They cheered for him alone.
Every voice rang with joy as it blessed his name. Every face thronging the palace courtyard beamed with unreserved happiness. Every gaze was fixed on him, the young boy looking down on them from the balcony.
Not so long ago, their nation had teetered on the brink of destruction. Now the world knew them as proud rulers of the central continent of Soleil. It was all thanks to him—he who stood by their king through thick and thin, who held firm in times of hardship and despair, who guided their armies to victory in countless battles.
He raised one hand in acknowledgment and retreated from the balcony. Behind him, the roar of the crowd continued unabated. The city would not sleep tonight, nor in the nights to come. War-torn castle walls and ruined houses still wanted for repair, but rebuilding would come later. Now was a time for celebration, for now they were conquerors, the first nation in history to bring all of Soleil beneath their banner. The festivities would last for many days yet.
The boy made his way back inside the palace, along the passage linking balcony and throne room. A springy carpet of deep red cloth ran the length of the corridor, hemmed in on either side by spotless walls of white stone. As he walked on in silence, a young man appeared to block his path.
“Do you truly mean to leave?” the young man asked. His sadness was written on his face.
The boy hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “I’d love to stay, but you know how it is. Home is home.”
Of all the people of Soleil, he was surely the first and last permitted to address this young man—his king—so casually. Anybody else would have been harshly punished for their impertinence, if not executed outright. But he and the king were fast friends, so his familiarity prompted a smile rather than a rebuke.
“I had hoped you might come to call this land home. You are a hero to my people, after all. I could furnish you with a suitable title, and you could live out your days in the peace and prosperity you helped build. Would you still turn me down?”
“All the more reason to leave,” the boy replied. “Your nation loves its politics. It’s statesmen your age of peace will need, not generals. Better to send me on my way now than put up with a jobless has-been mooching off your coffers.”
The king’s elegant brow furrowed with sorrow. “You will not be persuaded, then?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“I see.”
They had crawled through the muck together. They had shared uncommon shame and disgrace. Through all the king’s trials, this boy had stayed stubbornly by his side, believing in him and his crumbling nation to the last. They were comrades-in-arms, friends, brothers, and they knew each other’s hearts inside and out. It was that very friendship that told him now the boy’s mind would not be changed.
He shook his head in resignation. “Take this, then,” he said, tossing an object through the air. The boy caught it and scrutinized it warily. It was a plain piece of stiff white paper, like a blank bookmark. The king grinned like a child up to mischief. “Or else I’ll insist you stay.”
The boy laughed. “No, I’ll take it. What is it, though? I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“You’ll find out when the time is right. Although I can’t imagine you’ll have need of it in your world, from what you’ve told me of the place.”
His piece said, the king turned away and set off down the hall. The boy watched him go. After a few steps, the king stopped and looked back over his shoulder.
“Consider this my goodbye. You know my opinions on tearful farewells, I trust.” He paused for a moment, as though mourning their parting. “I don’t intend to see you off. Be well.”
“You too,” the boy replied. “It’s been fun.”
“That it has, my friend. That it has.”
And so a tale of heroes came to an end.
“...and that’s when I woke up.”
With an intense gleam in his eyes, Hiro Oguro finished his story. He was a perfectly ordinary second-year high school student. This year, he would turn seventeen.
“Uh...cool. Sounds great, man.”
His friend Fukutaro was giving him some serious side-eye. Fukutaro and Hiro were both second-years and had known each other since they were little, but they couldn’t have looked more different. With his naturally tall and muscular physique, Fukutaro was twice Hiro’s size.
“What, you don’t believe me?” Hiro asked.
“Believe what? You had a dream, dude. I get crazy dreams all the time.”
“I guess...” His friend had a point. Hiro decided to change the subject before things got awkward. “So anyway, your mom told me you got an acceptance letter?”
Fukutaro grimaced, muttering something about “sticking her nose into other people’s business” before shrugging in defeat. “Can’t believe they’re sendin’ those out to second-years.”
“Is it really that weird?” Hiro asked. “I mean, you’re the judo club’s star member.”
“It’s all comin’ too soon, man. University’s so far away, it doesn’t even feel like a real place.” Fukutaro scratched his head, clearly uncomfortable. He fixed Hiro with a meaningful look. “You’re the one we should be worrying about, anyhow. You gotten back into clubs yet?”
“You know what the doctor says. No strenuous physical activity.”
Fukutaro’s gaze softened. “C’mon, man, it’s been three years already. It’s about time they let you go for a jog. Didn’t you have a checkup yesterday?”
Hiro’s medical checkups dated back to a bizarre incident three years earlier. Until the day it had happened, he’d by all accounts been in good health. When his mother had come to wake him that morning, however, she’d screamed at what she’d found: her son lying in bed, naked and horribly gaunt. That in itself might not have been so bad, but he was inexplicably covered in injuries and smeared with dirt, and his short hair had somehow grown down to his shoulders.