I woke up a few times between then and now, but they were each short lived, leaving nothing but groggy recollections of things that may have never been said. But now that things are clear once again. The words that were said keep coming back to me.

‘Eternity locked away.’

Was that really what I chose?

Would I have made the same decision had I known?

I think I would have, but maybe that is because my body is still in flight-mode.

It didn’t really matter what she said. To me, those people died hours, even minutes ago. And the closure I receive in return is the realization that now, for certain, everyone I’ve ever known is dead.

Some closure. I wanted a neat bow and instead I receive a noose. A noose that can’t even cinch properly.

I should have never given up that bottle of nightshade.

No, my mistakes go further back than that. Maybe it starts with the thought that ‘that leap’ would be one away from hell. Now I wonder if it was the opposite. Wouldn’t heaven be shutting my eyes for my last time with Lotil by my side?

Lotil.

I suppose she was the one who made that decision for me in part.

And now she’s gone, forcing me to wonder about the imperceptible benefits alone.

‘To fulfil my job.’ That was her wish for me; to find a hero that may never even be born. To find someone capable of wielding a blade that would drain the life out of most in less than half a minute.

If Heather was any sign, then more than half of the items in the stack I am sitting on alone would instantly kill most humans of this era. What does that say about my chances of finding a hero when typically mana pools are similar generation to generation?

How many thousands of years might I have to wait for humans to even be able to handle magic tools again? Will I even be awake when such a time comes?

Wait…

Something is off about that thought.

Why am I awake?

“Go ahead and open it. This one is from me and your granny. I think it will be perfect for you.”

Overwhelming the sound of the newly appearing male voice is the distinct sound of tearing paper.

“A box?” A simple voice returns in curiosity.

“Inside the box, Jiro.” Another friendly voice advises from somewhere further away.

Again the sound of tearing paper as the thin decorative box is torn as opposed to opened.

“Pretty.” The closest voice mutters absently before sending me a surge of mana on a level far beyond expectations.

This is a child, right? Then why does it feel as if this place is larger than even I could ever make it? I’ve heard children can have more volatile mana pools, but the sheer amount expelled per heartbeat is incredible.

More importantly, who gives a child a dangerous ancient relic?

“What do you say to grammy and grandad, Jiro?” A maternal voice instructs in a sing-song voice from nearby my owner.

“THANK YOU!” Jiro cheers dropping me unceremoniously and cramping me back into the narrow room I had grown to loathe.

“Sure thing, kid. But this ain’t no ordinary bag as you may have noticed. Was it tingly?”

“Tingl…” Jiro begins to mutter before seemingly coming upon a meaning. “YEAH! Why though?”

“It’s a magic tool.” The man explains before adding a comment I couldn’t agree with. “If you keep it on you it will strengthen your foundation and it’s the perfect stash spot for all your little gadgets.”

And no, not just a problem of storing this kid’s spent suckers. ‘Strengthen foundation’?

I’ve never heard that before in my life. And for good reason I assumed. In my era –It feels strange to say that– volatile mana pools and magic devices were like mixing ice and fire. Presumably it’s why there was an age limit for my post. If it were only about mana pool then I am sure they could have found a baby with a significantly higher amount than me.

Maybe knowledge has progressed, or has regressed? Were we backwards in keeping magic tools away from pre-teens, or were we wise?

Well it’s not as if I can tell Jiro to just throw me away. I could try to scare him, but that wouldn’t feel right. I suppose I have no choice but to opt towards the ‘wait and see’ routine.

▐◊▌▐◊▌

I always wake up with something interesting at hand in this time with Jiro. His, ‘gadgets’ as the old man called them seem to be a variety of prank tools, simple golem-based action figures, and a handful of other random things that differ day to day. Somedays it’s a butterfly net, sometimes a toy sword.

His adventuring time only seems to last for two hours a day before sunset, once his lessons have properly been completed. He gathers me, and a variety of tools, tosses them into my groggy face through the black wall, and dashes for the courtyard to meet up with his counterpart.

At least Heather gave me food after waking me up, not that I’m particularly hungry.

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I haven’t found the chance to speak to him yet. Maybe it’s shell shock? The last two people I spoke with died seemingly only moments later. What’s going to cause it this time? Somehow, I know it will feel like my fault.

If I did speak to him I don’t even know what I would say. Pretend to be a magic tool again? It would pass easier on a child. Honestly it probably would have passed for most people unless they specifically studied magic tools like Heather had.

She probably noticed me answering contextual questions.

Obvious I will strive to not make mistakes like that again, but still, only she would realize that nothing but a living being could pick up on something with that level of complexity.

If not pretending, then what? Tell him my story?

That’s, a horrible idea.

‘Oh, you see kid, I’m in this bag because I ran away when my family and friends were dying. I’d totally recommend you follow my great example. Looking for a role model? Look no further.’

He’s better off chatting with his imaginary friend.

And yes, if you are wondering, I have considered the obvious route that provides. But impersonating an entity with no voice has certain clear flaws.

Thinking about it clearly now, I wonder why I feel so insistent on communicating with him? I said it myself, I’ll likely only bring him harm, so what do I expect out of talking to him?

Maybe it’s out of hope for his namesake.

▐◊▌▐◊▌

“Lili, over here look, look!” Jiro shouts with hands probably clutching a beetle of some sort wrenched from a high tree branch.

This Lili character was one of the few friends Jiro seemingly ever met with. Perhaps he has friends he rarely meets in high nobility, like Skule did. But somehow, I had a feeling that wasn’t the case.

Lili is similar in character to Jiro in many ways, sans height according to their rambunctious chats on the topic. She never lets the topic go from what I’ve noticed, maybe she is from a family of all older siblings. With the chance to brag about height coming rarely it wouldn’t be unusual for her to get caught up on the topic.

Jiro takes it on the chin though, he probably knows in a few years he will tower over her even with his small build.

“Woah!” Lili murmurs in amazement before the sound of gears turning in her head became almost audible. “Where’d you find it?”

Taking the bait with reckless abandon Jiro probably points to the tip-top branch of the tree, despite knowing full well he found it while only half-way up. “Way up there. I had to…”

“But how’d you get it with such short arms?” Lili muses with a grin clearly ringing through her voice.

Realizing his mistake in that instant Jiro attempts to sidestep the insult. “Well, if you put your mind to it, being small can’t stop you. Ya’ just have to keep trying hard. Success will find you if you don’t go looking.”

I know for a fact I heard your grandfather say one of those exact lines to your father prior to their departure after your birthday celebration. Plagiarism is a crime you know.

Well to be honest I don’t actually know the laws of this period, but surely.

Actually, if anything, what I am doing now is probably much bigger issue on the broad scale of things, so I suppose glass houses shouldn’t throw… wait… how does that go again?

“You’re getting better and better at retorts.” Lili sighs after containing her laughter.

I felt the pulses of mana flooding the hero’s vessel coming much more rapidly. I wonder if he even realizes the correlations between his flustered heart and Lili? From in here, it’s obvious, but I suppose feelings are harder to understand at that age.

“Want me to show you?” Jiro asks with the reigns on his heart clenched tightly.

“…” With a quirk of her head Lili silently prompts him onward.

“The spot where I found the beetle!” He finishes excitedly. And then, without allowing her a moment to choose Jiro quickly waves her over to the tall apple tree he had freed himself from only moments ago. “I’ll show you the path, watch close! I’m sure even you’ll be able to handle it.”

“Too far,” Lili growls as she watches Jiro begin to scale the tree with poorly-hidden hesitation in each step.

Even I admit he was acting a bit cocky with that retort, but perhaps he felt like he earned it after Lili’s previous dig. A little give and take should be a granted in any relationship, childhood or otherwise.

Off topic; But watching this makes me think of something my father talked about almost daily back when my mother was with us. I suppose it wasn’t something he talked about, but more of just a thing he said. He would refer to her as his ‘eye cleanser’ after a heavy day.

I finally understand that concept.

I think that’s what this time period is for me if I had to describe it. It’s a clean sponge after trudging miles through mud.—But it wasn’t mud. That’d’ve been a welcomed alternative in fact. —It’s like being brought back to a time when the world was smaller yet felt so much larger.

This world that I’m visiting seemingly doesn’t have a war, it seemingly doesn’t have politics, it doesn’t have strife. And that’s because it’s the world a child, a world strategically devoid of reality.

That world I walked through still exists. I know it does, it’s just raging somewhere far outside the walls of this carefully crafted childhood.

Is this type of childhood wrong though? Perhaps only if the columns collapse, and the truth comes sloshing in.

Either way, I don’t think I have the authority to decide that. My brothers and I grew up understanding about the world simply by necessity. We were taught about demons because they posed an actual threat to our daily life. But for the people who died in the capital, the ones with early lives like me, and the ones born in quilted cocoons, each and every one of them ended up in the same place. Prepared or not the grave came to them. So, can one really be argued as better?

Falling as cattle, or wolves is all it really comes down to. And when history begins to forget, as it always does, neither side will be spared.

I’ve witnessed that now personally.

Perhaps this is why those stories are passed down to children. So the important stuff isn’t forgotten at the very least.

The figures may fade, but the injustice can never be left unchecked. This fury can’t be forgotten.

▐◊▌▐◊▌

There’s never a way to knowing just how long I’ve slept after impromptu naps like these.

Has it been an hour or a thousand years? Does it even matter? Maybe only to me.

“Food, check.” The boy mutters, passing an orange and a half loaf of bread through the opening of the hero’s vessel and directly onto my lap. “Water, check. Rope, check…”

Continuing with a variety of necessities, the boy carefully prepares for this mysterious new adventure.

What is he planning now?

Better yet, what was happening when I fell asleep? Before I fell asleep, I remember hearing Jiro shouting something.

Did something happen to Lili?

“What happened? Where are you going?”

Jiro, who was still attempting to pull himself together mentally, at first thought the voice was his own conscious it took a moment to realize its source wasn’t internal.

Leaping backwards from his bed, with feet light enough not to make a racket, Jiro looks around for the real source.

“Who…” He begins to stammer.

“Come back over here. If you are gone for too long I will fade once again. What happened? Why are you leaving?”

Jiro heeds my words hesitantly stepping up and gripping the bag once again. “Wh… what are you?”

“I am the hero’s vessel. And, if I think it requires it, I will assist you in your journey.”

“H…” Jiro begins to murmur as he strokes one of the smooth red gems on the lip of the bag. Shaking his head suddenly he returns to his mission at hand. “Lili, one of our mai… My friend, Lili. They said she stole… I think she was kidnapped.”

“Who took her?” Who’s forcefully demolishing his column?

“It’s… I... I don’t know. I just know where she is, the maids were talking about it when they thought I was outside.” Jiro explains impatiently. “I have to hurry.”

Honestly, I already had it half figured out.

So, this will be his hero moment?

“Very well.” I calmly state, trying my best to restrain my excitement. “If you are ready, then let’s go.”

“You’ll help me?” Jiro asks as if seeing the first glimmer of hope in days.

The answer to his question was a glimmer emerging from the empty pocket residing in the bag.

Extending hand carefully Jiro retrieves the lump of metal I offer him.

I was tempted to give him the actual sword, but a flurry of doubt festering in the back of my mind restrained me.

Speechless at the construction of the small dagger Jiro inspects it endlessly. Peeling it from the sheath a short gasp escapes his mouth as the blinding yellow light fills his room.

“Step carefully, and go become a true hero.” I urge after a moment of silence.