reputations were simply far more dreadful and terrifying.

But most haunting of all was the figure of Nightingale Eclipse, a fallen hero who'd strayed from the path of light into the darkness. She was the one who haunted my dreams as a child, her solemn gaze piercing through me, her wings of light tinged with shadows.

In the middle of this somber procession was the float depicting the battle that had ensued, an epic struggle between good and evil. The parade-goers watched in awe as the display depicted the Aureate Guardians facing off against the Umbra Cabal over a glowing orb - the Nexus Conduit.

It was an ancient magical artifact that supposedly possessed the truth behind reality and ultimate power. The orb had gone critical, and in her mad lust for power, Mortifera Vox would annihilate the country and sacrifice millions in her bid for enlightenment. It had all happened right there in Pewterstone City.

The official narrative painted a teeth-clenching, harrowing battle. All eyes were drawn to a heroic animation of Paladis, serving as Arcadia's loyal Squire to the end. With the aid of Nightingale Eclipse who had a last minute change of heart, he created a critical opening for the team. Paladis perished in the final moments of the ritual, giving Arcadia the opportunity to strike down Mortifera Nox and disrupt the ritual at the cost of her own life.

However, I couldn't help but feel a strange knot in my stomach as I watched the grand float depicting the epic conclusion of the final battle. As a child, I could only perceive it as the stirring of excitement, the awe inspired by the spectacle. Now, with the power of hindsight, I realized I always felt the disquieting sense that something crucial was missing from the narrative. But that was a story for another time.

I remember being enthralled by the vibrant images of the parade, the heroic exploits of the Aureate Guardians, and the thrilling danger of the Umbra Cabal. Albert was right there with me, his chubby cheeks flushed with excitement, his eyes wide with wonder.

Looking back, I realize that he was always there, always at my side. Even when I was crying over a dropped snack, Albert was there to console me, to share his own corn dog with me without a second thought. He had an uncanny ability to read me, to understand me even when I couldn't understand myself.

But Albert also had his flaws. He hid a natural anxiety hidden behind bravado, and he often tripped over his own feet in his haste to run from perceived danger before anyone realized something was wrong. His fear of yellow and black striped insects and darkness was almost comical, and his ability to lose just about anything was legendary.

Yet, in spite of his clumsiness and fears, Albert always stood up for what was right. He may have been a scaredy cat, but he was also the bravest person I knew. It was less that he was a scaredy cat — it was more like he had a keen sense of danger and usually was first to take initiative. His flaws made him human, relatable, and I cherished him all the more for them.

I remembered when we’d met for the first time in the first grade in the center of a storm of screaming children and paper airplanes. I was new to the neighborhood and completely friendless, a shy girl in an oversized t-shirt clutching her cat-themed lunchbox for dear life. It wasn’t easy being a relatively scrawny kid in a playground full of established cliques and ahem, high-stakes games of tag and handball. Albert, at the time, was the quiet, chubby boy in the corner with a stutter and nearly ran screaming out of the room when a wasp flew in the first time I saw him.

On that particular day, some older kids decided it would be funny to steal my lunchbox and toss it around like a game of hot potato. I was too slow, too afraid to get in the middle of that whirlwind of laughter and cruelty. I remember standing there, feeling utterly alone and helpless, tears welling up in my eyes.

Then, there was Albert. I remember how he stepped in, not with bravado or bluster, but with quiet resolve and a quick “Hey! Cut it out!”. He wasn't the fastest and although he always had strength, he was gentle to a fault. But he tried. He even managed to catch my lunchbox once that day, but the bullies quickly cornered him and pushed him down, the laughter growing louder.

I watched as he fell, his blue baseball cap falling to the ground, the skinned knee and the pained grimace. But there was no cry of defeat, no plea for mercy. He just picked himself up, dusted his hat, wiped the tears that had appeared quietly, and with a courage I could barely comprehend, he went at it again.

In his earnest attempt to stand up for me, he earned the bullies' ire and a laundry list of nicknames, “Tubby”, “Lardass”, “Flapjack”, that would stick with him for years. It didn't deter him though. If anything, he seemed to wear it as a badge of honor.

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A teacher finally intervened, scolding the bullies and rescuing my lunchbox from their cruel game.

Yet, in my young mind, it was Albert who was the hero. He was the one who stood up for me, the one who had shown me kindness when I was alone and friendless. The whole incident cost him dearly, he gained bullies, a cruel nickname, and a few bruises for his trouble. But he also gained something else - a friend in me.

I shared my meager lunch with him that day, seated on a far corner of the playground, away from the prying eyes and loud laughter. I rarely had enough to eat in the years to come, but I divided my peanut butter sandwich and apple slices equally, a small gesture of gratitude that didn't seem nearly enough. We didn't say much that day, but we didn't need to. Sometimes, silence spoke louder than words.

...

From that day forward, Albert and I were inseparable. We grew up as only children, but we were virtually siblings. He became my protector, my confidant, my best friend. He’d always looked at these heroes. Superheroes.

And he'd try, every day, to be one himself in his own small ways. Albert, the stuttering, clumsy, slightly overweight boy who was scared of the dark and bees, was my own personal superhero. He’d say, "We've got each other’s back, Sienna. That's all that matters."

That was his promise, and he stuck by it, no matter what.

He’d struggled with his weight his entire life, but as we grew up, he did do all he could to raise his physical and mental attributes wherever he could.

He took up catch wrestling, shop, and running in middle school, not out of a desire for accolades or popularity, but simply to make use of what gifts he had to be stronger. He was never a terrible student, but he threw himself into his studies to be better, to be there when someone needed him. Every night he would be running, even if he was the slowest in the class, he never stopped trying. Wrestling, despite all the bruises and defeats, taught him to stand his ground and face any obstacle head-on.

Early on, I wondered why he pushed himself so much. After all, he wasn't trying to impress anyone, and neither of us had been chosen as Magical Knights in the usual timeframe, as much as we wanted it. But now I realize that it was simply that he was genuine about it. He wanted to be in a position where he could help, where he could make a difference. Seeing him push himself made me also strive to be better.

There was a stark contrast between the Albert that the world saw and the Albert I knew. He was awkward, yes. He was goofy, he was afraid of bees, he hated the dark. He was bullied, and yet he stood up, again and again, not just for himself, but for others as well. In a world that didn't give him a lot to work with, he made the most out of what he had.

Despite his fears and his flaws, Albert had a heart that was bigger than anyone I knew. He had the courage to stand up for what was right, even when it was difficult. Even when it made him a target. And it was that courage, that unwavering commitment to do what was right, that made him a hero in my eyes. An example to follow, through my entire life.

He was the boy who stood up to bullies for me, who would face his fears again and again if it meant he could help someone else. He was the boy who shared my love for the heroes of our city and our world, who aspired to be like them, even if he didn't quite fit the mold.

He was real in a way that the transcendent heroes of the parade floats never could be. He was my friend and my brother in all but blood.

And despite everything, despite the dangers we faced and the trials we went through, he never once gave up on me, on us. Even as monsters erupted from portals and humanity faced an unknown, otherly terror, Albert was still there. I’d frozen in shock, but he grabbed me and got us to safety. He was ready in an instant to face it all, ready to protect. The same boy who was scared of the dark stood between me and against the greatest darkness our world had ever known, and nearly gave his life for it.

As I ran through the dimly lit tunnels in my half-transformed state, frantically searching for his presence, I couldn't help but feel a sense of urgency, a sense of dread. Because I knew that Albert, brave, kind Albert, would be right there in the thick of things, doing his best to protect those around him, even if it meant putting himself in danger.

To me, he defined what it meant to be a hero.

That was the realization that struck me as I came upon a half-open heavy door, inspecting the eerie, decapitated remains of a dog-like, blue and gray clay creature.

If there was one thing that I learned from him, it's that heroes aren't made of superpowers or grand titles. They're not forged from legendary artifacts or born out of mystical contracts with mysterious black cats. They're not even carved out of unyielding resolve or unwavering bravery. No, heroes are made of something far more simple and far more profound.

They're made of love.

Love for their friends, for their families, for the innocent, and even for the world that often doesn't love them back.

Heroes are people who have the courage to care, the bravery to be kind, and the strength to stand up for what's right, even when the world is against them. They're people who look fear in the eye and say, "You don't define me. You don't control me!" They're people who may stumble and fall, who may break and bleed, but always, always, they get back up.

Albert is the boy who fumbled his way through our childhood, who lost more lunch money than I could count, who was so terrified of the dark that he'd sleep with a flashlight under his pillow and tie one around his keychain. He was the boy who blushed and stuttered when he spoke, who was bullied and mocked, but who never once let that diminish his spirit.

His flaws were many, his fears even more. Yet, every time he'd face them, even when it was just to lend a hand to someone else. To me, that was what defined him. That's when I realized what he was to me.

When I saw him standing up against the monstrous creatures from the portals with a steel pipe in hand, I wasn't surprised. Because that's who Albert was. He was the boy who would stand up against bullies, against fear, against the end of the world, if it meant protecting those he loved.

Even when the world was falling apart around us, even when we were running for our lives, even when we were separated, he never once gave up. He took charge, led the others here, and made sure they were safe. He was Albert, always and forever.

But I also knew that Albert, for all his bravery, was just a boy. He didn't have magical powers. He didn't have a hastily established contract with a strange black cat. He was a boy, a boy who had grown into a man too soon, facing dangers that were far beyond his capabilities.

And that terrified me more than any monster. Because I knew that if something happened to Albert, I would lose more than a friend. I would lose a part of myself. A part of my past, my present, and my future.

A part of my heart.

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And so I ran. Ran through the creepy tunnels, my heart pounding in sync with my frantic steps. The tunnels twisted and turned, presenting a dark maze I had to navigate.

The air was dense and damp, its chill seeping through my clothes. The smell of damp earth mixed with the heavy, metallic scent of blood that filled my senses, making my stomach churn.

I nearly tripped over another one of those dog-like creatures, its bullet-riddled body still twitching slightly with the last vestiges of its monstrous life. I swallowed the bile that rose in my throat and pushed on, my only thoughts: Save the civilians. Find my friend.

I turned the last corner and my heart leapt into my throat. Shelter 2 was ahead. A crude sign pointed upwards, towards a narrow, rusty ladder. Next to it, a half-open gate swung ominously on its hinges, groaning softly under the weight of the world above.

I approached the gate, my chest tightening with each step. But then, a soft orange-pink light began to permeate my body, filling me with warmth. It flowed from my core, spreading outwards until it encased me like a protective bubble.

There was a force within me, a force that had been sparked into life by my resolve, my determination, and my unwavering belief in an idea first instilled to me by a certain goofball. In his bravery, his kindness, his unwavering dedication to protect those he loved.

I reached out and grasped the ladder, the cold metal biting into my palm. As I looked up, my resolve only strengthened.

This wasn't the end. Not by a long shot. He had stood by me through everything, fought for me, protected me. Now it was my turn. I would find him. I would shield him from this evil.

I began to climb, holding the staff I carried against the edges. The soft orange-pink light continued to radiate from me, casting long shadows on the tunnel walls.

As I reached the top, I looked back one last time. The dim tunnels stretched out into the darkness, a labyrinth of fear and terror. But I wasn't afraid. Not anymore.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and stepped up into the back of Shelter 2.

The light rolled off me in waves, illuminating the darkness as I moved forward, more than ready to face whatever awaited me.