The fire crackled merrily in the hearth of a tavern nestled at the edge of nowhere, on the borders of the farmlands of Bellaroot. A cold night was creeping in, but inside, it was all clanking mugs, greasy stews, and tall tales told by drunkards too loud to care for truth.
"You ever hear of The Hero?" croaked a man with three teeth and twice as many lies.
A boy behind the bar rolled his eyes. "You mean Hiro?"
The man slammed his mug down, foam spilling. "Hiro, Hero—same bones! Boy with a sword made of devil's blood who can't die? Slayed a nightmare with his bare hands, they say!"
The boy snorted. "They say a lot."
And outside, under a sleepy tree beside the tavern, the so-called Hero—Hiro Brihrest—was peeing into a bush, whistling a tune older than most empires.
"Can't even take a piss without some farmer singing your praises," muttered Vampher Steins, lounging against the tree. He wore a thick cloak, even though the cold never really touched him.
Hiro finished, shook once, and tied his trousers. "They call you a vampire now."
Vampher spat. "Night Walker. That's what we were called. Sounds cooler."
"They think you drink blood and sparkle in the sun," Hiro added helpfully.
"I don't sparkle."
"You kinda shimmer. In a sweaty way."
"Shut up."
From behind them, a low hum rose as the air rippled slightly, like a string being plucked.
"Banter again?" came a smooth, amused voice.
Dee Megus stepped out of thin air with a grin, his cloak fluttering though there was no wind. His silver hair, longer than most mortals' patience, was braided with tiny charms. Sparks of blue light floated at his fingertips as the treads of the world—the mana—slid playfully between them.
Vampher raised a brow. "Teleportation again? Showing off?"
"I was bored," Dee said simply. "You're welcome."
Hiro sighed. "Can't believe I met you two over a stolen pie."
"You stole the pie," Vampher said.
"You tackled me into a pond!"
"You set my cloak on fire," Dee added helpfully.
They all paused, then chuckled.
Three immortals. A cursed farm boy, a night walker with daywalking quirks, and a high human who refused godhood because he liked taverns too much. Fate? Destiny? They called it dumb luck.
300 Years Ago — Hiro's Death (and Life)
Laphyzel was a quiet world once. Before the threads stirred, before mana had a name.
Then, something Nightmarish came from the void between stars—no mouth, only whispers; no eyes, only hunger. A Nightmare Devil. And the first place it stepped?
Hiro's farm.
He was sixteen. Just a boy with calloused hands and a pig named Dumpling.
When the sky cracked and the beast landed, the kings hid, the weavers wept, and the gods… stayed quiet.
Hiro? He grabbed his father's rusted hoe and screamed in its face.
Some say bravery. Hiro calls it stupid.
He cut the beast. And the beast, desperate not to die alone, drove a sword of blood and grief through Hiro's chest. It melted inside him. Wormed through bone, sinew, and soul.
He died. Then didn't.
When he woke, the land was quiet. The Nightmare gone. His body unchanged… except for the red glow that sometimes pulsed beneath his skin.
Cursed. Immortal. Doomed.
Or… chosen.
Present Day — In the Forests of Elnore
"Let me get this straight," Hiro said, picking meat from his teeth as they walked. "We're helping some village because their goats went missing?"
"They're starving," Dee said.
"And the goats screamed before they vanished," Vampher added, licking his teeth. "Screaming goats are not normal, Hiro."
"Could be banshees," Dee mused.
"Could be a prank," Hiro offered.
Dee narrowed his eyes. "If you pull another illusion of farting chickens, I swear I'll banish you to the Upside Woods."
"Wouldn't be the first time."
As they stepped into the edge of the village, eyes peeked out from shuttered windows. The place smelled of fear, ash, and goat hair.
A young girl ran up to them, no older than twelve. "Are you the light in the darkness?"
Hiro blinked. "Uh… what?"
"The Hero," she whispered. "Mama said you'd come. The light in dark times."
Vampher leaned in. "Did she mention me?"
"Vampires eat babies," she said flatly and ran off.
He hissed. "I don't eat babies! One baby!"
"One time," Dee reminded.
"She bit me first!"
"Still counts," Hiro shrugged.
They were led to the village elder, a woman with a crooked spine and eyes like storm clouds.
"The thing comes at dusk," she rasped. "Snatches our goats. Screams like a dying god."
"Any smell?" Dee asked.
"Sulfur. And sugar."
Vampher frowned. "Demon?"
"Gremlin?"
Hiro's eyes twitched. "Or..."
Dusk — The Great Goat Rescue
They waited behind a haystack. Hiro dozed. Vampher twirled a dagger. Dee knit a scarf with glowing treads just to pass time.
Then—SCREEEEECH!
Something small, fast, and very rude came barreling into the goat pen. It was green, with huge teeth, tiny legs, and a bag labeled MINE.
"GREMLIN!" Dee yelled.
"I CALLED IT!" Hiro shouted, leaping after it.
The chase lasted all of six seconds before Vampher flash-stepped in front of it, held out a hand, and caught the thing mid-air.
It wriggled like angry jelly.
"LET ME GO, DAYLICKER!"
"What did it call me?" Vampher blinked.
Dee laughed. "Daylicker. That's new."
"Let me GO or I'll CURSE YOUR PANTS!"
"You can try," Vampher smirked. "These are anti-mage woven leather. Blessed by Dee's mom."
Dee nodded proudly. "Mom was a tailor."
The gremlin gave up and farted instead. Everyone groaned.
Later That Night
The villagers cheered.
"Not all evil is epic," Dee told a gathering crowd. "Sometimes, it's just a goat-snatching fart goblin."
"We thank you," the elder said, giving them a basket of bread and... goat cheese?
"Wait—from the stolen goats?" Hiro asked.
"Don't ask," Vampher muttered. "Just eat."
By the Fire — That Night
Under the stars, the three immortals sat with full bellies.
"Ever think it's weird we're all still here?" Hiro asked. "After everything?"
Dee poked the fire. "The Gods tried to make me one of them."
"You said no," Vampher said.
"They didn't offer snacks."
"Respect."
Hiro looked at his scarred chest. "I didn't ask to live forever."
"None of us did," Vampher said softly.
"But we're here," Dee said. "So we do what we can. A thread at a time."
They fell into a comfortable silence.
Then Dee added, "You know the weavers are calling themselves mages now?"
"Like 'The Magi'?" Vampher raised a brow.
"They think I'm a myth."
"You are a myth," Hiro chuckled.
"You're The Hero now," Dee said back.
"And you're the Vampire Boy," Hiro smirked.
Vampher groaned into his cloak.
The wind carried their laughter over the village, into the trees, and into legend.
And so it began.
Three immortals walking through the world of Laphyzel, long before magic had a name, long before "hero" meant more than a boy with a hoe and a dumb heart.
They didn't mean to become legends.
But fate doesn't wait for permission.