As the class continued, Alex's mind occasionally drifted back to the lesson on the alien invasion and the roles of heroes. He wondered how many of his classmates were genuinely interested in becoming heroes themselves, and how many were simply fascinated by the stories. He had resolved to stay detached from such ambitions, focusing instead on maintaining his normal life. The less he involved himself in the extraordinary, the better.
Outside, the sky was a clear blue, and the warmth of the afternoon sun was a welcome contrast to the chilly corridors of the school. Alex took a deep breath, savoring the brief moment of calm before heading to the bus stop.
The bus ride was uneventful, the rhythmic motion of the vehicle a soothing background to his thoughts. Alex stared out the window, watching the familiar landscape of his neighborhood pass by. The houses, trees, and streets were all part of the ordinary life he had promised himself. He tried to focus on the mundane details, finding comfort in the routine.
When Alex arrived home, the house was quiet. His parents were out, likely busy with activities related to Leo's shopping spree. The silence of the house was a welcome relief, and Alex took advantage of it by heading to his room.
He closed the door behind him, creating a private sanctuary away from the expectations and comparisons that plagued his daily life. Alex settled into his desk chair and pulled out his book, the one he had been reading earlier. He opened it to the page he had marked, losing himself in the words as a way to escape his thoughts.
The hours passed slowly as Alex read, the pages providing a temporary refuge from the complexities of his world. The normalcy he sought felt more attainable within the pages of a book, where the distractions of real life could be momentarily set aside.
As evening approached, Alex set the book aside and began to prepare for dinner. The quiet routine of his evening was a stark contrast to the busy chaos of the day. He moved through the house with a practiced ease, finding solace in the predictability of his tasks.
When his parents and Leo eventually returned home, the house was once again filled with noise and activity. Alex joined them for dinner, participating in the conversation with a polite but distant demeanor. He listened to Leo's animated recounting of the day's events and nodded along with his parents' occasional comments.
The evening wore on, and eventually, the house quieted down again. Alex retreated to his room, where he could finally relax in solitude. He lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, his mind drifting between the promise of a normal life and the ever-present echoes of his past.
The normalcy he yearned for seemed just within reach, but the shadows of his previous life continued to linger, a reminder of the battles and responsibilities he had hoped to escape. As he closed his eyes and drifted into sleep, Alex held tightly to his resolve to live a peaceful, average life, even as the world around him remained ever so extraordinary.
*****
The house was quiet, its calm broken only by the occasional creak of the floorboards and the distant hum of the refrigerator. Alex lay in his bed, the soft light from his bedside lamp casting a warm glow over the room. The stillness was a welcome relief from the noise and chaos of the day. His mind, however, was far from peaceful.
As he stared at the ceiling, his thoughts drifted back to the day's lesson. Mr. Thompson's account of the alien invasion and the divine powers granted to heroes had stirred a deep, unsettling reflection in Alex. The promise of heroism seemed so alluring to his peers, yet Alex knew the reality was far grimmer than the glorified tales often portrayed.
Why would anyone willingly choose to become a hero? Alex pondered, his thoughts heavy with melancholy. What drives people to seek such a fate, knowing the price they must pay?
He turned onto his side, the room's darkness pressing on him. The question gnawed at his mind, the disparity between the romanticized notion of heroism and its stark reality becoming painfully clear.
His experiences had left him with a profound understanding of the sacrifices involved. The weight of responsibility, the constant vigilance, and the inevitable losses were not just abstract concepts to him—they were the burdens he had lived with.
The heroes of the past were celebrated and remembered, Alex thought bitterly. But what of the ones who fell? What of those who were broken by the very powers they were given to wield? He remembered the faces of comrades lost in battles, the scars left not just on the land but on the souls of those who survived. The gods may have granted power, but they did not spare their chosen from suffering.
He shifted uneasily, the weight of his past life pressing down on him. The idea of becoming a hero, of being chosen by the gods, was one he had tried to distance himself from. The romanticized image of heroism that many aspired to was a sharp contrast to the grim reality he had faced. For him, the allure of power was overshadowed by the harsh truths of what it entailed.
Why would anyone desire to become a hero when they know the sacrifices that come with it? Alex mused, his mind replaying the stories of bravery and heroism he had heard throughout his life. Is it the thrill of adventure, the desire for recognition, or something more profound?
He closed his eyes, trying to escape the weight of his thoughts. But the memories of his past life, the battles fought and the pain endured, were inescapable. Perhaps some are drawn to the idea of heroism because it offers a sense of purpose, and a chance to be more than ordinary. Alex considered that the price of such a choice was often too high.
"For me," he thought with a deep sigh, "normalcy is a refuge from the darkness. The idea of being a hero, of bearing the burdens and responsibilities that come with divine power, is something I have no desire for."
He opened his eyes, the room still and silent around him. The normal life he sought was one of quiet simplicity, a stark contrast to the heroic battles and divine interventions that filled the history books. The sacrifices, the pain, the loneliness—these are not things he wants to experience again. Alex resolved his determination to live a normal life becoming more solidified with each passing day.
As sleep finally began to calm him, Alex's thoughts remained shadowed by the somber reflections of his past. The world might continue to idealize heroes, but for him, the harsh reality was a constant reminder of why he chose a different path—a path away from the extraordinary and into the realm of the ordinary, where the burdens of power were left behind.
*****
The hall buzzed with energy, the air thick with anticipation and excitement. Banners of various hero organizations hung from the ceiling, their vibrant colors adding to the lively atmosphere. Hunters—heroes who had gained their powers through divine blessings—were scattered throughout the venue, chatting with fans and signing autographs. Crowds of eager admirers surrounded each of them, hoping for a moment of recognition or a word of encouragement.
Alex's parents stood nearby, their attention fully on Leo, who was practically bouncing with excitement. His blue hair caught the light as he tugged at their hands, urging them to hurry toward the line where his favorite hero was stationed. The boy's eyes shone with enthusiasm, reflecting the hero worship that seemed to fill every corner of the room.
Alex, on the other hand, sat quietly on a bench off to the side. The bench was positioned near the back of the hall, away from the bustling crowds. His emerald eyes scanned the room, taking in the spectacle with a detached curiosity. The noise, the lights, the throngs of people—all of it seemed distant like he was watching it unfold from behind a pane of glass.
He glanced over at Leo, who was now animatedly chatting with their parents as they waited in line. His brother was everything the world seemed to value: bright, cheerful, full of potential. Leo was the golden child, destined for greatness, while Alex had long since decided to avoid the path that led to such expectations.
Alex sighed softly, leaning back against the bench. The chatter and laughter around him felt like a distant hum, something he wasn't truly a part of. He had been dragged to the event by his parents, but their focus was solely on Leo. They didn't even notice how he had quietly distanced himself from them, content to sit alone.
The excitement in the room was palpable, but for Alex, it was just another reminder of the world he had no desire to be a part of. The hunters, with their powerful auras and confident smiles, represented everything he had rejected. The power, the responsibility, the constant battle against the unknown—it was a life he had lived before and had no intention of living again.
As he watched Leo inch closer to the hero at the front of the line, Alex couldn't help but wonder what drove his brother—and everyone else here—to idolize these hunters. They saw them as symbols of hope, and protectors of humanity, but Alex knew better. He had seen firsthand the toll it took, the burdens that came with the power.
A shadow fell over him, and Alex looked up to see a man standing nearby. The man was older, with a grizzled beard and a scar running down one side of his face. He wore a hunter's uniform, but his posture was relaxed, almost casual. He glanced down at Alex, his eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to decipher something.
"Not lining up with the rest of them?" the man asked, his voice rough but not unkind.
Alex shook his head, offering a small, noncommittal smile. "Just watching."
The man grunted, his gaze lingering on Alex for a moment longer before shifting to the crowd. "Not a bad choice. These events are more for show than anything else."
Alex nodded, grateful that the man didn't press him further. He could feel the veteran's eyes on him, though, as if he had noticed something unusual. Alex was used to that by now—people often sensed that there was something different about him, even if they couldn't quite put their finger on it.
"You've got the eyes of someone who's seen more than their fair share," the man said after a pause, his tone oddly introspective.
"You know," the man said after a while, his voice thoughtful, "not everyone is cut out to be a hero. Some people are meant for other things. Sometimes, it's the ones who stand apart from the crowd who see the world the clearest."
Alex turned his head slightly to look at the man, trying to read the meaning behind his words. There was a depth in the man's eyes, a wisdom that seemed out of place for someone who appeared to be just another veteran hunter. But Alex dismissed the thought. He was only eight years old, and though his mind was far older, there were still things about this world he didn't fully grasp.
The man caught Alex's gaze, holding it for a moment longer than seemed necessary. There was something almost knowing in the way he looked at Alex as if he could see through the boy's carefully constructed facade. But before Alex could puzzle it out further, the man broke eye contact and glanced over at the crowd.
"Your brother seems excited," he said, nodding toward Leo, who was now beaming with pride as he received an autograph from one of the most renowned hunters in the room. Their parents stood beside him, their faces glowing with pride.
Alex shrugged, his expression neutral. "He's always excited about things like this."
The man chuckled softly. "And you? You don't seem to share his enthusiasm."
"Not my thing," Alex replied, his tone carefully indifferent. He wasn't about to explain his reasons to a stranger, no matter how oddly perceptive he seemed.
The man gave a knowing nod as if he understood far more than Alex had said. "It's good to know what you want out of life," he commented, his voice still carrying that strange, almost cryptic wisdom.
Before Alex could respond, the man stood up, giving him a final glance. "Well, it was nice chatting with you, kid. You've got a good head on your shoulders. Keep it that way."
Alex stiffened slightly, but he kept his expression neutral. He had spent years perfecting the art of blending in, of not drawing attention. Yet, there were always those few who seemed to see past the surface.