"No. No no no no." Leon muttered to himself as he walked through the streets of the Garowin, the capital city of Norn, his gauntlet-covered fists clenching and creaking in rage. Confetti fell around him, and fireworks exploded overhead as the crowds cheered him on.
"Hero!”
“Hero!”
“Hero!”
They all chanted, yelling over each other in hopes of being recognized by their Hero. The sound that should have been like music to his ears now driving him deeper and deeper into his rage. Leon needed to get away. Now. He had a target, and this was no time for their ignorant celebration. They were completely unaware of the truth.
Using his superior speed, Leon leapt to the rooftops, running atop the buildings faster than the crowd below could perceive. The fireworks served as a helpful distraction, their bright lights shielding him from sight—not that they could have seen him at all.
"Huh, where did the hero go?" He could hear the puzzled voices as he disappeared into the distance, deeper into the capital city. Soon, the sound of chanting faded away as he distanced himself from the crowd. Finally, feeling he was far enough away, Leon jumped down into an alleyway. He knelt down, pulled a cloak from his pack, and wrapped himself in it. It was time.
"Sir... hero?" A timid voice said from the opening of the alley. A small boy looked at him with questioning eyes. Leon flashed him a smile, placing a finger on his lips, making a soft “shhh” noise. He winked as he lowered his hand back down to his side, and the boy nodded enthusiastically. It was their secret now. Leon walked up to the boy, raising the hood up on his own cloak, and ruffled the boy's hair.
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"Get far away from here, little one," Leon said. Though it was a command, his tone remained gentle.
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In the boy's eyes a light of remembrance shone. He recalled the hero who had once saved his village from the demon army years ago. The image of Leon in his shining armor, wielding his legendary sword, standing tall in the face of hundreds of monsters—that memory was his most cherished and yet haunting.
It not only displayed the hero's courage and strength in the face of far superior numbers, but also marked the day the boy lost his entire family and most of the village. This pushed him to Garowin as a refugee, eventually scrounging for coin and food while struggling to remember his own name. While only a few years had passed, so much had happened that it felt like ages since he had heard his name rather than boy—or worse. Staring at his hero standing in front of him, something emerged from that dark loneliness he had been feeling for a long time. The bright and powerful word—his name—bubbled up from within.
Lars.
That’s right, he remembered it now. Lars was his name, and it was a name passed down to him via his father. A name his father told him to pass down to his own son.
Lars trusted the champion who had saved his life, and showed him the meaning of true courage. He nodded to Leon, covering his mouth with his hand, as the hero walked away and towards the castle.
The boy waited, not wanting to truly disobey the hero but unable to contain his curiosity, then ran down a different alley. He positioned himself outside a shop with a good view of the castle and the street below. He spotted a man hurrying down the street, the familiar cloak draped around his shoulders and hiding his face. He walked swiftly, as if in a rush but trying not to run. Lars had a suspicion, but his attempt to peer underneath the cloak was thwarted by the ground shaking beneath his feet from a deafening roar.
He fell to the ground off of his perch beside the shop as the sky darkened and wind rushed past his face. Then, he noticed the ringing in his ears. The explosion had been so loud and sudden that he barely had time to register its occurrence before the world shuddered beneath him. Lars looked up toward the castle. It was gone, along with the surrounding buildings. All that remained of the once towering structure and the opulent buildings owned by the wealthiest residents of Garowin were scattered rubble and ash that was raining down from above.
Lars panicked, his gaze darting back and forth until it rested on the cloaked man, who stared back at him. Leon and Lars locked eyes, something passing between them at that moment, and Leon turned, walking away for the last time. Lars, whose hearing was slowly returning, began to hear screams in the distance. He watched his "hero" depart, unable to look away as Leon left behind a new image for him to remember.