Earthso is a world where human beings and friendly races fight for dominion against the draconics.

The draconics, in spite of their human appearance, possess dragon-like attributes that give them much strength.

For this battle, ‘God’ has empowered the races with the ‘hero factor’.

A ‘hero’ is raised until he is able to lead. Then he will be rewarded with ‘grace’ through the sacred artefact ‘Baton of Heroes’ which gives the hero power to combat the draconics.

In the great campaign from 500 years ago, the hero and his forces successfully had the draconics withdraw to other occupied regions, thus securing the continent of Alba.

The victory didn't come without a price.

A young man in bronze coat of mail lay on trampled grass.

“Oh, oh God…” he almost groaned, feeling the wound on his side.

It was the hero Alkel.

“Alkel!” somebody called, running up the slope that led to the battleground. It was Pones, the hero's servant, rotund young man clothed in almost rags.

“Pones? Pones, is that you?!” the hero called as he winced in pain. His blue eyes searched the direction of the servant.

“Here I am, Alkel,” Pones answered, dropping on his knees.

The hero beheld Pones' button-eyed, round face.

“Pones, you coward! Where were you hiding your bum? Look what happened!” the hero blurted.

The puzzled servant obediently looked around and said, “B-but ye said yerself I'm not s'ppozed to fight!!”

Pones wasn't the warrior type. Alkel took that into account and ordered the servant to keep at a safe distance. But he wanted to speak thinking it would slow down his… 

“Ahh…” the hero said, refusing to argue. “Pones... Pones, you think I'm gonna die?” he asked the servant, showing the other his injury. It was a mortal wound inflicted by a draconic weapon.

“That wound!” Pones reacted, facial lines contorting in horror. He put his hands over the wound and could only go so far. There is no known remedy for the ‘burns’ that a draconic weapon causes.

Between them, there was only a kind of lousy despair.

Pones started to cry.

“Fool, we won. Celebrate…” Alkel rebuked him. His natural vigorous voice chilled now.

“I-I'm sorry, Alkel. If only I was stronger...”

“That's my line, stupid. I'm the hero,” Alkel said bittersweetly and chuckled saying, “What kind of hero survives the greatest battle ever only to die from a wound?”

“Surely you just,” Pones answered, sniffing the snot that was dripping from his nose.

“That's jest, you bore.”

With melancholy in his eyes, the hero Alkel looked at his sword. It stood pierced to the plot of ground next to him.

“The Eirein…”

Pones equally regarded it.

“The Archangel's Sword…?”

It was a magnificent, divine sword. It's gold hilt shone like the sun, and a cross-guard like angel's wings caught both light and wind, channeling the elements into a gorgeous length of pure-glass blade that emitted a faint sapphiric glow.

A moment of agony passed the hero's heart—it was the blade of his entire heroic career—before he spoke again: “Pones, you are worse than dumb but I want you to keep it.”

The servant didn't catch that easily.

The hero had to reach out with one hand and chop him on the head.

“Ow…” Pones came to life.

Evidently the hero was losing strength that the chop felt no less than a casual tap.

“Pones, stupid. You're not listening—”

Alkel's speech was stopped mid-sentence as he went through a coughing fit that rocked his whole body. Pones held him as he fought through it. When the fit subsided, the servant wiped the blood that dribbled to Alkel's chin.

The hero winced and repeated, “Pones, keep the Eirein.”

Now the servant heard clearly.

“Keep—the Eirein?!”

Pones quickly glanced at the sword that took on a restful facade in the light of noon, dimmed by war-smoke and clouds. He understood no untrained hands like his deserved the privilege of holding it.

“I don't desarv prevelej like that!!” he told the hero.

“Which I probably know better than you!” Alkel chuckled to his friend's detriment. “But trust me in this: keep it.”

“I-I don't know!! Isn't the Archangel's Sword ‘church property’?” Pones replied with further reluctance.

“Even I am church property,” the hero muttered. Then after a few beats, “There's something going on here…”

Pones didn't understand that but showed eagerness to listen for more.

“Humanity will find me here… victorious. The greatest hero,” Alkel said, looking across the plain, bodies from all kinds of earthly races littering it. “But as for you… you will run. That's what they're probably expecting you did. And you will not fail their expectation.”

The hero looked at Pones and could only discern his faithfulness.

“And you will not fail mine either,” Alkel said, implying his request to the Servant to keep the Eirein.

Pones weighed these things in his mind and found the hero's proposition acceptable.

“Okay, okay, okay! I will keep it!” he said surrendering.

A face turning on a cold paleness gave a benevolent smile. 

“Pones, we made history by forcing the draconics to retreat…” the hero spoke in an effort to cheer himself.

The servant's face beamed. “Yes Alkel, you were great.”

“The draconics suffered terribly; they will be tame for a while.”

“Alkel, it's because of you. Thank you,” Pones said, fighting off the tears.

The hero smiled at these words.

“But what's the point to victory if they returned before the next hero was raised?”

Pones agreed. 

Before continuing his speech, the hero took some time to ponder several complicated things in his mind and said,

“You know what I realized, Pones? The ‘baton’ has more than enough grace to bless more than one hero.”

The servant shut his lips tight and listened in.

“Odd. I have a feeling that in the next war, everybody can be a hero.”

Pones felt moved by the statement.

“If the baton contains such great potential, then you and I can take that dream's first step now.”

“What do you want me to do?” asked the servant.

Alkel motioned for the small bag strapped to his belt. Pones accordingly unstrung it and lifted it up. When he opened the bag, he could hardly believe what was contained in it.

“The baton!” Pones cried out as he held the sacred artefact at eye-level, which was unpardonable.

In a moment of panic the servant who thought himself unworthy dropped the baton… only to witness the artefact glow in white light and lift itself up, preventing contact with the blood-stained ground.

“Heavens!” Pones blurted.

“Contrary to popular opinion, the baton wasn't just a mass of rock,” the hero explained. “And the even greater revelation is that its power didn't come from those lump of gray, old men in the church.”

Pones picked up the baton again and held it very reverently, Alkel observed.

“Still it's just an object. Calm down; don't worship it,” the hero advised.

Pones eased himself a bit and asked, “So what do you want to do with it, Alkel?”

“I want you to break it,” the hero answered without hesitation.

The servant's eyes widened at the prospect.

“Break it?!” Pones said in protest. “First, you want me to keep the Eirein, now you're ordering to break the races' single symbol of the covenant with God?!”

“Great. Now you're putting your intellect to use...” the hero sarcastically commended the servant.

“No! Never! Not in this lifetime!”

“Come on, be a good and faithful servant.”

“No, thanks, Mister Hero, sir. I bet you're just being spiteful and want me dead too!”

“Ah, now you're being dumb again.”

Pones let loose few choice words before saying, “Where's the benefit in breaking the symbol of strength?”

Alkel's chilled lips registered a friendly smile. “If the baton has potential to raise an entire army of heroes, then we ought to let such power be granted to all.”

It dawned on the servant.

Then the hero looked to the shoreline on one end of the battlefield and said, “See, a line runs across the sand. In fact, it encircles all Alba.”

Pones took a moment to observe this line—it was faint, inconspicuous—and gave his attention to the hero again.

“Tell me what to do!” the servant pleaded with determination.

“That mark is composed of special matter—a mixture of mana particles. Bring the sword and break the baton with it. Make a miracle, Pones.”

The servant hesitated again. “But what would happen if I did break the baton?” he asked, trying to remedy the tightening feeling in his chest.

“Its supernatural potential will break out, and upon contact with special matter…” the dying hero chuckled. “A huge explosion.”

Pones flinched. “You're out of your mind, Alkel! You want us all dead!!”

Alkel laughed it out. “Pones, you are fond of worrying unnecessarily. What do you say is the use of the special matter?”

The servant looked again and returned with the same ignorance.

“Theoretically, the special matter should contain the baton's divine power. The resulting phenomenon is supposed to resemble a ‘wall’.”

Pones absorbed the knowledge. “To keep the draconics from entering Alba!”

Alkel's eyes mirrored the heroism and wisdom within him. “We're not saviors for nothing.” 

Now resolve replaced the doubt in Pones. “I will do it!” he claimed.

“The grace transferred through the baton was limited by selfish interests. Now it will find all.”

After saying this, the hero closed his eyes. He pictured in his mind the old town from which he came from, the long, arduous years when he was being trained into being a hero…

“There will be no more lonely heroes…”

“Alkel…”

“Go, Pones. Give meaning to every life. Make many heroes.”

“I will, I will!”

The servant carefully lay the hero on the grass. Grasping the baton in his left hand, he came for the Eirein and took it up from the soil. Pones held it up to the sun and spoke to it, “Be gracious to me, Archangel's Sword.”

Eyeing him from the ground with fainting sight, the hero jested once more. “Be careful you don't trip on the way and kill yourself with it.”

“Alkel,” Pones mumbled.

The hero smiled and urged him, “Go.”

With that, Pones left the hero and with the Eirein in one hand the baton on the other ran across the plain to the hidden structure by the shore, pass bodies of warriors from every race: elves, dwarves, giants, slain draconics, many others.

This was Earthso, a world where human beings and friendly races fight for dominion against draconics.

The time was 500 years ago, where occured the most successful campaign against the seed of the dragon.

In both hands of one completely insignificant character, a chubby and cowardly servant in rags, was given the trust and burden of a war-torn world, to determine its fate for many hundred years to come.

His name was Pones.

He slipped his foot on a rock and came tumbling down the slope to the the sand.

“That idiot…” Alkel murmured, watching the misstep from a corner of his eye.

Pones picked himself up, turned around and gave a thumbs up to the direction of the hero.

“Just do what you're told, stupid,” the hero grumbled.

Pones went on his way. His simple but all-important task was this: to break the baton.

The servant found the line and he stood before it. He had butterflies in his stomach but he didn't yield to them.

Two of the most important artifacts from his time rested in his hand and he drew from both the heroism that only Earthso's sole special person was previously permitted.

Pones saw this one moment in time as the culmination and highlight of his lowly, insulted and insignificant life.

“A wall will be created and it will be a while before us and the draconics met again,” he recited.

Pones clenched his teeth, drew strength from the depths of his guts and screamed at the hissing sea, “Cursed dragons! Next time, we're gonna get you for goooood!”

Then he pulled himself together, fetched the baton over the line and with the Eirein struck with all his human might.

“Ahhhhh!”

Contact. 

The baton broke in two. 

Pang.

It stayed floating... then the servant was wise enough to fall back.

He ran and ran till he reached the top of the slope once more, always looking at the baton.

White light burst, brighter than noon. 

Pones fell on the grass.

“Mercy, mercy!” the servant pleaded, floundering for balance.

Motionless, the hero muttered, “Look at that, you dragons. A new start...”

The blinding event ultimately subsided. After regaining their sight, both the hero Alkel and the servant Pones beheld a massive concentration of spiritual energy follow the trace on the sand and reaching the height of the heavens. Eventually the overwhelming phenomenon covered the land around the shore, the hill and the plain. The sea was now veiled and the horizon was no more. As the hero had theorized, it looked exactly like an impassable wall.

Pones ran to the presence of the hero looking bewildered.

“For an uncompromising coward, you did fine, Pones…” Alkel greeted him.

The servant dropped on his knees. He breathed heavily but a look of satisfaction shyly appeared on his face.

“What is it, Alkel?” Pones inquired of the wall-like phenomenon.

“What else? My personal landmark.”

“It's like a wall… exactly as you thought!”

A pleasant smile issued on the hero's lifeless lips. “Alba will have whole centuries to rebuild and get stronger.”

“Alkel…”

“Ah, heaven feels so close…”

“Alkel!” Pones cried and clasped the hero's hands.

“I want the future's heroes to remember me well with that… Alkel's Wall.”

“We will! They will!”

“The draconics will return fiercer… but we will fight stronger, won't we?”

“Alkel, of course!”

“I'm glad to find freedom from that,” the hero chuckled.

Wind swept the plain where hundreds lay. The sea wasn't visible now that Alkel's Wall stood before it but it seemed that one way or another, the breeze still found a way to come through.

And when Alkel smiled permanently in the middle of it all, the servant Pones knew the hero had fulfilled his mission.

***