After breakfast, the halls of the Sky House softened into quiet.
Noa walked slowly down the side corridor, the one with the ivy-covered arch and faded sky emblems carved into the stone. He wasn't sure where he was going — maybe nowhere. Maybe that was the point.
Behind him, the gentle steps of Vareth followed, quiet but sure.
"Noa," came the calm voice, "a moment."
Noa stopped. Nodded. He waited.
They stood in the hall. Sunlight flickered in from the windows, catching bits of dust in the air like golden ore fragments.
Vareth studied his grandson's face — not harshly, not stern. Just seeing.
> "You had a dream."
Noa nodded.
> "A man in white. Said Ore is dying. Asked me if I'd be a hero."
Vareth exhaled slowly — not in shock, not in doubt. Just… thought.
> "Dreams," he said, "are curious things. Sometimes they're whispers of the world. Sometimes, just old bread."
Noa almost smiled.
> "And which is this?"
Vareth looked ahead.
> "That… depends on you."
> "But if it is something greater — then listen carefully: you are not alone in it. You were born into a house that may not be perfect, but it will never leave you. You are not a piece to be played."
Noa looked down.
> "He said… that if I didn't want to be a hero, he'd find someone else."
Vareth's eyes narrowed slightly. Calm but sharp.
> "Then let him."
> "Because a true hero isn't found. He's not assigned. He becomes. Not because the world asked… but because he chose to act even when it didn't."
There was silence. Peaceful. Real.
Vareth continued:
> "There were heroes once. A long time ago. Back when Ore was still new, and people still needed someone to believe in."
> "But peace... dulls memory. Comfort breeds boredom. So the word 'hero' faded — like a blade unused. Left only for stories and children."
> "You want to be one now?" He looked at Noa. "You'll find no glory. No audience. Just work. Hard, thankless work."
> "But if you choose to do it — know this: you'll have all of us at your back."
Noa didn't speak.
Not yet.
Because behind the next pillar, pressed far too obviously into a shadowed corner, stood Lyric — holding his breath and failing.
> "Psst…" he whispered to himself, "This is getting really emotional. Should I clap?"
Vareth's voice, suddenly louder:
> "You can come out now, Lyric."
A thump — Lyric hit the pillar in surprise.
> "I was meditating, thank you."
> "On what?" Vareth asked dryly.
> "On whether heroes get to skip chores."
Noa finally laughed. Just a short, genuine sound.
Lyric grinned.
> "See? My work here is done. You're cured."
Vareth shook his head. Then turned back to Noa.
> "Think on it. Don't rush. And don't let strange men in white robes push you into someone else's story."
He walked away, robes catching the light.
Lyric followed Noa, arms folded behind his head.
> "So... if you do become a hero, do I get to be your sarcastic sidekick?"
Noa looked at him.
> "You already are."