I hear someone crying.
A small child, tears pouring down his face, hiccupping over and over and
clinging to a large chest.
And holding onto the child covered in blood and dirt, patting him lightly on
the head, is one old man.
"Does it hurt, Bell?"
The boy listens to the soft voice overhead and is about to nod, but quickly
shakes his head no. He starts to cry again.
The old man smiles and continues to embrace the trembling boy, comforting
him.
"I told you not to go outside the village, now didn't I? Those goblins did quite
a number on you."
That voice, this grass, that smile…I know this place.
The setting sun, a face that I thought I would never see again, everything is so
bright.
"But you did well. You didn't give in to those monsters. Be proud."
The sky is filled with brilliant shades of red, fields of golden wheat dancing in
the evening breeze.
Amid this beautiful scenery from my memory, an old man's kind words make
their way into the heart of the young boy.
All of this will no doubt be lost in a deep corner of his memory.
Once he wakes up, it will seem like an old, far-off wish.
An irreplaceable longing from childhood.
"You looked good out there, Bell."
Seeing the old man smile, the boy starts bawling yet again.
Yet, inside his hazy, tear-filled eyes, there is a glimmer of admiration.
Looking at the man's face that is so close to his own, the boy fights back his
tears and swears to himself.
As the child's lips move, I feel my own and move with him. Our voices
overlap, becoming one.
I want to become someone like you.
Like the one who saved me, someone strong like you.
Someone like my hero, I want to be like you.
"Is that all? Too low, too low. An old geezer like me your goal? You should
aim higher."
Well then, I'll become one of those heroes from the stories.
One of those heroes whom everyone praises.
Will you say that you like me?
Will you say that you're proud of me?
Will you be happy?
"Oh yes, I'll smile so hard my cheeks will fall off. I'll brag to anyone and
everyone that you're my grandson. I'll tell them in a big voice you make me
proud."
Okay, then. If you're willing to say that. For sure I'll…
You'll always watch over me from heaven, my one and only…
"I'll always be watching. You'll always be on my mind. So don't do anything
for my sake."
The old man laughs again, wrinkles appearing all over his happy face.
"Real men chase after the ladies. Dash after them at full speed. Puff your
chest out. Head up, facing forward."
Then the old man looks down, a serious look in his eyes as he says:
"If it's for the love of a woman, you can become a hero, or anything you
want. You can do anything."
The last golden light of the setting sun grows dim.
I reach out desperately into the growing darkness. That's when I hear him say
these words:
"You are, after all, my grandson."
"What are you dreaming about, Bell…" whispered Hestia as she watched a tear
work its way down Bell's cheek.
A member of her family lay sleeping in a bed inside the medical center within
Babel Tower. He had been carried here by the blond girl with golden eyes. His
supporter was with them as well. The only sound in their quiet little room was
Bell's peaceful breathing.
The boy, who had just overcome the most intense battle of his life, wore no
expression in sleep, just peaceful calm.
"…And there are so many things I have to tell you, but…"
Hestia gently wiped away the tear that came out of Bell's closed eye.
Bell's mouth was slightly open, his breathing deep and steady. Hestia couldn't
help but smile.
"You did your best, didn't you…Congratulations."
She looked around the room once before leaning forward and brushing Bell's
bangs upward. She pressed her lips to his forehead.
The goddess blushed softly as she read the story engraved in the boy's back,
her eyes slowly closing.
"This is the first page."