So... You've Been to Another World?

I was five years old when I was summoned to another world—the same age at which a child who had burst into tears in a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠strange place was burdened with a crushing mission: to drive back the darkness devouring the world and restore its light.

Even now, twenty years later, my memories from before that day remain faintly intact.

It was my birthday. Mom and Dad had taken me by the hand, the three of us together, and headed to the amusement park to celebrate. The traffic had been a little heavy, I think, but we arrived without any real trouble. I rode the carousel. I sat in Mom's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠lap and rode the bumper cars. A giant rabbit mascot handed me cotton candy, and I clutched a helium balloon in one small fist. It was the best day of my life.

Then a scream tore through the air.

"Aaaaaah!!!!"

I still don't know where it came from, or what had happened. All I remember are the screams—terrifying beyond anything I had ever heard—and Mom and Dad wrapping their arms around me and starting to run. Somewhere in that chaos, the helium balloon slipped from my hand.

And when I came to, I was in another ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠world.

At first, of course, I didn't even realize that's what it was. A five-year-old could hardly be expected to grasp something like that. Only after a full year of the Saintess and the imperial family's patient care, as I slowly adapted to this new place, did the truth begin to dawn on me. And five years later—when I turned ten—the Saintess told me the whole story through her tears, and I finally understood with certainty.

"I'm sorry… I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…!"

From that moment on, what I had to do was clear. Fighting terrified me. The monsters terrified me. Getting hurt, dying—I hated all of it. But the Saintess, barely older than I was, who had cared for me like a parent for five long years, sobbing apologies through her tears… I couldn't turn my back on what needed to be done.

Whether or not I truly was the Hero, I possessed an innate gift for magic. Levels of mastery that took others a decade of effort, I reached in two years. And the magic I wielded proved especially effective against the monsters I was meant to face.

Another ten years passed. Along the way, I gained many companions. From every corner of the continent, the brave gathered—to aid the Hero, to slay the Demon King, to restore light to the world.

"Well then. We'll be off to defeat the Demon King."

"Please… return safely."

At twenty years old, twelve of us—of different races, different genders—formed a single Hero's party and set out for the Demon King's castle. We killed so many monsters that counting them became meaningless. We bore the Demon King's curse, a constant torment clawing at our minds. And after five years, at last, we stood before him.

Neither we nor the Demon King wasted breath on empty words. We both understood that the Saintess's fretting before our departure—her talk of offering half the world—meant nothing to either side.

Countless blades and spells filled the air between us and the Demon King. The werewolf, who had held a massive shield and blocked every flying blade, went mad with hallucinations and tore out the throat of the elf standing beside him. The dragon, hurling fire and lightning at the Demon King, collapsed as insects burrowed between its scales, blood pouring from every wound. The orc's body burst apart. The dwarf turned to stone. The swordsman from the East drove his own blade into his stomach. Cassit, who had slipped behind the Demon King, was impaled through and through by the spines that erupted from the Demon King's back.

And still we fought on.

Even when my left eye was reduced to a bloody pulp by the Demon King's magic. Even when my right arm was severed by a maddened companion's sword. I did not fall.

How long did we fight? My sense of time had vanished. The ground around us was nothing but the corpses of my companions and pools of blood—and then, at last, the Demon King fell.

"Hah… hah… hah…"

Could you even call it a victory?

I wanted nothing more than to collapse and rest, but the Demon King might have been feigning death. So I poured magic into his corpse until nothing remained—not a trace. When only scorch marks marked the place where he had fallen, brilliant light poured down through the shattered ceiling.

It was a light so bright it seemed to declare that the Demon King had truly been defeated. But we—I—could not smile.

I looked up at that light and prayed. The way the Saintess always had. Without a word, I dropped to my ruined knees, clasped the one hand I had left, and prayed to God.

That my fallen companions would suffer no more. That all those who had suffered under the Demon King would find happiness ahead. That this horrific war would never happen again.

Exhaustion crashed over me. I felt my body slowly giving way—but the world around me was utterly silent. No laughter from my companions. No sobbing apologies from the Saintess. Nothing at all. Only the light descending from the sky, far too bright to bear.

"So… you've been to another world?"

"…Yes……"

The little boy sitting across from me—he looked about five or six—answered my question in a timid voice.

He was a victim of the Invade that had struck an amusement park near Yongin two years ago. After being rescued, he had spent two years in the hospital in a coma. According to the doctors, there was nothing seriously wrong with his body; the psychological trauma had simply been too severe for him to wake. Or so they'd said.

And the first thing he said upon waking was that he had been to another world.

"I see… Can you tell me a little about that other world? What kind of place it was?"

"There were people of all different races… and magic, and a Demon King… and…"

I had heard of people waking from comas who claimed to have seen the future, or to have met the gods. But someone who claimed to have gone to another world? That was a first.

Was it a false memory—happy recollections of the amusement park tangled together with the brutal trauma of the Invade?

My ability did nothing more than distinguish truth from lies. All it could tell me was that every word this child spoke was true.

"Thank you for telling me. Here—this ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠is for you."

I held out the teddy bear he had been glancing at sideways for a while now. He checked my expression for a moment, then hugged it tightly to his chest. Part of me wanted to pull out my phone right then and snap a picture of that adorable sight—but if I did, the police waiting outside would kick the door in and drag me away.

While the boy was absorbed in his new teddy bear, I quietly began writing on the paper in my hand.