I’ve always dreamed of being brought into another world.

A world of powers. A world where I could start fresh. A world where I could find passion again.

This world, my world, is one of endless pain and shadow. Each day drags on, heavy with regret and exhaustion. The minutes blur together, except when they slow to an unbearable crawl, like they do when the pain becomes too much. My life feels like a nightmare from which I cannot wake.

I try to distract myself—video games, books, anything to fill the hours. Once, these things gave me joy. I would immerse myself in epic battles, in stories of heroes standing tall against impossible odds. But those days are gone. Now, these distractions are just another way to survive the long hours.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

There was a time when I thought I could be a hero too. When I believed in strength and sacrifice, in being someone others could count on. I became that hero, or so they tell me. My actions saved lives. Maybe even thousands. There’s one life in particular I remember—a single person who still calls me a hero. She says I gave her a second chance.

But what did I get in return? Nothing but an existence I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. They see a hero; I see a hollow shell. If I had the choice, I’d trade all those lives saved for a chance to feel whole again.

When I was young, I wanted to be the hero who gave everything for others, who stood unflinching against the darkness. Now I realize that’s not the kind of hero I want to be. Not anymore.

I want to save others, yes, but I want to save myself too. I want to be the hero who walks away intact, who stands in the light with something left to hold onto.

If only I could find a world where that was possible.