Warm light bathed Dion's face. For a second, he thought it was a dream — that same kind of dream he used to have when hunger made him dizzy and the sun felt kinder than life itself. But then came the sound of birds. The rustle of wheat. And the weight of something… different.
His body.
He blinked awake in the middle of a vast golden field, the sun rising over the hills like a slow-burning torch. His back didn't hurt. His ribs didn't ache. His skin wasn't bruised or caked in dirt.
What the—?
He stared down at his hands. They were large, strong — not the frail, trembling fingers he was used to seeing. His arms were thicker than tree trunks. When he flexed, he could see veins like ropes under his skin. He looked around, disoriented.
That's when he saw them — farmers, frozen mid-task, staring at him in awe.
"H–Hercules?" one whispered, his voice trembling.
Dion frowned. "What?"
The farmer fell to his knees. Another dropped his sickle and did the same. Soon the entire field echoed with gasps and cheers.
"Hercules has returned!"
"Praise the gods! He's come to save us!"
Dion stumbled backward, completely lost.
What are they talking about? Hercules? No, no, no, this has to be a mistake.
But the crowd gathered faster than he could think — men, women, children, all bowing before him as if he were divine.
"Come, my lord," said a gray-bearded farmer, voice trembling with excitement. "You must return home. You must rest before your battle."
"Battle?" Dion asked, his voice deep — deeper than he'd ever heard it. It vibrated in his chest like thunder. "What battle?"
The farmer smiled. "The beast of Lerna, my lord. You came to end its reign of terror."
Beast? Dion thought. Reign of terror?
He didn't even know where he was, let alone what beast they were talking about. But before he could ask more, they were already escorting him — cheering, clapping, throwing petals as he walked barefoot across the village path. Every face that looked at him… was full of love.
They're not cursing me.
They're not throwing stones.
They're… smiling.
When they reached the top of the hill, Dion froze again.
A mansion stood before him — enormous, white marble with red banners flowing in the wind. It wasn't just beautiful. It felt alive, like it was built with devotion.
"This… is your home, my lord," said one of the villagers softly. "Built by our hands, in gratitude for all you've done."
My home?
He walked through the gate like someone drifting through a dream. The air smelled of roasted meat, sweet fruit, and fresh bread. Inside, servants rushed forward, kneeling, holding trays.
"Lord Hercules, please, eat. You must regain your strength."
He sat — hesitantly — and they placed a golden plate before him. On it was a loaf of warm bread, golden-brown and steaming. Chicken glazed with honey. Slices of fruit, glistening like jewels.
For a moment, Dion just stared. His stomach growled, but his mind struggled to accept this wasn't a trap.
All my life I stole scraps from vendors, dug through waste to find a piece of bread… and now they're serving me like a king.
He tore into the bread and nearly groaned. It was soft. Sweet. The butter melted on his tongue. Tears stung his eyes before he could stop them.
Is this what food is supposed to taste like?
Have I really been starving all my life and didn't even know what eating felt like?
He kept eating — roast chicken, figs, grapes. For the first time in his life, his body felt warm. His soul quiet. The servants smiled at him, proud just to see him eat.
All this love… for a man who didn't have to steal it.
Then the old farmer from before spoke again, bowing low. "My lord, you must be weary. But the people… they look to you for hope. The beast of Lerna still roams the hills. It's taken many lives. Entire families gone."
Dion paused mid-bite. "Beast?"
"Yes, my lord. The one with many heads. It burns the fields, destroys livestock. It was said you went to slay it."
Dion swallowed slowly. He could see it now — the fear in the man's eyes, the hope mixed with desperation.
They really think I'm their hero.
But I'm not. I'm just… Dion. A thief. A nobody.
He looked down at his hands again — huge, strong, godlike. But inside, he felt small. The same scared boy who used to hide under broken carts when mobs chased him.
What do I know about fighting beasts? I couldn't even fight hunger.
The farmer placed a hand over his heart. "We've lost so much, my lord. If anyone can stop it, it's you."
The room fell silent. Everyone waited for him to speak.
Dion looked at all of them — faces filled with faith. Hope. Love. Things he had never known in his other life.
He took a deep breath. His voice trembled.
"I… I'll see what I can do."
Cheers erupted instantly. "Hercules lives! The beast will fall!"
They praised him again, voices echoing into the night. Dion forced a smile.
But deep inside, fear settled in his chest like stone.
What if they find out I'm not him?
What if I fail them?
What if… I can't be Hercules?
As the sun dipped beyond the hills and the villagers sang his name, Dion sat alone in that grand hall, staring at his reflection in a polished bronze mirror.
Hercules stared back.
Maybe I died a thief, he thought quietly, but if this is my second chance… maybe I can learn to live as something more.