The Kid was shocked, he was perplexed. The very idea that his indestructible Hero was anything other than that was inconceivable. 

He stared at it, his eyes wide and quivering. He asked his father what happened.

"I don't know." 

He asked what it meant. What was going to happen.

"I don-" His father hesitated. "Nothing. Nothing's gonna happen, you hear?"

He was wrong, but it wasn't his fault. He didn't know, after all.

The Kid's father quickly guided him back home, as did the other parents with their own children. The kids who were left alone eventually dispersed by themselves. Once the Kid was safely inside, his father retreated outside once again, to retrieve the firewood he'd dropped.

The Kid stood at the door.

"What happened?" His mother, who was stirring a pot hanging above a small fire, asked. "What was that noise?"

He didn't know, he told her. 

"Are you sure? You didn't see anything?"

He didn't respond.

"€∀®¼ß∏? Are you alright?" She spoke with great concern, and leaned her stirring spoon against the pot.

He didn't respond.

Without another word, his mother walked over, knelt down and embraced him in a hug.

He cried.

Later, his whole family, as well as the courier, who often stayed with them on his visits to town, sat around the table and ate dinner together. Like they did most every night.

Everyone ate and conversed much like normal. They weren't trying draw attention to it, he realized. His brother at some point thoughtlessly remarked that he didn't see what the big deal was, that it wouldn't be that hard to rebuild.

It came out worse than he intended, the Kid inferred. Probably wanted that to sound more hopeful. Either way, it killed conversation for a good few minutes.

At some point, The Kid asked the courier what was going to happen. Up to this point, the Kid hadn't been very conversational, sipping his stew without thinking much. 

Conversation stopped again. The courier swallowed the spoonful of stew he just put in his mouth. He cringed a little.

He looked at the Kid. Then beside him. Then at the table. Then the ceiling, then his knuckles.

He rested his head on his hand, and tapped the top of his nose. 

"There's... No proof anything's more likely to happen, technically." He didn't make eye contact as he spoke.

Later that night, the Kid overheard the courier talking with his parents. He asked them if he might be able to stay for another night. 

He'd never broken his schedule before, at least not in all the years the Kid knew him. 

He shouldn't have stayed.

It happened that very night. Fire had broken out in the woods. There had been wildfires before, but none like this. Probably because this wasn't wild. It was calculated. The roaring, devouring flames had appeared in an instant, and much too close to town to be a coincidence. Their little hamlet couldn't have prepared.

The lucky ones died from their homes collapsing over their sleeping bodies. The least lucky were crushed or trapped inside while still conscious, watching everyone else abandon them. Or worse, being forced to watch someone pointlessly attempt to save them. 

The Kid and his family were somewhere in the middle. They were awoken at the first sign of danger thanks to the courier, and they'd all gotten outside.

The courier ran off at blinding speed, putting out flames wherever he could, and helping anyone he foolishly thought wasn't beyond saving.

The Kid and his family ran, for it was all they could do. The fires burned on all sides, save for one miraculous path, a straight shot from the opposite direction of where the statue once was. His father carried the Kid in his arms, and the rest helped their mother along.

The Kid could see behind his father that the courier had entered combat. He stood against a giant wolf, as big as a house, with orange fur and breath of flame. The courier was deadly fast, and much stronger than he looked. With time, he would slay the beast. Still, the Kid couldn't bear to look. 

Real-life fights aren't as fun as pretending. The screams made him sad, and he hated the sight of blood. 

Of course, there was no miracle in their little hamlet. Not after their Hero was destroyed. This was not a path to safety, they were merely being herded. 

The moment that all the living townsfolk were outside and far enough away from their homes, they appeared.

A half-dozen wolves, much smaller than the orange one, but still twice the size of the biggest towny, had them surrounded. They were Mad, it was plain to see. There was rot in their fangs, and evil in their eyes. It was unmistakable.

The screams and the blood, they were much, much worse up close, the Kid quickly realized. He'd never let the feeling leave his mind.

The Beasts went for his mother first. They knew just how to cause the most despair right away.

The knights weren't present, and gods knew where the guards were. Some of the wolves were wounded, and there was a big corpse a little ways away. There was also a lot of blood and bits of metal on the snouts of some of the wolves. That's probably where they were, in retrospect.

Everyone around him died in packs. Pulled apart or just crushed by overwhelming force. No one stood a chance against any of them. Didn't stop them from trying. His brother and sister tried. He saw.

His father dropped him to the ground and ran somewhere. He didn't see where, as he'd shut his eyes and wept. 

He was trampled upon by all manner of shoe and clawed paw. He felt himself breaking. It hurt.

The screaming only seemed to intensify with time. Until it stopped. Then it got quieter. And quieter, and quieter. Until all that was left was snarling, burning, and weeping.

He'd been mistaken for a corpse, he was all that was left of their little hamlet. 

He suddenly felt heavy, hot and wet breath around his face. An unmistakable evil hovered above him.

Foolishly, he opened his eyes. His surroundings were burned into his mind forever. The fires, the rotting and the melting. The people he knew.

The last thing he noticed was the giant wolf standing right above him, leaning down in his face. It was one of the more wounded ones. Its evil eyes consumed him, and it grinned.

The Kid tried to crawl away as he choked on blood and his own tears, but the creature pinned him down, and leaned closer, licking its chops. His fear must have tasted good. It was savoring it. But it couldn't remain patient forever.

The beast opened its jaw, and the Kid saw Death.

The jaw slammed shut- Forcefully. The beast flew away. It had been pushed.

With a thunderous sound, the courier had appeared in front of the Kid, and was now standing valiantly in the middle of the pack.

Most of his clothes had either been scratched or burnt off, and the rest had melted into his skin. He hardly had a hair left on his body, and blood poured out from hundreds of wounds like lemonade from a tipped pitcher. Despite this, he maintained a confident fighting stance, and his magic oozed out vibrantly from within his broken flesh. 

"€∀®¼ß∏!" He shouted, though his voice wasn't working well. "WE'RE LEAVING, GRAB MY HAND!"

The Kid knew it was pointless. There would be no miracles. Not without their hero.

The Kid watched the courier's arm get torn off. Bloody.

He didn't see anything after that, as the Beast that was drooling over him had gotten up, and walked towards him, licking his chops. 

It started with his arms. The Kid died long before it had gotten to his legs. 

The Kid awoke somewhere.

He knew immediately that it wasn't the happy place. 

But it wasn't the bad one, either. It wasn't even between them.

He was surrounded by the blood and the bodies and the fire and the death and the scream SCREAMING.

But he was the only one there.

Someone started talking. It was the Kid, the Kid realized.

He might've urged him to look at all of his friends laying dead on the ground around him. It was just like how they'd played pretend in front of the statue. When the Hero had slayed the monsters.

It reminded him how much he'd loved playing pretend. Fights were so much more fun in pretend, you got to ignore all the bad parts, all the sad stuff. And the blood. 

The Kid was sad that he couldn't play anymore, now he that was dead and all by himself. His friends and his dad and mom and brother and sisters weren't with him, and he'd never see them again. It made him want to cry. 

But then the Kid told him that he didn't have to stop playing pretend. Actually, being dead made playing pretend a lot more fun! 

The Kid was skeptical, but he felt he should hear himself out.

If he were dead, all he'd have to do is pretend to be alive! You can do anything when you pretend! He could try it now!

But how? What should he try, he wondered.

Well, he doesn't want to be sad, does he?!

No. Being sad felt bad.

So don't! He could go ahead and stop whenever he wanted!

So he did. At once, everything left him. All that remained was emptiness. 

This is worse, in some ways.

Yes, well, he could just fill it with something else! He should look around! Get inspired!

He listened to his own advice, and looked. Looked at the corpses of his friends and family who he'd never see again. And their fresh red blood.

He looked at the fire around him. It turned the happy trees into char. It was hot, so, SO hot. Orange, red, fiery. It was so much. Why was there so much? Why did they do this to him? It didn't make sense, it wasn't fair! The fire killed his home, the UGLY fire wolf basically killed his courier! It's not fair!

He looked at the UGLY, DEGENERATE wolves surrounding him. The red blood on their smiling snouts. Happy? How DARE they feel happy after everything they put him through! MONGRELS! MUTTS!

He looked at the red blood pooling around his DEAD people. It was so RED. Like the fire. The FIRE. THE FIRE. 

The fire filled him. Every part of him was ablaze- Ablaze with fury unlike he'd ever felt before. Any tears he'd shed had burnt away against his flaming skin. He had to scream SCREAM- to KILL and MAIM-

Yes, yes! This was good! He wanted this! He needed this!

He needs it.

Yes he does! He hates them, doesn't he?

He did.

Yaaaay! He can play pretend! 

He will.

He did.