As the sun shone brightly into the room, casting a shadow that nearly stretched across the entire space, the children gathered around Miss Mary in a big circle, with Elyon sitting quietly on the far left. Miss Mary flipped through the pages of the book, her fingers gently brushing each one. Then, she closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and began reading aloud in a calm, soothing voice.
"Ashes of the Hero"
The sky cracked open like shattered glass, casting a silver light down onto the Sacred Plains. A boy dropped from the rift—a flicker of confusion in his wide eyes, a backpack half-zipped, and a hoodie that flapped helplessly in the breeze. His name was Kael.
He landed hard, the world blurring. Grass beneath him, an unfamiliar sky above, and standing before him—a woman in robes, eyes glowing faintly blue.
"You have been summoned, Hero," she said. "This world needs you."
---
Kael never chose to be a hero.
One moment he was walking home from school, earbuds in, head full of daydreams, and the next he was standing before the Council of Elders in a stone chamber lit by hovering flame orbs. They told him of the fallen hero—a man once loved, once hailed, who had turned against the kingdom and brought ruin in his wake.
That man's name was Aerion.
Once the savior of the realm, now its greatest nightmare.
"He was like you once," they said. "A stranger summoned to save us. But he lost his way."
Kael's task was simple: find Aerion. Defeat him. End the terror.
Simple, they said. But nothing about this world was simple.
---
Kael's journey wasn't one of glory.
It was muddy roads, bloodied hands, sleepless nights by dying campfires. It was watching villages burn, hearing mothers wail over broken homes. He trained under Master Grell, a swordsman who had once fought beside Aerion in better times. Grell's eyes were always distant.
"He was the best of us," Grell muttered one night, staring into his cup. "If Aerion could fall… what chance do you have, boy?"
Kael said nothing. He trained harder the next morning.
---
He met people. Good people.
Lyra, a thief with sharp eyes and sharper daggers. Dren, a soldier with burns running up his arms from fighting Aerion's fire-drenched troops. A quiet bond formed between them, tempered by battle, by loss. One by one, they helped Kael grow—made him more than a scared boy in a hoodie.
But Aerion always stayed ahead.
Every town Kael reached, Aerion had already left in ruins. Every trail he followed ended in ash.
And the stories they told of Aerion were contradictory. To some, he was a monster. To others, a misunderstood savior. The deeper Kael looked, the less he understood.
Was Aerion evil? Or broken?
---
The final battle came too soon.
The Kingdom had rallied. Kael had earned their respect. He stood at the gates of the shattered citadel where Aerion waited, the ruins blackened with old magic and pain.
Lyra was gone—killed by one of Aerion's commanders. Dren stood beside Kael, grim and ready, though his wounds slowed him. Grell had vanished weeks earlier, leaving only a note: "You must see it for yourself."
Kael entered the throne room alone.
---
Aerion stood tall, his once-golden armor cracked and faded, a dark blade resting at his side. His eyes were… familiar. Tired. Sad.
"So, you've come," he said. "Do you even know why?"
Kael raised his blade. "You destroyed cities. You turned against the world that trusted you. I came to stop you."
Aerion looked at him for a long moment. Then he smiled—brokenly. "You don't even realize, do you?"
They fought.
It was brutal, not like the elegant duels in stories. It was raw—metal clashing, fists flying, screams echoing through the broken halls. Kael gave everything. Every lesson Grell taught him. Every memory of Lyra. Every tear he hadn't shed.
And still, Aerion was stronger.
Kael's blade broke first.
Aerion stood over him, breathing hard. Blood on his armor. Blood on Kael's chest.
"I didn't want this," he said, kneeling.
Kael's vision blurred. "Then why…?"
Aerion touched Kael's face like a father would a son.
"Because I was you."
Kael's heart slowed. "What… do you mean…?"
Aerion leaned close, his voice a whisper.
"This world… it summons the same soul. Again and again. Different names. Different bodies. But it's always us. The Hero. The Monster. We switch places."
Kael's mind reeled.
"I fought myself once too," Aerion said. "Thought I was the chosen one. But I was just the next pawn. You… were me. And now, I'm the reminder of what you'll become—what you already were."
He held Kael as he died.
After finishing the final line, Miss Mary slowly closed the book, her hands resting on its worn leather cover. A hush fell over the room. The sun, now lower in the sky, cast golden light through the windows, stretching long shadows across the floor. The children sat in silence, their expressions thoughtful, puzzled, some even slightly uneasy. The weight of the story still lingered in the air.
Even Elyon, who usually paid more attention to the way the dust danced in the light than to the stories themselves, found his brow furrowed. He leaned back slightly, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the floor as he thought to himself, "Hmph. Well, that was… an interesting tale. Didn't really expect that from a children's book. Is this really what kids grow up listening to in this world?"
Miss Mary stood up slowly, her kind smile returning to her face, though her eyes held a quiet depth.
"Well," she said gently, brushing her skirt, "that is all for today."
Some of the children shifted, still processing the ending. A few glanced at each other, unsure of how to feel. One child began picking at a loose thread on the rug, clearly distracted by his thoughts.
"We'll read more stories tomorrow," Miss Mary added with a soft chuckle, trying to bring a bit of lightness back into the room.
Just then, a hand shot up. It was Rolen, a curious boy with big eyes and a habit of asking questions others didn't dare voice.
"Miss Mary," he said hesitantly, "what was that ending about?"
Miss Mary looked at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she sighed softly and knelt down to meet his gaze.
"That, Rolen," she said, her voice calm and firm, "is why you should never believe the world revolves around you."
Miss Mary hands clasped in front of her, the warm light of the setting sun casting soft gold against her face. She looked over the children, their eyes wide, some still confused by the story's ending, others uncomfortable with the quiet weight that now hung in the air. She took a deep breath and spoke—not with the sweetness of a teacher reading a tale, but with the steady, steel-lined voice of someone who had seen more than she ever told.
"You want to know what that ending meant?" she began, her eyes drifting from Rolen to the others. "You want to know why the hero died, why the villain seemed to mourn him, why the story didn't give you the comfort you expected?"
She took a step forward.
"It's because the world doesn't work the way fairy tales taught you it should. The world doesn't revolve around you. It doesn't pause for your pain, and it doesn't owe you a happy ending. That story—like many others—wasn't about giving you a sense of justice. It was about telling the truth, even if it's not easy to hear."
The room was still.
"You see, the problem with heroes is that we expect them to fix everything. We expect them to be perfect, to carry the world on their shoulders, to make the hard choices so we don't have to. But the truth is, heroes are people. They bleed. They break. And sometimes, when they're told again and again that they are the center of everything—the chosen one, the savior, the only one who matters—they lose sight of the very thing they were meant to protect: others."
Her gaze sharpened.
"When you start to believe the world revolves around you, you stop seeing other people as real. You begin to think their pain is background noise, their lives are just side quests to your story. And before long, you become the villain in someone else's tale. Not out of malice, but out of blindness. Out of selfishness dressed up as destiny."
She turned to the window, watching the fading light for a moment before continuing.
"Aerion believed he was the hero. So did Kael. Both were summoned. Both believed they had a grand purpose. But in the end, they were just reflections of each other—one in the light, one in the shadow. And the roles could switch at any moment. That's what the world does. It doesn't label people forever. It tests them. And sometimes… it breaks them."
She faced the children once more.
"So when you hear a story like that, don't look for a clean ending. Don't look for a hero to worship. Ask yourself instead—what would you become, if the world told you that you mattered more than everyone else? Would you still be a hero? Or would you be something else entirely?"
Silence followed.
And in that silence, something settled in the children's minds—a weight, a question, a beginning.
As the gentle wind carried the soft chirping of birds through the air, the schoolyard began to empty. The golden hue of the late afternoon sun cast long shadows on the ground, and laughter echoed faintly as children ran toward their waiting parents. Some darted ahead with bright eyes and open arms, while others walked calmly, their small hands slipping into those of mothers and fathers who waited with quiet smiles.
Conversations sparked in every direction—children excitedly recounting their day, hands flailing as they described the stories they'd heard, the games they played, and the strange ending of the tale Miss Mary had read. Parents listened with amused expressions, nodding along, their tired eyes softening at the sound of their children's voices.
Among the slowly thinning crowd stood Elyon.
He lingered quietly near the edge of the yard, watching as the other students disappeared into the arms of their families. His expression was unreadable—not impatient, not quite sad, but calm, like he was used to waiting. His arms hung loosely at his sides, but his eyes occasionally flicked toward the road.
And then, he saw her.
Lenea.
She walked toward him at a steady pace, her soft brown skirt swaying with each step and her hair pulled back neatly. In her left hand, she carried a wicker basket, its lid slightly raised, revealing a glimpse of folded cloth and what looked like fresh fruit tucked inside. Her posture was relaxed, her gaze warm as it landed on her son.
Elyon's face lit up with that pure, playful joy only children possess. A mischievous grin spread across his lips as he hurried toward her.
"Mom! You're back! I missed you!" he called out, throwing his arms lightly around her waist as he reached her.
Lenea blinked down at him, raising an amused eyebrow. Her voice was dry but not unkind.
"Missed me? I've only been gone for six hours."
Elyon released her from his small embrace and turned away slightly, crossing his arms in exaggerated frustration. He let out a sigh, his cheeks puffed out as he mumbled under his breath, "Yeah, but those six hours were hella annoying…"
Lenea chuckled softly, shaking her head as she reached out with her free hand—the right one—and gently took Elyon's. Despite the sarcasm, he didn't resist. His smaller fingers wrapped comfortably around hers as they began walking away from the schoolyard, his short legs working to match her pace.
They didn't speak much at first. Elyon walked beside her with a slight frown still tugging at his lips, but there was no real bitterness in his silence—just a tired kind of boredom that only children understood. The kind that came after sitting too long, thinking too hard, or just missing someone more than you expected.
Behind them, at the large wooden doorway of the schoolhouse, Miss Mary stood watching. Her hands were folded in front of her, a peaceful expression resting on her face as she offered gentle farewells to each child that passed. Her eyes followed every student with the kind of attentive care that made even the quietest child feel seen. She smiled and nodded, offering a wave or a kind word to every parent who met her eyes.
"Goodbye, Arel," she said warmly to a boy waving as he ran to his older brother.
"See you tomorrow, Marla. Don't forget your book!"
Her voice was steady, familiar—like the ticking of a clock or the rustle of trees in a breeze. To some of the children, it was more comforting than they knew how to express.
As Elyon and Lenea passed the gate, Miss Mary caught sight of them. She raised her hand in a small wave.
"Goodbye, Elyon," she called gently. "Get some rest."
Elyon turned his head slightly, raising his free hand half-heartedly, more out of politeness than enthusiasm.
"Yeah, yeah… see you tomorrow, Miss Mary."
Lenea offered a small nod to the teacher as they passed.
Miss Mary watched them go for a moment longer, her eyes thoughtful, before turning back to the door as the last few children trickled out. The sky above had turned a softer shade of blue, streaked with hints of orange and fading gold. The day was nearly done.
And with it, another story had been shared—one that left more questions than answers in the hearts of the children. But questions, Miss Mary believed, were more important than answers.
They were how stories truly began.