Laserath, June 14th 1883 A.E.
On a peaceful afternoon with pink sunny light drifting through the front window, there are several things my children can say to pique my interest. For instance, my oldest entered our home, dropped his school bag, and said, "Hi Dad. By Dad."
I chuckle and say, "Hold it. Where are you off to in such a rush?"
My son has recently entered the phase of life where most questions from a parent get a sarcastic or dramatic response. He huffs and rolls his eyes. "Dad, I'm in a hurry. "
I close the journal of my old lover, someone I miss dearly. I met him years ago when I saved him from bullies. Though not all of them continue to be the bullies they once were. I tell my son, "I am still your father. So where are you going?”
My eldest groans as he slides his left hand through his black hair. The few remaining red strands glisten in the light; he inherited his mother's red hair. “I’m going to a movie with my friends.”
I smile, watching movies is an activity my friends introduced me to. Rushing and stressing used to be so much of my life. My friends changed that even as they became a new source of worry. “What movie are you going to?”
He crosses his arms and sighs. “A documentary.”
Sometimes it takes a lot of questions to get answers from my children. But then they wouldn’t be mine if it were easy. “On?”
He rolls his eyes and dramatically flings his arms down. He no longer does the little stomp with his right foot like he used to, but his dramatics are pretty similar to when he was a toddler. “Before you ask, I’m going to Central Theater and we’re watching a documentary on the Last of the Legend Slayers.”
I grab my left wrist and tug on the teal ribbon wrapping it. The Last of the Legend Slayers, that’s what they call us, the three teams that saved humanity from the brink of destruction. I knew the documentary was being released today, my friends, my wife, and they are all at the premiere. Plus, I did interviews for it, but…
My son steps forward. I look up at the sound as he rests his hand on mine. He gives mine a gentle squeeze. I drop the silky ribbon in favor of my son’s hand. He asks, “Are you okay, Dad?”
I nod yes. However, my heart is heavy with memories of the past.
My son, Derek, named after the lover whose journal I had been reading, asks, “Do you need something from the basement?”
I shake my head no. “I — please take your sister to the movie for me.” I stand up as my son steps back. He’s taller than me already. But then I’m not tall at five feet.
I pull my wallet off the side table next to the comfy chair I had been reading in. “Take some extra credits and get lots of snacks while you're out.” The chain on my wallet rattles as I open it.
Jasper says, “Okay… but are you having a bad day?”
I shake my head no. “I’m having a day, but not a bad one. Just a heavy one.”
Derek takes the credit from me. His hand has gotten so much larger than it used to be when he would pull on the teal streak of long bangs hanging by the right side of my face.
He says, “I could stay with you if you want? I know mom’s out tonight.”
I smile and say, “No. You should go. Remember, I’m here for you and your sister. I love the two of you so much.”
Derek scowls at me. “You're really starting to worry me. Should I call Mom or James?”
Worrying him before he’s even seen the movie is not what I want. But it's too late. My son and I are too similar; he won’t stop worrying until he’s done something to help. “How about you grab me that new container of gooseberry sorbet from the basement? Then go out with your friends.”
He smiles and says, “Deal.” He rushes down the stairs to the basement, a place that still haunts me. Soon, he returns and hands me the carton. I hug him. He’s warm, happy, and safe. He’s got so many good things at this point in his life. All I have endured to give him a better, safer life than I had at his age is worth every scar I have, physical and mental.
It’s far too soon when he pulls away from me. But that is life. We love, and we part ways, always far too soon.
He walks to the door and looks back at me. “Goodbye, Dad. I love you.”
“Goodbye, Derek. I love you,” my son. Tonight, you will learn so much about me that I don’t have the strength to tell you in my own voice.
Derek opens the door. I can hear him shouting, “Syra! Guys, sorry that I’m late. Let’s—”
The door shuts behind him, and I stop listening. There’s no point in sending him off into the world so that he can learn why his father is so different from others.
I hope that by watching the movie about our lives, my children will learn how to stay true to who they are. To let others determine who you are is to become a Legend, a story where the core that is yourself has been lost. I would know. After all, I once was a Legend without control of myself. For every hero’s destiny is to die or become a creature of Legend.
“Kyrie, what were you doing before Avalon fell?”
— Avalon, March 20th 1861 A.E.
The festive streets of Avalon are bright and full of laughter. Couples are chatting. Children are yelling and laughing, rarely crying. The children crying and the arguments breaking through the cheer of the spring equinox festival are what draw my attention.
Every once in a while, the Legend Slayer families in Avalon volunteer to cover a large portion of the regular guard so the guards can enjoy the festival activities with their family and friends. Today I am dressed as a guard for Avalon and acting in their place. It’s better this way.
As a guard, people will wave at me, but they won’t run up to talk to me. I don’t like talking much. With the right people, I’ll talk a lot, but with strangers or in large groups, it’s hard. I learned how to speak late in life, so words sometimes feel heavy in my mouth. It was James, my best friend, my only living friend, who had helped me gain the courage to speak. Mostly because he used to suck at signing, he got better, though, and we’ve since added some of our own twists to it so we can share secrets.
Secrets are essential to being a hero. Too many people want me dead, and they want me to stay that way.
Other Legend Slayers ask me questions like “What’s the secret to surviving so many S-ranked missions?” Officially, the S is for Specialist, but really S for suicidal. Most people die on S rank missions. Few live to make a name for their selves in saving nearly doomed cities. Those who do are called heroes.
I am a Hero, but only by cheating. James is a necromancer, and having a necromancy ability is forbidden, even though no one gets to pick their ability. As such, I haven’t told James he is a necromancer because he’s the kind of guy who would turn himself in, which would get us both killed.
Long story short, James brings me back from the dead every time I die, even though he doesn’t know that’s what he’s doing.
Now it’s not that simple. Aura —the energy that powers everything from lights to life — is required for that process. Essentially, every time James resurrects me, he kick-starts the process enough for my ability, motion manipulation, to kick in so it can convert motion into aura that is used to finish bringing me back to life. But everything around me gets killed or damaged because there is motion in everything, even when it isn’t easy to spot.
The pain from dying and the destruction from being revived is a strong incentive to work my ass off and not die. But sometimes it happens. That’s the secret to my ‘success’, I have died, but I don’t stay dead.
The people of Avalon are proud to have me as their Hero because of how strong I am and how long I have been called a Hero. But they are also terrified of me. They know better than any other city what it is like when I lose control of my abilities. Something I haven’t done in years. So they worry when they see me in the streets and I’m not acting as a guard.
My reputation as a Hero certainly hasn’t helped things when it comes to the fear most Avalonians have surrounding my presence. I get asked all the time if I’m here on a mission, even when I want to relax and do my shopping.
It’s a mixed-up thing being a Hero. People are glad you’re around as long as it’s at a distance or they know why you are there. At the same time, Heroes are more likely to cause the destruction and downfall of their home city because statistically, that is where a Hero is most likely to turn into a Legend. The stronger a Legend is, the stronger the Hero(s) needed to kill it.
I don’t like it, but I’ve been thinking about it more these days. What will happen when I become a Legend? Who is going to be strong enough to kill the current strongest Hero with the longest career recorded and the highest success rate?
As long as James is alive and I work at staying in control of myself, I think it will be okay because that’s another thing about Heroes and Legends. Sometimes, the only missing part to a Hero becoming a Legend is them dying once. A Hero can become a Legend by losing themselves, or they can die and be resurrected as the massive amounts of rumors surrounding them bring them back to life, at least that’s my theory on it from watching some of my very well-known companions on a trip die and come back to life, not quite as they used to be.
I can tell I’m too far down the process of becoming a Legend to stop it because…
“Wait! Stop that girl!” I could tell it was a young teenage boy because his voice cracked as he shouted.
I spotted the girl about five, weaving through the crowd. She had a pink ribbon in her brown hair, tied around a ponytail. Some of her hair had escaped during her run and brushed her pale cheek. Her shoes were purple, with a sort of sparkle.
The crowd is simply stepping out of the way of the running girl. But as a guard, my job is not to do what the bystanders do. It never has been. As I have been trained to do all my life — or lives, if someone wants to get technical about it — I run towards the trouble brewing on the streets of my home.
I move around the girl and stand in her way. I don’t grab her because if she starts screaming, someone is bound to catch it on camera and start rumors that I hurt children. To be clear, I don’t hurt children; I kill those who do.
The little girl runs into my legs, and I pull on all of her momentum, turning it into an aura for use later. She stops as gently as possible. She looks up at me. Her eyes are green, watery, and big. She’s about to cry.
I kneel in front of her and ask, “Are you hurt?”
The little girl shakes her head. Her ponytail swishes with the ribbon. It would be cute if she didn’t look so sad. Her voice is small as she says, “No. My brother is a meany.”
I resist the urge to smile. So she and her brother are having trouble, and she is safe. By stopping her and buying her brother time to arrive, most of this issue has already been handled. Instead, I say, “I know. My big brother is sometimes a meany too.”
Her mouth falls open and her eyes widen. I have clearly shocked her by my revelation. “But you’re the Hero Kyrie!”
I chuckle. Little kids make so many things worth it—especially the little ones in Avalon. I can ignore or deal with adult shit as long as they leave the kids out of it. My clan, the Lake Clan, did not leave children out of their shit until after my father took over. That’s when they changed for the better. Until then, they were notorious for taking street kids and experimenting on them. It’s not as hypocritical as some claim it to be; they experimented on their own children, too. That’s why so many of them died or have left, like James and my siblings. I stayed, though. My father needs me, and I need him more than anyone, except James. I need them both, and I need Avalon. Without all three, I don’t know what I would do.
Actually, I do know. I would live in the woods. Build a home and never leave it. Never make more friends, meet more people, or take on more responsibilities; experiencing that loss would be too great. I have already lost so much I can’t express it clearly, and I have no interest in gaining more to lose more people to choose between.
I tell the girl, “I am Kyrie, but siblings are siblings after all.”
She nods twice quickly. “He won’t let me do fun things.”
The voice from earlier says, “I’m so sorry. I’ll take her now, and I promise I won’t lose her again.” He has brown hair, tanned skin, and is probably around 13, 4 years younger than me. He’s already taller than me if I were standing up. So he’s over at least five feet. But he’s under six feet, as he isn’t as tall as my weapon is long from tip to tip.
I glance back at the little girl, “Is he your brother?”
She huffs as she turns to look at the teen. She stomps her foot and says, “Yes,” with the kind of little kid sadness at having their fun ruined that makes it really hard not to laugh.
I stay kneeling as I look up at her brother. “She says you won’t let her have fun.”
He grimaces and shifts awkwardly. “Well, she’s too small to play the games my friends and I are playing.”
Too small, too young. Too weak, too little control. I can feel my throat trying to close, and I feel the want to grab the silky teal ribbons on my wrists burning inside me. But I’m working right now and none of it is directed at me, so I take a deep breath and ask, “Have you let her try?”
I can see some of his teeth peaking out as he bites his lip and shakes his head no. I say, “Let her try, there’s no harm in it.” He looks hesitant. I glance around, spotting a festival stall nearby with a tossing game and stuffed animals as prizes. I point to it and ask, “Why don’t you try that game? It looks fun.”
He glances at me and grabs his little sister’s hand. The friends he was with haven’t shown up yet. I wonder when and if they will.
The brother walks over to the booth with his sister. He looks back at me. Then glances at his sister. She’s too short to see over the counter. I scratch the back of my neck and walk over.
I ask the man behind the counter, “Can we get three games?”
He crosses his arms and says, “No Legend Slayers over Journy Rank allowed.”
I grit my teeth. It’s not like I was a Legend Slayer with any skill in ranged combat, but it is a rule of the booth —one allowed — because a group of master-ranked Legend Slayers had abused their capabilities to clear out whole streets of game booths for their prizes, simply because they could. It had happened well before my father had enough control of the Lake clan to let me attend my first festival.
It is another separation between me and everyone I protect. The siblings are looking at me. There’s something sad in their gazes. I can’t tell if it’s because they don’t think they’ll get to play or if it’s because they’re sorry for me.
I sigh and tell the booth owner, “How about two? I won’t play.”
The booth owner glances down at the girl. “She’s too short to play. You have to be able to see over the counter to play.”
I glance at her brother, hoping he’ll offer to pick her up so she can play. He’s biting his lip again. That must be a habit of his, like my tugging on the teal ribbons wrapping my wrists.
I ask her brother, “Are you able to lift her so she can play?”
He bends down and tries to lift his sister, but he’s struggling. I reach out and put one hand under his left arm. He gets the hint and shifts her weight to that arm, so he is holding his sister at his left hip, and I’m subtly supporting most of her weight. With my free hand, I pull out the credits for two games and say, “She can see over the counter now. Two games, please.”
The booth owner nods and takes my coins. He puts three balls on the counter and says, “You get a prize based on the total points. Aim for the cups; the points are listed next to them.”
The girl is swinging her purple sparkle shoes as she grabs a ball from the counter. She tosses it at the closest and biggest cup. One that’s worth one point. It misses. She pouts, and I say, “Was it fun to throw the ball?”
She looks up at me and says, “I missed.”
I smile and say, “So? If it’s fun throwing, does it matter if you missed?”
Her brother is looking at me. It’s that look when someone thinks you may have said something important. His sister says, “Well, it was fun!” Then she grabs and throws the next ball, her excitement almost making her brother drop her. I channel my ability through him to her, and she stops falling enough for him to resituate her.
The little girl misses with all the balls she throws, but she’s smiling and happy. Safe in hėr big brother’s arms.
Her brother turns to me and hands her over. I hold her up so she can watch her brother play. He rolls up his sleeves and throws his three balls; he earns twenty points. I ask him, “What prize are you going to pick?”
He looks at his sister and says, “Quin, what prize do you want?”
She looks so happy in my arms as she says, “The Phoenix!” Her big brother is smiling as he takes the Phoenix from the man at the booth. I set her on the ground, and her brother hands her the plush orange and red Phoenix. She hugs it with a huge smile. He looks so proud to have won it for her.
The brother takes his sister’s hand, and she waves the toy at me as she says, “Bye, Kyrie!”
Her brother waves bye at me and says, “You’re way cooler than I thought.” Cooler than you thought. How is that something nice to say? I shake my head, teenagers.
I stretch and glance over the street I had been patrolling. Everything looks calm and safe. The booth attendant behind me says, “Kyrie.”
I turn around to look at him, dread building in my chest over having to deal with the man. There are three balls on the counter. I look up at him. He says, “You wanted to play, right?”
I reach for my wallet. He says, “It’s on the house.” I smile and pick up the first ball. I toss it without using my ability. I chuckle as the ball misses worse than when the little girl threw it. I throw the next two with equally terrible accuracy, but I can feel happiness spreading inside me. The booth owner is smiling as he says, “With throws like that, you’re welcome back any time.”
I chuckle and scratch the back of my neck as I say, “I might need to practice more.”
He nods and says, “You did well by those kids.”
My cheeks warm. He let me play because I had helped the siblings.
He grabs a card from the counter and hands it to me. “If you ever want someplace to relax, come by.”
I take the card and mumble, “Thank you.”
John’s Jump House
Call: xxx-xxx-xxx-xxx
I look up at him and wave goodbye. I didn’t know it then, but in less than an hour, two of those three will die along with everyone from my clan, including my father.