The Real Heroes
Real heroes are not born in sunlight; they are forged in the darkness of nights that no one sees.
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Dedicated to all who wait, and to the little plant that grows...
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The wind that night carried a strange scent, a smell Theodoric had never encountered in his thirty-seven years: a mixture of snow and heated iron, and something else, like the chill of frost in the middle of August.
He stood on the balcony of his high tower, gazing at the forests stretching out under the moonlight. His silver armor hung on a wooden stand behind him, and his sword, Mandicor, lay on an oak table, gleaming as if drinking the moon's light.
The other knights were sleeping. The servants were tucked in their beds. Even the three greyhounds that accompanied him on hunts were asleep by the fireplace.
But Theodoric could not sleep.
His body was tired. Training the young knights from dawn until dusk, then the King's council session until midnight, then reviewing the feudal accounts he had inherited from his father. He was tired, like a man who had carried a mountain on his shoulders.
But something in the air kept him alert, as if the entire forest was holding its breath.
"Boreas," he whispered the name of his horse, as if the massive black steed in the ground-floor stables could hear him. "Do you feel it too?"
Boreas was stamping his hoof on the ground. Once, twice, three times. A strange rhythm, like the beating of war drums.
Then Theodoric saw the light.
It was not an ordinary light. It was not lightning. It was not fire. It was not a false dawn. It was a blue light. Blue as the heart of a gas flame burning without smoke. Blue as the color of a frozen lake in the white mountain peaks. It rose from the depths of the Kermez Forest, first a thin thread, then a column touching the clouds.
And at that very moment, Theodoric felt something strange in his chest. A pain, not a physical pain, but a spiritual one. As if a cold hand had touched his heart from the inside. As if something that had been sleeping within him for a thousand years had suddenly awakened.
He heard footsteps behind him.
"You saw it too."
Queen Eleanor stood at the entrance to the balcony, wearing her white nightgown, her golden hair loose over her shoulders. The Queen was ten years younger than Theodoric, but her eyes held the wisdom of a woman who had lived a thousand years. They said she was descended from the ancient Dragon Guardians, and that the blood of seers ran in her veins.
"What is that light, my Lady?"
The Queen approached the balcony and looked at the distant pillar of blue light.
"The Blue Dragon," she whispered. "Izoroth, Guardian of the White Mountain. Guardian of the Heart."
"The Heart of the World?"
"I was young when my grandmother told me the story. She said the Blue Dragon did not participate in the war between humans and dragons. She said he slept in the deepest caves of the mountain, held the shard of the Heart that lies in his chest, and waited."
He asked her, "What was he waiting for?"
She smiled and said, "He waits for the one who is worthy."
Theodoric was silent for a long time. The pillar of blue light was slowly expanding, spreading delicate threads across the sky like the veins of a giant tree.
"Why now?" he finally asked.
The Queen looked at him. Her gaze was strange, as if she saw something in him that he himself could not see.
"Perhaps because time has run out. Perhaps because the darkness we have been waiting for is closer than we think. Or perhaps..."
She paused.
"Or perhaps what?"
"Perhaps he has finally found the one he was searching for."
At that moment, they heard hurried footsteps in the corridor. Commander Rodrik entered, his armor half-worn, his sword in his hand.
"Lord Theodoric! Your Majesty!" he was panting. "The guards on the eastern wall saw something... something I cannot describe."
"The Dragon," Theodoric said calmly. "We saw it."
Rodrik shook his head. His face was pale as snow.
"Not the dragon, my lord. What they saw was... people. All the people in the forest, leaving their homes and fields. Men, women, and children. And they are all walking towards the pillar of light."
Theodoric felt a shiver run down his spine.
"Walking? Like the living dead?"
"No, my lord. They walk like dreamers. As if someone is calling them. As if they cannot resist."
Theodoric looked at the Queen. She was trembling, even though the night was not cold.
"You said human hearts hold a shard of the World's Heart," he said. "You said dragons hold the other half."
The Queen nodded silently.
"So," Theodoric said, his hands moving involuntarily towards his silver armor, "He is not calling the people. He is calling the shards within their chests."
He donned his armor in silence. Its weight felt lighter than usual tonight, or perhaps his arms were stronger. He strapped his sword to his belt and looked for a moment in the bronze mirror hanging on the wall.
He saw a man who did not look like him.
It wasn't a different face. It was the same nose, the same grey eyes, the same small scar above his left eyebrow left by the sword master's blade when he was twelve, the same sharp features.
But something had changed. There was a faint light in his eyes. Blue. Very faint. Almost invisible.
He looked at the Queen. Did she see it too?
But the Queen was not looking at his face. She was looking at his chest, where the silver armor rested, right over the place that hid his heart beneath.
"Go," she whispered. "Go and see what he wants from you."
"My Lady, if I leave the castle now, while the King sleeps and the council knows nothing..."
"I will tell them."
"If the dragon plans an attack..."
"That is not what he plans."
"How do you know?"
The Queen smiled a sad smile. For a moment, she looked much older than her years. She looked like a woman who had seen a thousand winters and would see a thousand more.
"Because the Blue Dragon," she said, "does not seek a battle. He seeks the one who will complete what we began a thousand years ago."
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Theodoric went down to the stables. Boreas was waiting for him, not sleeping, his eyes blazing in the darkness. The horse's saddle was hanging on the wall, ready, as if someone had prepared it beforehand. Or had the stable boy simply forgotten to put it in its proper place? Theodoric did not ask himself this question. He knew the answer.
At the northern gate, the guard stood terrified.
"My lord, you cannot go out alone! If there is a dragon..."
"That is why I must go alone," Theodoric said. "If there truly is a dragon, the number of knights will change nothing. One sword is enough... or not enough."
He pushed the heavy gate open with one hand, and Boreas launched into the night like an arrow from a bow.
Behind him, the castle was waking. Ahead of him, the forest was calling.
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The Kermez Forest at night was not as it was by day.
By day, the tall Kermez trees shaded beautiful paths, colorful birds sang on their branches, and clear springs bubbled from beneath their roots. Knights trained at its edges, hunters hunted its deer, and children played in its clearings.
At night, the forest was something else.
The tree trunks looked like pillars of an abandoned temple. The shadows of branches intertwined overhead like a giant spider's web. The birds did not sing; instead, there was a dense silence pressing on the ears. Even Boreas's hooves seemed to muffle their sound, as if the very ground demanded silence. And the smell of snow and heated iron was stronger now.
The people...
They were walking as Rodrik had described. Tens, hundreds, perhaps thousands. Peasants from neighboring villages, merchants from the city, hunters from forest huts, even nuns from the Convent of Saint Martella. They walked slowly, step by step. Their eyes were open but did not see. Their feet knew the way.
Theodoric stopped near an old woman carrying a child in her arms.
"Grandmother," he called to her. "Where are you going?"
She did not see him. She looked through him, towards the blue column on the horizon.
"He is calling," she whispered. "Our hearts hear him. He waited a thousand years. Now he calls. We must go."
"Who is calling?"
The old woman looked at him. For a moment, she seemed to truly see him.
"The other part of us," she said. "The part we lost. He wants us to become whole again."
Then she continued walking.
Theodoric felt something stir in his chest. That faint pain returned, a little stronger. He placed his hand on his armor, directly over his heart.
"What do you want from me?" he whispered into the darkness. "If you are calling them all, why did you send the seeress to the castle to say you seek me alone?"
No answer came, but Boreas moved on his own, following the slow human current.
Deeper and deeper they went into the Kermez Forest. The trees grew taller. The darkness grew thicker. The air grew colder. It felt as if the temperature was changing degree by degree: from summer's warmth to autumn's chill, then to winter's cold.
Suddenly, the procession of people stopped walking.
They all stood in a wide circle around a large clearing of bare earth. In the center of the clearing, there was no dragon. There was a stone.
A black stone, smooth as a mirror, rising to the height of a man's chest. Above it, the pillar of blue light rose to the sky, calm, steady, as if it had been there for a thousand years and would remain for another thousand.
Theodoric dismounted from his steed and took a step towards the stone.
When he placed his hand upon it, he heard a voice.
It was not a voice from outside, but from within. He did not hear it with his ears, but with his heart. It was deep, calm, as old as the mountains.
"Finally, you have come."
"Who are you?"
"I am Izoroth. I am the Guardian. I am the half that seeks the other half. I am the one who has waited a thousand years."
"What do you want from me?"
A long silence. Then:
"It is not I who wants something from you. You are the one who will ask of me. Ask your heart, Theodoric. What do you wish for?"
The knight closed his eyes. For a moment, he was completely silent. The humans standing in a circle around him breathed as one in the darkness.
Then he whispered:
"I wish... to understand. Why me, of all people? Why now? And why, despite all my battles and victories, do I feel I have not yet accomplished anything real?"
"A good question," the voice said. "Come then. Come to my cave. Come to see what only the worthy can see."
Theodoric lifted his hand from the black stone. He knew this night would not end as it began. He knew something had changed forever.
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He returned to the castle at dawn. The Queen was waiting for him on the same balcony, as if she had not moved from her spot since he left.
"You saw him?" she asked.
"I saw his stone. I heard his voice."
"What did he say?"
Theodoric looked towards the horizon, where the golden sunlight was slowly creeping to cover the blue that had filled the sky the night before.
"He said he is waiting for me. He said I must go to him."
The Queen was silent, then said:
"So, you will go."
It was not a question. It was a confirmation.
"I will go," Theodoric said. "But not today. Not tomorrow. I must prepare. I must understand what I will face."
"The dragon."
He shook his head.
"No, I am not certain the dragon is the enemy. What I will face is... something else. Something inside me. Inside all of us."
The Queen placed her hand on his arm. It was cold, as cold as that black stone.
"Come back to us," she whispered. "Whatever you find there, whatever you discover, come back to us."
Theodoric looked at her. It was the first time he had seen the Queen afraid. She was not afraid of the dragon. She was not afraid of war. She was afraid he would go and not return.
"I will return," he said. "I have never broken a promise in my life."
The Queen smiled a faint smile.
"I know. And that is what frightens me."
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Three days had passed since the night of the blue pillar.
Three days during which Theodoric had not left his room except out of sheer necessity. The military council summoned him, and he told them the dragon had appeared in the east and then turned back, and that no danger threatened the kingdom at present. The King asked him, and he answered that he had chased a phantom in the forest and found nothing. The young knights asked him to resume training, and he postponed it indefinitely.
He was lying.
He was not only lying to others, but he was also lying to himself. He told himself he needed time to think, to plan, to prepare. But the truth was simpler, and more painful.
He was afraid.
Not of the dragon. Theodoric had never feared the dragon, even before he knew Izoroth was not an enemy. He was afraid of what that mysterious voice had said to him: Ask your heart, Theodoric. What do you wish for?
He did not know the answer.
For thirty-seven years, he had known exactly what he wanted.
At twelve, he wanted to become a knight. At eighteen, he wanted to be the best knight in the kingdom. At twenty-five, he wanted to avenge his father's death, killed by bandits in the northern passes. At thirty, he wanted to be the Commander of the Knights. At thirty-five, he wanted to secure the peace that generations before him had fought for.
And every time, he got what he wanted.
He was brilliant at achieving goals. He knew how to draw his plans precisely, how to place his foot here and his hand there, how to read his opponents' weaknesses and his allies' strengths. He knew how to win.
But he never knew how to ask himself: And what do you wish for after you have won?
Now, with the Blue Dragon waiting in the depths of the mountain, and Izoroth's question echoing in his depths like reverberations in an abandoned cave, Theodoric realized he had gone through thirty-seven years of battles without asking himself that question even once.
He sat on the edge of his bed, his silver armor hanging on the wall opposite him. The faint light reflected off the breastplate, off the engraving of the winged lion he had inherited from his father, from his grandfather, from five generations of knights from Theodoric's family.
It was a heavy armor, not only in the weight of its metal, but in the weight of their expectations.
"What in heaven and earth do you want from me?" he whispered into the void.
No answer came. He hadn't expected one.
Three knocks sounded at the door. Steady, confident. He didn't ask who it was. He knew.
"Come in, Samuel."
The old man entered, carrying a tray with a pot of hot tea and a cup of blue ceramic.
Samuel had served Theodoric's family for sixty years. Since he was a ten-year-old boy working in the grandfather's stables. For forty years, he had been the head servant. After the father's death, he became the steward of the castle, the advisor, and the only friend who had never asked Theodoric for anything.
"You haven't eaten in two days," Samuel said quietly, placing the tray on the table.
"The servants think you're sick. Your personal guards think you're planning a secret campaign. The young knights think you're hiding a treasure you found in the forest from them."
"And what do you think?"
The old man smiled. The deep wrinkles on his face were like maps of countries that no longer existed.
"I think you've finally started asking the right questions."
Theodoric looked at Samuel. He had known this man since he was born. He knew the sound of his footsteps, the smell of his clothes, the way he moved his hands when he spoke. He thought he knew everything about him.
"Do you believe in legends, Samuel?"
"Which legends?"
"The legend of the World's Heart. The legend of the Blue Dragon, the Guardian. The legend... of the shard in every human's chest."
Samuel was silent for a long time, fidgeting with the edge of his brown robe—an old habit he had when thinking deeply.
"I am an old man," he finally said. "I have seen many things in my life. I have seen heroes fall in trivial battles, and cowards accomplish great feats because they no longer had a choice. I have seen love turn to hatred in an instant, and hatred turn to love after years. But I have never seen a legend come true before my eyes."
He paused, poured the tea into the blue cup, and handed it to Theodoric.
"Until the night before you came into this world," Samuel continued. "Your mother was in pain. The doctor said she and her child might not survive. I went out to the castle balcony and looked at the sky. It was a harsh winter night, the stars hidden behind the clouds. I didn't believe in prayer, but I prayed. I prayed to a god I wasn't sure was listening. I asked him for a miracle I didn't think was possible."
"And what happened?"
"The clouds parted," Samuel whispered. "For a whole hour, the clouds parted above our castle. The moon lit the birthing room as if it were midday. You were born. Your mother died minutes later. But you were alive. You were screaming as if angry at the world that had forced you to come to it."
Theodoric took a sip of the tea. It was hot, bitter. It resembled the truth.
"Do you think that was... a sign?"
"I think we make our own signs," Samuel said. "I think the universe doesn't send us clear messages. I think we keep searching for meaning in things that have no meaning, only because we cannot bear the idea that everything is just coincidence."
"But you still believe my birth was a miracle."
"I was young then. I needed to believe in something greater than myself. And now, after sixty years, I still hold onto that belief. Not because it is necessarily true, but because... it makes life more bearable."
Theodoric looked at the old man and saw for the first time how tired he was. It wasn't about the wrinkles or the grey hair, but something deeper. Samuel carried a weight others didn't see. The weight of sixty years serving a family that wasn't his own. The weight of sixty years loving a woman who died young. The weight of sixty years of waiting.
"Do you love me, Samuel?"
A strange question. He had never asked it before. He never needed to.
Samuel looked at him for a long moment. Then he said, "You know the answer."
"I know you are loyal. I know you sacrifice for me. But that is not love. That is duty."
The old man leaned forward slightly, as if the words had struck him in the chest.
"Love and duty," he whispered, "are not as different as you think. Not to me."
Samuel rose slowly, leaning on his wooden cane that he usually only used on rainy days when his joints ached.
"I will go to the kitchen," he said. "I will ask the cook to prepare the dinner you love. Venison with cranberry sauce, just as your mother used to make it."
"My mother didn't cook. She was a queen."
"But she made the sauce herself. Every Wednesday evening, she would go down to the kitchen and spend a whole hour mixing cranberries with honey and the secret spices she inherited from her grandmother. She used to say that a man who rules a kingdom needs to eat food made with love, otherwise he will forget the meaning of love."
Theodoric was silent. He didn't know this story. How many stories didn't he know? How many things about his mother, about his father, about Samuel himself, remained hidden in the old man's silence?
"Samuel."
The man stopped at the door.
"What was my mother's name?"
Of course, he knew her name. He knew she was called Eleanor. That she was a princess from a distant kingdom across the sea. That she married his father in a political pact. That she died after giving birth to him. He knew all of this as one knows the dates of ancient battles: dry facts, with no taste, no scent.
But he had never asked about her real name. The name those who loved her called her by.
Samuel smiled. His smile was sad, warm, ancient.
"My father used to call her 'My Light,'" he said. "Because when she entered his dark room for the first time, he felt that light entered with her. And I... I called her Lady Eleanor. I was a servant. I did not allow myself more than that."
"But you loved her."
"As the moon loves the sea. From afar. In silence. Without hope of meeting."
Samuel left the room, leaving Theodoric alone with the cup of cold tea and the questions multiplying like fungi in the darkness of his heart.
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In the evening, a messenger came to him from the King.
The boy was young, no more than fifteen, wearing the palace's red robe and the silver message badge on his chest. He was trembling slightly, not from cold but from awe. He was standing before the greatest knight in the kingdom, and he knew that every word he spoke would be retold in the servants' corridors for weeks.
"His Majesty the King requests your presence, my lord, at the night council," the boy said in a voice he tried to make manly, which came out more like the creaking of an old door. "The matter is urgent and grave, and His Majesty ordered me to inform you personally, not through the servants."
"Did the King tell you the nature of the matter?"
The boy hesitated. He knew more than he was saying, but he was afraid to overstep his bounds.
"Speak," Theodoric said gently. "I will not be angry with a messenger doing his duty."
The boy raised his eyes. They were a warm brown, like the color of fields' soil in spring.
"There is a dead person, my lord. In the Queen's chamber."
Theodoric felt a chill run through his veins.
"Queen Eleanor is well?"
"Yes, my lord. The Queen was unharmed. But the dead person was... her personal maid. The blonde girl who always accompanied her. Lydia."
Theodoric knew Lydia. She was a nineteen-year-old girl, daughter of a noble from the northern borders. Her father had sent her to court to become a lady-in-waiting to the Queen and learn palace etiquette.
She laughed often. She sang with a beautiful voice. The Queen loved her like a little sister.
"How did she die?"
The boy lowered his head.
"No one knows, my lord. No weapon was found. No trace of an assailant. The guards say she was sleeping in her room adjacent to the Queen's. In the morning, they found her... empty."
"Empty?"
"No blood, my lord. No wounds. But she was cold as ice, her eyes open, staring at the ceiling. The doctor said her heart stopped in the middle of the night, but he doesn't know the cause. He said she looked like someone... like someone whose soul had been pulled from their body without anyone touching them."
Theodoric stood. His legs were heavy, but he stood.
"Tell the King I am coming immediately."
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The night council was held in a small room behind the throne. A room entered only by those closest to the King. Its walls were covered with burgundy velvet drapes. In its center was an oval table of ebony wood, around which sat seven men: the King, the Prime Minister, the Commander of the Royal Guard, the Chief Justice, the High Priest of the Great Temple, and two senior nobles.
When Theodoric entered, everyone stood. Even the King rose from his chair.
"Thank you for coming," said King Albert. He was a man in his sixties, his white hair surrounding his baldness like a wreath of snow, his blue eyes somewhat faded, betraying his advanced age. But his voice was still strong, resonant—the voice of a man accustomed to being obeyed.
"Your Majesty," Theodoric bowed.
"The messenger told me what happened. My heart is with the Queen in her loss."
"The Queen has not left her room since morning," the King said. "She hasn't cried. She hasn't asked for anything. She just sits and looks out the window. I don't know how to help her."
Theodoric said nothing. He knew the King wasn't asking for advice, but emptying his heart.
"But that is not all," the King continued. "Commander Richard, show them what you found."
The Commander of the Royal Guard opened a small box on the table and took out something wrapped in a piece of white silk. He unwrapped the silk with slow, deliberate movements, like a priest presenting offerings.
It was a piece of crystal, the size of a pigeon's egg. Blue as the sky at midday. But it did not reflect light. It absorbed it, swallowed it, leaving around it a halo of faint darkness.
"We found this in her hand," the Commander said. "She was clutching it so tightly that her fingers froze in place. It took us a whole hour to open her fist without breaking her bones."
Theodoric approached the crystal. He felt something familiar about it, like a scent reminding you of a house you hadn't seen in years.
"Do you know what this is?" the King asked.
Theodoric hesitated. He knew, but he wasn't sure how he knew.
"A shard," he whispered. "A shard of the World's Heart."
The voices of those present erupted. The Prime Minister scoffed at the idea. The Chief Justice demanded evidence. The High Priest traced the star symbol on his chest and muttered protective prayers. Only the King remained silent, looking at Theodoric with penetrating eyes.
"How do you know this?" the King asked quietly.
"Because I saw its source," Theodoric said. "I saw the blue pillar in the forest. I touched the black stone that was its foundation. I heard the voice of the Blue Dragon calling to me."
Now, the silence was heavier than any scream.
"You are saying the legends of our childhood are real?" the King asked. "You are saying that dragons hide pieces of the World's Heart in human chests, and that one of these shards was in the body of a girl who died last night for no reason?"
"I don't know if that is true," Theodoric said. "But I know that forces are at work in our world that we no longer understand. I know the girl Lydia died because something wanted to take the shard from her chest. And I know that this something will not stop with her."
"What do you suggest?"
Theodoric paused. He knew what he had to say. He knew this was the moment he had been avoiding for three days.
"I must go to the Blue Dragon's mountain," he said. "I must find Izoroth. I must know why he has returned now, what he wants from us, and how we stop what has begun to kill our people."
"And if the dragon himself is the killer?" the Prime Minister asked in a sharp voice. "If all of this is a trap to hunt our greatest knight?"
"If Izoroth wanted to kill me," Theodoric said, "he could have done so three nights ago, when I stood alone before his stone in the depths of the forest. He did not."
"Perhaps he was waiting for the right moment."
"Perhaps. But I cannot stay here, waiting for the next killers, pretending nothing is happening. Lydia died because we ignored what is happening around us. How many must die before we act?"
The King looked at Theodoric for a long time. He had known this knight since he was a boy. He knew his father and grandfather. He knew that the family of Theodoric did not lie and did not retreat.
"How much time do you need?"
"A week to prepare. Then the journey to the White Mountain takes five days under normal conditions."
"And if you face storms? Monsters? Enemies you did not expect?"
"I will face them."
"And if you do not return?"
Theodoric was silent. This was the first time he had heard the King ask this question in such a direct manner.
"If I do not return," he finally said, "then it means the dragon truly was an enemy. And then, the kingdom must prepare for a war like no other."
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True secrets and difficult challenges.
Will the blue beam be the start of a cold war? Or a comfortable peace?
Theodoric faces no battle like those before it... This time is completely different from all others.
The bells of the end have now begun to toll...
Tell me, what did you like most about the chapter, and what do you expect to happen next?