A poor hero, even in spirit, can never rest. Every time they tried to contact the Little Hero who wielded their sword, this monstrosity of a creature pulled them closer to it like a magnet. It was out of control like a wild metal bull tearing rifts between the land of the living and the dead. And all the tell-tale signs pointed towards their old nemesis that had a hand in corrupting this powerful device to turn everything into darkness. Now it had the power to affect the spirit realm too.
Which meant they were in danger.
For the first time in hundreds, and possibly thousands of years they’d felt such raw, uninhibited fear. But their COURAGE pressed them forward standing amidst the tracks in its path. It was going too fast to board, and they weren’t entirely sure it could work, but not doing anything could end up harming more people.
They held up their hand summoning the goddess-given powers of their birthright. And with a prayer to Faraore to guide their winds through the steel walls of the train. A flash, and they closed their eyes preparing for the worst. There was a jostle and they fell forward rolling over a solid ground as the motion pulled them forward. They hunched forward crossing their arms over their chest trying to stable their breath to keep themself together---literally.
“Okay-- it’s fine. This is fine,” they gasped, talking to no one. But the Hero looked up and realized they were not alone. There was a boy, slightly younger than they appeared. He was crying. All urgency for stopping this monster was cast aside as they weakly reached out a hand to him.
“Hey,” they said, then sighed. “Y-you can’t hear me, can you?” their hand dropped after realizing this. The state they were in, their energy was spent. If he couldn’t hear them, then he definitely couldn’t see them.
“That’s alright,” they laughed halfheartedly through tired gasps. “I’m really good at talking to myself. Just wish I had someone to listen.”
// @couragousxengineer
