Distant Childhood

Stunned by his attackers, the Hero dreamed of a distant memory. Flashes of light danced before his eyes, and he heard a voice coming from a long, fiery, braided mane—carried by a nun standing before him. She looked downright furious, tapping her foot nervously with her fists planted on her hips. He knew that Sister well.

Was she about to reprimand him once again? Unfortunately, it seemed so.

"Why did you fight again?" the nun demanded. "How many times have I told you that fighting only serves the Devil's work?"

The boy said nothing. He sulked on the ground, his clothes stained with blood and mud.

The nun stepped closer and gave his left ear a tug.

"You're going to answer me, aren't you?" asked the Sister, irritated by the stubborn pride of this unruly boy.

In pain, the little one finally confessed everything.

"But they just keep making fun of me..." the not-yet-heroic boy said timidly, his voice far more juvenile than it is now, and his expression sullen.

"That's no excuse!" she snapped. "You need to toughen up!"

"But it's not fair!" he cried. "I didn't write on the floor that they stink, that they look like monsters, and that their mothers are—"

"Wait, what?" the nun fumed. "What did they write?"

The tiny Hero, who must have been no more than six years old, nodded tearfully.

In a burst of anger, she rolled up her sleeves and pulled out a baseball bat that was strapped to her leg beneath her habit, ready to give those filthy brats—and their irresponsible, disrespectful parents—a good beating. Then she stopped, shook her head, glanced at the boy standing behind, and rubbed her eyes to hold back her tears. Coming down to his level, she removed the tear-stained hands covering his eyes, and the nun with her black and orange braids took him into her arms.

"You're quite a strange boy," she declared. "Your skin splits into two hues—one of which shouldn't even be human—and your body is marked by wounds that appear and disappear at random… But remember: that's not what defines you! You're the most handsome boy in this lost village, intelligent and rich in love and kindness, so don't worry about the gossip of those mean-spirited people."

"But..." the child said, lowering his head.

"I promised you," the Sister reminded him, "as soon as I find the Kingdom of the Fairy Forest again, I'm certain I'll be able to heal you, and I swear you'll make every heart in this shabby hamlet flutter… just as you made mine flutter."

The boy was moved by the words of the Bride of Christ. He wriggled about, embarrassed by what he'd just heard. If he had had the right skin tone, he would have blushed like a bright, juicy red tomato. The nun kissed his forehead and carried him on her shoulders, which only embarrassed the future hero further. Nevertheless, thanks to her words, he managed to smile again. And the two walked off into the white horizon of the Hero's memories. The last words he heard were:

"You know," the Hero began, "I'm not interested in the girls in the village…"

"Are you gay?" the nun asked, intrigued.

"Well, yeah—I'm happy, but that's beside the point! I'm sure you still crack jokes that I understand!"

The nun burst out laughing.

"I can't wait for you to grow up so you'll appreciate my subtle humor."

"Nobody laughs at your jokes."

"You're on my shoulders, and I'm gonna make you fall!" the nun snapped.

She playfully teased the boy, making him believe she was about to toss him to the ground, while he roared with laughter at having managed to tease his guardian once again.

I only love you, Mom!

The Hero, lying on the floor of his new home, wore a sad grimace, his cheeks streaked with tears, while those kidnappers had just met their end at the hands of the fairies to whom they had come to sell him.