The Boy Who Dreamed of Becoming a Hero

I still… regret what happened that day.

If I had never opened it, would I have made a different choice?

It was a quiet house.

Mother was washing dishes in the kitchen, and the boy was playing alone in the attic.

Creak.

That day, too, had been nothing out of the ordinary.

From downstairs, his mother's voice called up to him.

"Son, if you're bored, why don't you come play with Mom?"

"I'm fine. I can play by myself!"

"All right, then."

The boy was searching for something to amuse himself with when an old wooden box tucked in the corner caught his eye.

"What's this?"

Dust had settled thick across its surface, yet somehow he couldn't look away.

I've never seen a box like this before…

He simply stared at it. Then, from somewhere behind him, a small voice whispered.

The boy flinched.

"Who's there?"

"I thought I just heard someone call me."

He rose from where he sat and edged closer to the box, glancing around to make sure his mother wasn't coming.

Standing in front of it like this…

Something about it feels wrong.

"It's ominous. I shouldn't open it."

Light was seeping through the cracks. The boy couldn't tear his eyes from the glow. Without realizing it, his hand was reaching for the box.

"Huh?"

He only noticed once his fingers were already touching it. A strange warmth radiated from the wood.

I should show this to Mom right away.

He tried to pull his hand free — but it wouldn't come away.

"Why won't it let go?!"

"Let go of me!!!"

He strained with everything he had, but the box clung to him, and a knot of unease began to tighten in his chest.

If Mom finds out, I'm going to get in trouble…

He was still struggling when the box slowly opened on its own.

"Ugh!"

The instant the lid lifted, light erupted outward. Before he could even shut his eyes, a fierce brilliance swallowed his vision.

"It's so bright!"

It lasted only a fraction of a second — but he saw it clearly. Something moved within the light.

Just now… something moved!

He couldn't make out its shape. But he was certain of one thing: that was no ordinary light.

"…What was that?"

"I don't think I should look…"

He turned his head, trying to look away — but curiosity won out.

"Just a little peek won't hurt, right?"

Holding his breath, he peered inside the box. Within it lay a book — old, and somehow repellent to the touch.

"This feels wrong… I should just close it."

That was what he thought. And yet, somehow, the book was already in his hands.

"Huh?"

"Son?"

His mother's voice came from behind him. Startled, the boy hastily hid the book at his back.

"Mom!"

She saw the book he was concealing first. Her expression hardened, and a tremor entered her voice.

"…Where did you find that?"

Her voice was different — low, quiet, and shaking.

"Well…"

The boy answered carefully, watching her face.

"It was just here… I opened it without thinking."

She said nothing. She simply stared at the book, dazed, then stepped closer.

"You… opened it?"

He could only nod in silence.

"…Yes."

A long quiet settled between them. The look in her eyes was one he had never seen before.

"I see…"

Despite her expression, she spoke calmly. Then she let out a small sigh.

"Come here."

She took his hand. That day, her hand was cold.

"Mom?"

She led him downstairs to the living room, lit a single candle, and set it on the table. A small flame swayed gently in the stillness.

"Son, will you come sit by me?"

She settled at the table and beckoned him over. He sat beside her without a word. For a moment she simply looked at him, then spoke.

"Today… I'm going to tell you a story."

He stared at the candle in silence. Each time the flame flickered, the light in her eyes seemed to dim a little further.

Mom's mad because I opened something I shouldn't have.

I knew it… I never should have opened it.

The boy watched her quietly. She drew a deep breath, opened the book, and slowly began to speak.

"Mom, are you angry?"

"No… I'm just preparing myself."

"I'm going to tell you a very old story."

"An old story?"

She smiled and simply nodded.

"There was a time when the world was far more chaotic than it is now."

"The races could not trust one another, and the gods declared they would destroy this world."

"Yes."

The candle flame trembled. The only sound was the slow turning of pages. Her voice was quiet, but heavy with something unspoken.

"To save that world… four heroes gathered."

She gripped the book tightly. The boy held his breath and listened.

"The first hero, Rio, was a man who longed for freedom more than anyone."

She turned the pages little by little.

"The second hero, Shafias, wished for equality for all."

"The third hero, Hopias, was a man of few words."

The candle flame shuddered hard.

"And the last—"

She paused. The room fell silent for a moment.

"…The fourth hero, Serden, was the one who remained until the end, protecting everyone."

Even as she told the story, something seemed to tighten in her chest. Her voice grew lower and lower until she pressed her lips shut once more.

"Mom, what's wrong?"

Her gaze turned to the boy. She wasn't smiling — only sorrow lived in her eyes.

What will happen to this child from now on?

Even this child…

She bit her lip and looked out the window for a moment.

I wish he would come home soon.

Beyond the glass, the wind was blowing hard.

"Mom?"

"I'm sorry. With this weather, I was just wondering if your father is all right."

"Dad's super strong, so he'll be fine."

A smile touched Armel's lips.

"You're right."

"Mom, so what happened next?"

"All right. I'll tell you the rest."

"They first gathered in the Trumun Kingdom."

"The Trumun… Kingdom?"

"It was one of the nations that existed long ago."

"It's said they fought terribly when they first met."

"So they didn't get along from the very start."

"That's right. Their pride ran that deep."

"But as they traveled together, they began to trust one another."

"They slowly became companions they could rely on?"

"Exactly. They crossed mountains, slew monsters, and wandered through labyrinths."

The boy was falling deeper into the story. His eyes sparkled as he spoke.

"Labyrinths!"

"And then?"

"But there was a being who did not take kindly to their journey."

"Was it… a god?"

"That's right. The gods… would not leave them be."

"Why?"

"'They're only human, after all.'"

"Beings who thought they could never stand against a god — those four had begun growing strong enough to rival the divine."

A cold wind seeped into the room, and for an instant the world around them seemed to darken.

"So what did the gods do to them?"

"The gods sent a messenger."

"A messenger?"

"A being who carries the will of the gods."

"And that messenger said this:"

She lowered her voice and read from the book.

"That god sounds like a bad one."

She laughed softly and continued.

"The four heroes —"

"— attacked the messenger instead."

The boy tensed and asked her,

"Why would they do that?"

"They said the gods were overflowing with greed."

"Every one of them rejected the gods' will."

She turned the page.

"The gods did not take kindly to that."

"So they sent angels and demons against the four heroes."

"Angels and demons?"

"Yes. They wielded techniques no one had ever seen."

"The heroes ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠nearly lost their lives more than once in those battles."

"But in the end, trusting one another, they struck down both the angels and the demons."

The boy let out a breath of relief.

"I'm so glad."

"Mom, I want to become a hero like that too!"

She looked at him.

"A hero like that…"

"I hope you become one too, son."

"Mom?"

She ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠exhaled a deep sigh, her gaze dropping to the floor.

"Son, listen carefully."

She spoke very softly.

"The story I'm about to tell you from now on —"

"— is not a fairy tale."

A chill ran down the boy's spine. She turned her head and looked at him.

"From here on, I'll tell you the story written in the Book of Records that you found."

The window began to rattle violently. The warmth in her eyes had turned cold.

"Even after hearing this story —"

"— if you still dream of becoming a hero… I won't stop you."

For the first time, her voice sounded frightening. As he listened, the boy's body began to tremble little by little.

What… what kind of story is this?

That night —

he could not fall asleep easily. Whenever he closed his eyes, the story his mother had told him rose up again. Whenever he ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠closed them once more, the book appeared. He clutched the blanket tight against himself.

I'm scared.

He looked toward the window. He wished his father would come home soon.

I want to see him so badly.

Where… is that book?

Quietly, he rose and made his way to the door. He cracked it open and peered outside. The living room was pitch dark.

It's so dark.

The candle had gone out, and the air was cold. He stepped out slowly. The house was unnaturally silent. Even the insect sounds he would normally have heard were gone. No wind. No sound of any kind. Only his own footsteps rang out, unnaturally loud.

One step.

Another.

With every step he took, it felt as though ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠someone were following behind him. Perhaps because of the weather that night, the floor was colder than usual. Steadying himself against the wall, he found a candle and lit it.

"There…"

Then —

a great shadow loomed ahead of him.

"Wah!!!"

He nearly dropped the candle. Looking closer, he saw it was only his father's coat hanging on the rack.

"It's just Dad's coat."

"No wonder it looked as big as a giant."

"…That scared me."

He let out a sigh of relief, then quietly checked his mother's room to see if she had woken. Only the sound of her breathing filled the space.

"Phew…"

He returned silently to the living room and looked at the table.

"…Huh?"

The book was gone.

"I'm sure I saw Mom leave it right here…"

He reached out and felt across the tabletop. The book that had been there until the moment he went to his room had vanished. It was nowhere to be found…

Rustle.

In that instant, a chill ran down his back. It sounded like paper sliding against paper. Slowly, he turned his head. No one was behind him. And yet a strange feeling lingered — as though someone were watching him — and his whole body prickled with dread.

"Son?"

"Mom?"

"Weren't you asleep?"

"I woke up when I heard your voice."

"What are you doing out here?"

"I… couldn't sleep."

"Is that so?"

She took his hand gently.

"Shall we sleep together tonight?"

"Mom… I'm seven…"

"Even so."

"…Okay."

Unable to refuse, he simply nodded. But the strangeness did not leave him.

That feeling just now…

Was it just my imagination?

Or —

had someone truly been there?

Even lying beneath the covers, the light from the box kept circling through his mind. The more he thought of it, the faster his heart beat.

"It's all right, son."

She held his hand warmly and smiled brightly.

"Okay…"

Her hand brought a little comfort — but only for a moment.

It's nothing. It has to be nothing.

The unease lingered all the same. Even with his eyes closed, he could feel a gaze upon him. He forced himself to ignore it and drifted off to sleep.

Just fall asleep…

The moment he did, he felt something watching him in his dreams. Countless eyes seemed to be staring straight at him.

He didn't know it then.

That night was the beginning of everything.

And the beginning of the choice I would regret for the rest of my life.

In the darkness.

Rustle.

The sound of a page turning.

Someone laughed.