It has been eight years since my adoptive parents, Imelda and Howie, took me in as their own. They raised and loved like every parent should. They treated me with care as much as anyone would do to their own real child. I thank them for the kindness they gave.
But today is the day I repay them that kindness. My older siblings and I prepared the funeral and everything. We were taught how to do the processes since it is what our parents expected to happen in a few years. We just didn’t expect that they would leave the mortal realm together.
My oldest brother, Garth, made the caskets from the wood of a tree he fell, carved the tombstones from stones that he mined, and dug the earth off from our backyard. He is strong and reliable, good with his hands, even though he got the seriousness from our father.
My sister, Hearth, made sure that the local clergy were informed and invited to officiate the last rites. She made sure we were fed today, prepared proper attire, and kept the farm running. She has been reassuring us emotionally and always checking on us. Even on a sad day like today, we can still depend on her.
My other brother is Barth, even though he is two years older than me, he is as charming as ever. It may sound wrong for me to say but he must be enjoying the attention he’s getting from the guests today. He is making use of his shrewd personality, building relationships, and inheriting the networks that my parents made.
The blessings that our parents received did not end when they were no longer receiving children on their doorstep. Two years after adopting me, four sacks of gold coins were waiting in front of them. Every two years until their passing, they continue to receive gold that they used to buy neighboring farms and the rest of the available land. In a way, they became a minor nobility of this small village that didn’t even have a name.
The rest of the village was suspicious at first but when our parents started donating and investing their riches to others, they stopped bothering to know the details. The village grew, people came, and soon it became a proper town. Still without a name.
When news reached neighboring towns of our adoptive parent’s passing, the schemers came rushing. They’ve been around us, plotting. They must be thinking it is easy to fool a couple of kids, this is why I hate making the funeral public.
“Arys, why don’t you mingle with the guests?”
My sister, Hearth, approaches with two glasses of orange juice in both hands. She offers one to me with a smile.
“Mingle? I don’t think it is the proper occasion for that, Sis.” I grab the glass and take a sip. While indulging myself with the pulpy goodness, I observe my big sister.
She has tender fair skin, bouncy brown hair, and brown eyes. She wears a white dress, proper for the occasion. Her necklace stands out, it is the only item that she had when she was first adopted by Imelda and Howie.
“I’m sorry,” She puts her hand on top of my head, “I mean why don’t you talk with other kids?”
I know she means well, after all, she is just trying to comfort an eight-year-old. But I am not an eight-year-old! Inside this tiny body, I am a grown man in my twenties who happens to be teleported into this world, a world that my father in the real world claims to be real, the world of Evereal!
For years, I did not believe it. He acted all crazy and kept talking about how he got transported and became the legendary hero, I was so ashamed that I distanced myself as I grew older. I guess when he published a book about it and became a best-seller, I benefited from the royalties but I refused to acknowledge it! God must be playing games because now I am here! What kind of divine punishment is this?
“Ehem…” I cough to clear my thoughts, I bet she is wondering why my face looks weird for a moment, “I think I just don’t have the same interests with other kids…”
“Interests?” She perks her head closer, “What other interests should an eight-year-old have?”
Damn it, she’s right, I don’t want my siblings in this world to think that I’m a weirdo, my real siblings in the real world already think less of me when I distanced myself from the family.
“Well, uh,” I stammer for a bit, “H-Heroes? I think I like history…”
She chuckles and gives me another pat on the head, “Well, we better find you a friend who likes to read the legends,”
That’s right, I’ve been trying to learn about Evereal since I got here. But I faced a major setback, the fact that the alphabet here is different than in the real world! Strangely, I can understand speech and sound but when it is in written form it becomes difficult. I wasn’t able to read until I was six… SIX! Howie thought I was probably stupid and worried that even the finest scholars in the region couldn’t help me!
But thankfully, Imelda taught me. She patiently made sure that I could understand proper letters and words. She also taught me the grammar and other rules of the written language. Soon, I was able to differentiate and even compare the alphabet in the real world with the common language.
“Do you think someone other than me likes the heroes of old?”
She puts her hand down, “Well…”
I should stop fixating on heroes, I am starting to sound like a nerd, “Or maybe… toys?”
“Aren’t you too old for toys?” she teases with a light chuckle.
I’m so stupid, acting like a kid is hard, “W-well, whatever—”
“You know, if you tell someone your favorite hero, they might tell you theirs,”
She’s right, have I forgotten how conversations work? “R-right!”
She takes a sip of her drink, “Who’s your favorite hero, Arys?”
Come to think of it, I don’t have a real answer for that. When I started reading the textbooks two years ago, I wasn’t able to find anything about my real father. There is a possibility he’s either lying or using a different name in this world.
“W-well, who’s your favorite hero, Sis?”
She puts his hand on her cheek, appearing to be thinking, “I don’t really know for sure. There are a lot of interesting heroes in the stories that I read about. You know there’s Enid of the End, she’s a warrior-nun! Sicario the Sick, the serial killer of the holy city! King Mundos the Murderous, he was cool!”
Scary! Everyone she mentioned was history’s villains, “Err, seriously?”
She smiles at me, “See. All you have to do is ask and you will make a friend!”
I know how to make conversations, damn it! “Y-you’re right…” I let out an awkward chuckle.
“So, who’s your hero?”
I look up to find the answers there but to no avail, “M-mom?”
She laughs lightheartedly, “Oh you!”
Why did I say that? I should’ve at least told her a lie. I feel so lame.
“Well… she is my hero, too.” She said with some tears breaching out of her eyes.
Before I could say something, she was called from across the room. She pats my shoulder and walks out. I should have come with her but I hate having interactions with strangers.
I wonder if my real father was a hero. I try to lose myself with my thoughts once more by walking outside and getting some fresh air but someone tapped me on the back.
“Seriously, ‘Mom’?” a familiar voice said mockingly.
“Shut up,” I replied as I turn to face him, “Don’t you have asses to kiss, Barf?” In front of me is Barth, looking insufferable as ever.
He is wearing a white shirt with puffed sleeves and a brown knee-length pair of pants. While proper for the occasion, his outfit is full of bling. On both arms, heavy with golden rings and silver bracelets, on his chest is a brooch.
“Funny,” he said while crossing his arms, “And don’t call me that. I’m older than you. Present yourself properly, Arys.” He inspects me from top to bottom and blows a raspberry.
I roll my eyes, “What do you want, Barf?”
Barth must be up to something. He must be here to berate my outfit as expected. But we are wearing the same clothes, I just don’t wear jewelry.
“Nothing. Garth said he needs your help.”
Intrigued, I raised a brow, “About what?”
