What's a Hero? What's in a Name?

Water rippled beneath him. A single droplet fell, breaking the silence with a soft plink, pulling the hero's attention back to the present.

Darkness stretched infinitely in all directions, broken only by the distant shimmer of galaxies. Multicolored stars flickered across the vast expanse, their light scattered like fragments of a cosmic mosaic.

"Where is this?" he wondered.

He shifted his weight, and the surface beneath his feet undulated, sending gentle ripples outward—like standing on water yet remaining dry.

Then, a voice, young yet steady, echoed through the void.

"Hello, hero."

A boy stood before him.

The hero's breath hitched. "...Jack?"

The child from the memories.

Jack offered a smile—tired, knowing, far too old for his years.

"That's me."

Silence stretched between them.

The hero's mind swirled with too many questions, tangled together, impossible to voice all at once.

What had happened? Wasn't he supposed to be dead? Why had he awoken in another's body? What was he meant to do?

Why was this happening?

His throat tightened, but no words came.

His fists clenched at his sides, trembling. If not for the gauntlets encasing his hands, his nails would have bitten into his skin.

Jack watched him with an unreadable expression. Then, as if sensing the storm raging within him, he spoke.

"I can see you have many questions, hero—questions I may or may not be able to answer. But no, I don't know why this is happening to us. What I do know is…" Jack's voice softened. "I'm going to see my dad."

"Wait… what?"

The hero blinked, unable to believe his ears.

Wasn't there supposed to be more? Some kind of explanation? A reason they had both been brought to this place? Weren't there greater forces at play?

"Just… like that?"

Jack chuckled, the sound light but tinged with something weary. "Not everything happens for a reason. If there's one thing I learned in my 23 years, it's that."

"Shit happens," Jack shrugged.

The hero frowned. No—things didn't just happen. There was always a reason. The Saintess's prophecy about the advent of demons. The invasion. His duty as a hero, his destiny to lead. Everything had been laid out before him, a path he was meant to walk.

"Was it truly your destiny?" Jack asked, a knowing smile on his lips.

It was as if he could hear the hero's thoughts.

"It's what I am," the hero said firmly. "What I was meant to be my whole life."

Jack tilted his head. "Then was it your destiny to die too? Burned alive by a dragon's breath?"

Here's a refined version with improved flow, clarity, and impact:

"That was just… my duty," the hero said, his voice quiet but firm. "It's what I had to do."

Jack's gaze didn't waver. "Wasn't your destiny to be a hero? To save the continent from the demon invasion? If you died, then who was left to save the world?"

The hero opened his mouth but hesitated.

"My… comrades."

Jack let out a dry chuckle. "Then it wasn't truly your destiny, wasn't it? If it was truly destiny, you wouldn't have died on that mountain. The Goddess would have saved you. Hell, why didn't the Goddess stop the demon invasion in the first place?"

Silence stretched between them. Then, a whisper—an echo of Jack's unspoken thoughts, reverberating through the space.

"Why didn't God save my dad?"

Anger flared in the hero's chest. He had encountered plenty of people who doubted the Goddess's will.

"So that's it?" the hero snapped. "You're just angry, so you've given up? Given up on living? What about your mother? Your sister? Your brother? Are you just going to abandon them like this?" His voice rose, the frustration bleeding into every word. "You promised your father you'd look after them!"

Jack only smiled—a small, weary thing. The hero's fury slid off him like rain against stone.

"Maybe," Jack murmured. "But I'm just an ordinary guy running into the fire." He met the hero's gaze. "I'm not you. I'm not a hero."

The hero bristled.

"Send me back. Now."

Jack sighed. "You can't go back, hero. You know it, and I'm not the one who brought you here. Besides…" He hesitated. "You were dead. It's been almost a month. Your life there is over."

"I don't care."

"Send me back so I can fulfill my destiny," the hero trembled.

"...Please. It's all I know. It's all I am. I'm not a firefighter. Not someone who belongs in this strange world. Please, send me back... or take me away," he pleaded.

Jack remained silent before speaking, his face solemn.

"The flow of time is like a river—once caught in its current, there is no turning back. It moves ever forward, indifferent to where it began or where it ends. What has passed is lost to the waters, never to return."

"If I may offer any words of consolation... it would be this—live this life as you have always lived. But ask yourself, who is a hero? What does it truly mean to be one? Perhaps, as you walk this path, you will find the answers you seek. The doubt that lingers within you... maybe, this time, you'll uncover the truth from within. May you finally be true to yourself—and in doing so, truly embody the life of a hero."

The hero swallowed hard. "Truly... to become a hero?"

"Or," Jack chuckled, "perhaps you'll find that you don't want to be one after all."

"Your choice."

"It doesn't feel like I have a choice in this," the hero lamented, his gaze lowered.

"...I've always walked the path of the hero," he murmured.

Jack stepped forward, resting a firm hand on the hero's shoulder. "Then may this be the last time you're thrown into something against your will."

He offered a faint smile before turning away. "Well, I'm going now. Time's running out."

The hero watched Jack's retreating figure. He looked like a child, yet his presence felt anything but small.

A hesitation gripped him.

"That's it?"

Was it really going to end like this? Would he just surrender to this absurd fate?

No.

A new, burning need surged through him. He wanted to go back. The feeling had been buried beneath confusion and shock, but now it was undeniable. He wanted his comrades. His old life. It hadn't been perfect—far from it—but at least it was familiar. This new world? It was too much.

Too overwhelming.

Then something clicked. A realization struck him like lightning.

"Althusia!" he roared.

Jack stopped. Slowly, he turned back, a smirk playing on his lips.

With a flick of his wrist, the space around them twisted. The galaxies fractured, light flooding into the void.

"You're Althusia, aren't you?!"

The hero lunged forward, reaching—grasping. But the world warped further, spinning, distorting, pulling him backward with an unseen force.

"This isn't over, Althusia! I'm going to find you! And when I do, I'm gonna—I'm going to—!"

His voice was swallowed by the light.

"Good luck, hero—no, Jack."

Althusia's voice echoed, reverberating through the collapsing space. It was neither warm nor cold, neither kind nor cruel—just a statement, final and absolute.

The hero's outstretched hand grasped at nothing as the light consumed everything.

—

Light stabbed into the hero's eyes.

"Pupils are sluggish," a voice muttered.

He winced, his head pounding as if a hammer struck his skull. A groan escaped his lips.

"There we go, he's coming to."

His body felt wrung out, like a soaked cloth twisted until dry. Nausea churned in his stomach, rising in waves. The remnants of his conversation with Althusia clung to his mind like a fever dream.

He gasped, gagging. The light—too harsh, too invasive—made his skin crawl. Instinctively, he swatted at the hands holding the penlight, trying to shield his eyes. In the same motion, he pushed himself up—only for strong hands to shove him back down.

"Whoa, easy there, buddy. You just had a seizure," the same voice said.

The hero frowned. A sei— a what now?

"I'm Ed, a paramedic. We're here to help you, okay?"

A face swam into focus—a man with dark, cropped hair, silver streaking the edges.

"What's his BP?" Ed glanced to his side.

"160 over 100," his female colleague answered.

Ed frowned slightly.

"Hey, bud, do you know where you are?"

The hero's gaze drifted around the room. He caught sight of Ellen and James, their faces lined with worry. Beyond them, the same room where he'd collapsed.

Damn, he thought. Still stuck in this damned world.

"House… home," he whispered.

A fresh wave of pain pulsed through his skull. He clenched his eyes shut, gripping his forehead as the throbbing intensified.

"Fuuuuck," he cursed under his breath.

"Your head hurts, huh, bud?"

The hero grunted in response.

"We'll give you something for your BP and pain, okay? Just hang in there."

A sharp prick in his arm barely registered as they held him steady.

He hated this. He just wanted it to be over. Althusia… If he could get his hands on him, he'd beat the answers out of him. The church never condoned unprovoked violence, but remembering Althusia's smirk made his blood boil.

The worst part? It was Jack's face. His face now. Albeit a younger version—but that didn't matter. It belonged to him now.

"...dy. Bud. Can you hear me?"

The hero snapped back to the present.

"We need you to answer a few questions for us, yeah?"

The hero frowned. Why wouldn't they just leave him alone? He was exhausted.

"Okay. Do you know what year it is?"

The year? Why did that matter?

"947…" he started.

Silence.

Ed, the paramedic, frowned.

"Oh Lord, please," Ellen whispered, her voice tight with worry.

Wrong answer. That was the Empyrean year. That was his world. But here, in this world…

"—I mean, 2025."

A collective sigh of relief filled the room.

"Alright, bud. Can you tell us your name?"

His name.

He hesitated.

He had lost it long ago—stripped of it the day he became the Hero. A title had swallowed his identity whole.

But here, in this body, he had a name. Jack.

His throat tightened. He wasn't Jack. But he was now, wasn't he?

"Good luck, hero—no, Jack."

Althusia's words echoed in his mind, a cruel whisper from beyond time.

Was he really supposed to just accept this? Play along? Pretend? Or did it even matter?

"Oh, please…"

Ellen's voice cracked. Hands clasped together, eyes pleading. James, too, wore the same expression—desperate, hopeful. And Andrea… where was Andrea?

A memory surfaced. Jack's father's words. A quiet plea, a lingering sorrow.

This family had suffered enough.

He sighed.

If nothing else, he could at least do this. He could ease their pain. That had always been his duty. Hero or not, he had never abandoned those in need.

And right now, they needed Jack.

"Buddy?" Ed's voice was softer now, coaxing. He had taken too long.

The hero closed his eyes. The weight of it all settled deep in his chest.

He exhaled.

Then, finally, he spoke.

"My name is Jack."