Of course not. I'm not going to just start training her without making sure everything is in order.
First, I need to talk to her parents.
I found Gildot and Irmine in their dining room, both looking exhausted from the previous night. When I entered, they immediately stood up.
"John," Gildot said. "Did something happen?"
"We need to talk," I said, sitting down at the table. "About Aria's future."
They exchanged worried glances.
"I know the imperial order says she has to go to the capital," I continued. "But I also know there's a loophole."
Irmine leaned forward. "What kind of loophole?"
"The order states that Heroes must report to the capital at age ten or above. Aria is eight. That means you have two years before you're legally required to send her."
Gildot's eyes widened. "But… the priest said—"
"The priest said what the church wants you to hear," I interrupted. "The truth is, until she's ten, the decision is ultimately yours. And hers."
I looked at both of them.
"I'm asking you to refuse the order. For now."
"Refuse… the imperial order?" Irmine's voice trembled. "But they'll—"
"They won't do anything. The church can encourage, but they can't force. Not until she's ten."
Gildot sat down heavily. "But why? If she's meant to be a Hero, shouldn't she start training as soon as possible?"
"That's exactly why," I said. "The church's training is designed to make her a weapon. They'll teach her to fight, to obey, to sacrifice herself for the greater good. But they won't teach her how to think for herself. How to question. How to survive when the world turns on her."
I paused.
"I will. But not in the capital. Here. In the mountains. Away from their influence."
Irmine's eyes filled with tears. "But… she'll be gone for two years? We won't see her?"
"She'll come home once every six months. That's my condition." I looked at Gildot. "You know I'm right. You know the church will use her. The question is: do you trust me to keep her safe?"
Gildot was silent for a long moment. Then he nodded.
"If it's the best for her… okay."
Irmine didn't speak, but she nodded too, tears streaming down her face.
I found Aria in her room, packing a small bag.
"Uncle John," she said when I entered. "Mom told me. We're leaving?"
"We are," I said. "But I need you to understand something. This isn't going to be like playing with the other kids in the village. This is going to be hard. Really hard."
She looked up at me, her eyes determined. "I know. But I'm the Hero. I have to be strong."
I knelt down to her level.
"Aria, being a Hero doesn't mean you have to be strong all the time. It means you have to know when to be strong, and when to ask for help. And for the next two years, I'm going to teach you the difference."
She nodded, but I could see the fear in her eyes.
"Pack what you need. We're leaving in an hour."
The village was quiet as we walked out, the morning mist clinging to the ground. Gildot and Irmine stood at the edge of town, watching us leave.
Aria waved at them, trying to smile, but her lips trembled.
I didn't look back.
"We're going to the mountains," I said. "It's a long walk. If you get tired, tell me. But don't push yourself beyond your limits."
"I'm okay," she said, adjusting the strap of her bag. "I can do this. I'm the Hero."
I didn't correct her. Not yet.
The mountain trail was steep, and by midday, Aria was struggling. Her legs were short, her breath was coming in gasps, but she kept going, refusing to ask for a break.
I watched her from the corner of my eye, noting the way she bit her lip when she stumbled, the way she clenched her fists when she thought I wasn't looking.
Finally, as the sun began to set, I called a halt.
"We'll camp here for the night."
Aria looked around. "But… there's no shelter."
"There doesn't need to be."
I set down my pack and started gathering wood. Aria watched for a moment, then tried to help, but her arms were too small for the thicker branches.
"Here," I said, handing her smaller twigs. "Start a fire with these. I'll hunt."
"Hunt?" she echoed.
"Food doesn't come from nowhere, Aria. Even Heroes need to eat."
I left her by the fire and disappeared into the trees. It didn't take long to find a boar—small, young, perfect for two people. One clean strike, and it was over.
When I returned, Aria had the fire going, her face smudged with soot.
"Good," I said, skinning the boar. "You remembered the basics."
"I watched you do it before," she said quietly. "When I came to your farm."
I nodded, skewering the meat over the fire.
We ate in silence for a while, the only sound the crackling of the flames. Then I spoke.
"First lesson," I said. "Life is unfair."
Aria looked up, her eyes wide.
"No matter how much effort you put in, no matter how hard you try, no matter how much you try to control the situation… you will always be, somehow, fucked."
She flinched at the word, but I didn't soften it.
"Sometimes, you'll do everything right, and you'll still lose. Sometimes, the people you trust will betray you. Sometimes, the world will use you for what you can do, not who you are."
I poked the fire with a stick.
"I'm not saying this to scare you. I'm saying it because you need to know. The church will tell you that being a Hero is about glory and sacrifice. But the truth is, it's about survival. And survival means knowing that no one is coming to save you. Not even me."
Aria was quiet for a long time. Then she said, "But… you'll still train me, right?"
"I will." I looked at her. "But I won't go easy on you. Not because I don't care, but because I do. When I trained my other disciples, I wasn't nice to them either. They hated me for it, sometimes. But they survived because of it."
She nodded slowly, her face serious.
"I… I can do this," she said, more to herself than to me. "I'm the Hero. I can be strong."
I didn't tell her that strength isn't about never falling. It's about getting back up.
She'll learn that soon enough.
We made a makeshift bed from leaves and cloaks, huddled together for warmth. Aria fell asleep eventually, but I could tell she was restless, her mind racing with everything I'd said.
I sat by the fire, watching the flames dance.
Tomorrow, the real training begins.
And I won't go easy on her.
Not even if she cries.
Not even if she begs.
Because if I do, she'll die.