Is It Wrong Wanting To Be A Hero?
The Song That Never Ends
The world had long since forgotten the meaning of day and night. Light and darkness were no longer separate—they bled into one another, leaving a sky that never fully burned nor fully slept. The air was thick with unease, carrying the faint scent of ash and wilted flowers. Rivers ran sluggishly, forests groaned as if in pain, and the earth itself seemed weary.
Humanity clung to life by a thread. Villages huddled behind walls, towns kept their markets small, and travelers moved cautiously, always fearing what lurked beyond the horizon. Crops failed without warning, beasts of unnatural size and strength prowled the forests, and storms of strange cold and fire swept the land with little mercy. Survival had become a daily struggle, a constant battle against a world that seemed to turn against its people.
And yet, in the midst of this twilight world, there existed a fragile sanctuary: Luna Village.
Luna is the only place where the darkness cannot enter, the only ground where the monsters that darkness gave birth to cannot set foot. Its unseen borders hold firm, a fragile line of hope in a world swallowed whole.
No one lives here but the nuns. They are the sole inhabitants, bound by a vow that leaves no room for doubt or hesitation. Draped in pale robes, they tread the worn stone floors of the great cathedral, beneath walls marked with ancient blessings. And within that holy hall, their voices rise together in unending song.
It is not a prayer for themselves.
Not for peace, nor safety, nor even for tomorrow.
It is a summons—a cry to the heavens for salvation.
They call for a hero.
A hero strong enough to cut down the monsters born of darkness.
A hero who will sweep away the dark armies that devour the world.
A hero who will become the answer to prayers that must never be silenced.
Day turns to night, and night to day, yet their chorus does not falter. They take turns, one group falling silent as another begins, their voices weaving into a single melody. A fragile, desperate hymn that has never ceased—not for a breath, not for a heartbeat.
The sound fills Luna like lifeblood, echoing against stone, trembling in the air, reaching ever upward. A song so heavy with longing it shakes even the silence of the heavens.
For if the song stops, hope itself will end.
And if hope ends, there will be no tomorrow.
Until the hero answers the call,
Until the destined one arrives,
The song of Luna must never cease.
This is their vow.
This is their burden.
And this is the last hope of the twilight world.
Amid this fragile existence, darkness stirred from afar. From the distant Demon Continent, dark forces emerged at irregular intervals. Once humans, its people had surrendered their compassion and mercy, pledging themselves to the Dark Lord in exchange for superior powers that transcended the limits of ordinary magic. Their attacks were unpredictable, their strength overwhelming. Entire towns disappeared in a night; whole regions were left silent, scorched, or drowned in blood. The people whispered of the Dark Lord's armies like a nightmare that might touch them next—driven not by conquest alone, but by an insatiable hunger for ever-greater power.
Years ago, a hero answered Luna's call. He fought, he won battles, he even built a life here. Then, fifteen years ago, he vanished—sudden and complete, as if erased from the world itself.
For thirteen years after, their song echoed into emptiness. No light answered. No new hero came. The heavens remained silent.
Then, two years ago, something shifted. The summoning circle blazed to life again, the holy sword burning with renewed promise. Again and again, it flared... and again and again, it returned empty.
Still, the prayer continues.
The present day…
The throne room was thick with tension. Nobles and military advisors stood in a semicircle before the king, their voices rising in frustrated argument.
"Your Majesty, we've lost three supply convoys this month alone," a graying general said, his jaw tight. "The bandits are one thing, but now the demons are attacking the routes as well."
A nobleman in heavy robes stepped forward. "Can we still believe in them? After so many failures? After all the lives lost protecting those supply lines?"
"Fifteen years," another voice cut in. "Fifteen years of prayers and nothing. Perhaps the heavens have abandoned—"
"Enough." The king's voice wasn't loud, but it silenced the room. He leaned forward on his throne, his weathered face set with iron resolve. "The demons attacking the supply routes means they fear what Luna can do. They want the summonings disrupted."
He rose to his feet.
"The supplies will not stop. Send our finest warriors to guard the convoys. Alert the town of mercenaries—hire every capable blade. Luna Village must continue their work."
The room fell silent. No one dared argue further.
"Until the hero answers," the king said quietly, "we hold the line."
Meanwhile, at Luna Village…
In the food preparation room, Sister Maria was arranging bread and dried fruit on wooden trays when the door swung open.
"Sister Maria. Where is Aria?"
Sister Maria paused, glancing up at Sister Helen's tense expression. "What's wrong, Sister Helen? It's rare for you to search for her. What happened?"
"It's the bandits. They are at it again. The supply routes are getting robbed."
"Hmmm… She is… kinda busy, I think. She's at the Tower of Heroes, said she'll find the root cause of the failed summons or something."
Sister Helen's face tightened with concern. "Poor girl! Did she rest?"
"Probably not." Sister Maria set down the tray and reached for a cloth to wrap some warm bread. "I'll bring something for her to eat. You should send notice to the king and mercenary guild."
"Ok. I'll do it."
Sister Helen turned to leave, then hesitated at the doorway. "Maria... do you think she'll find it? The answer?"
Sister Maria's hands stilled over the bread. For a moment, the only sound was the distant echo of prayer songs drifting through the stone corridors. "If anyone can," she said quietly, "it's Aria."
Sister Helen nodded and disappeared down the hall.
Alone again, Sister Maria finished wrapping the food, her movements slower now, more deliberate. Three days without sleep. How much longer could that girl push herself? She tucked a small water flask alongside the bread and headed toward the tower, whispering a silent prayer of her own—not for a hero this time, but for the silver-haired girl who refused to give up.
At the Tower of Heroes…
The holy sword rested upon a stone pedestal; its surface covered in ancient engravings. Without warning, the markings ignited—blazing with golden light that climbed up the blade itself. The sword began to glow, its radiance spreading across the chamber.
The engravings carved into the tower's walls answered in kind, flaring to life one by one until the entire structure was consumed in holy light.
Then, enveloped completely in that brilliance, the sword vanished.
A girl watched in silence, absorbing the scene before her.
Her white robe, silver hair, and pale skin gave her the appearance of a holy priestess—but she was not. She carried many burdens on her small, young body, and now bore a vow: to help the next chosen hero, so that her past mistakes might be forgiven by none other than herself.
I'll find the reason. And I'll save the next hero.
I'll bring him back alive. No matter the cost—even if it's my life.
She raised her hand and activated a spell. Light gathered around her, mirroring the holy sword's radiance.
Then, just like the blade before her, she vanished into thin air.
End of Prologue