126 The Torchbearer Who Shone Ligh (1/2)
\”I need advice, gramps. I have a... serious problem and I don't know what to do,\” said Reed.
Old Man Hartford rubbed his chin in amusement and said, \”I doubt it's as serious as you think it is, son, but I'm all ears, nevertheless. Lay it on me, youngster.\”
If only that was the truth, gramps. What I'd give for you to be right…
It was raining outside of the bakery.
Yet another April shower had come for Cem-Elle, drenching the little town and surrounding grasslands. The smell of wet earth outside the cafe was a welcomed thing by both Reed and Old Man Hartford. They were both of the same mind — the scent of life that a shower brought was a special event one should savor.
As of late, the weather had been sunny and clear. It was getting warmer with each passing day...
The consistent pitter-patter of the rain on the streets masked the sound of their voices. Every now and then, the sound of distant thunderclaps reached their ears. They understood what that thunder entailed for both of them.
A thunderstorm was brewing not too far out of the town and was heading for…
He started off slowly and carefully, explaining the gist of his dilemma. How he had, by means of some unknown circumstance, become privy to forbidden knowledge.
That he knew of a tragedy that had yet come — one that could still be prevented if he acted upon the knowledge he possessed.
\”You are hesitating, then? Why?\”
\”W-What are you talking about? I'm… not hesitating. I just—\”
\”Then why is this knowledge causing you so much grief? You said it yourself, no? That this tragedy has not yet occurred. ...Yet you hesitate in a situation that should, under normal circumstances, not warrant a second thought,\” said Old Man Hartford.
\”Saving a life is a commendable, selfless act of pure compassion. You are, by definition, putting a life not your own over yours in a bid to save them. Unfortunately, it is something that very few people are actually capable of doing...\”
Reed sighed. He couldn't disagree with the old man and that was what troubled him the most.
I don't think I can be the… hero you'd like me to be, gramps. I can't...
I'm too weak. I'm just... a normal person.
\”…But that doesn't mean that they, normal people, are hopeless. Son, there are no real heroes. We've created the word 'hero' to label people we think are special, but in truth, they're no different than us.\”
\”…Look at this street, son. I see heroes everywhere. They're just sleeping, waiting until the right circumstances wake them up. Within each one of them exists an unrealized potential, something greater than even the likes of the almighty Chosen and their powers… the Spark of Heroism.\”
\”You don't need to be extraordinary to be a hero, my son.\”
\”You become extraordinary when you turn into somebody's hero.\”
God-fucking-dammit..! H-He's not judging me even though I...! T-This is so...!
Never before had Reed felt so minuscule. In front of him was an old man well into his late seventies, half a foot into the grave, and yet…
Reed felt like he was in the presence of a titan of myth, someone who could probably carry the weight of the world on his shoulders shrug it off with a smile. This was a self-actualized man who reached the zenith of his potential and had become the ultimate version of himself.
He had tried his hardest, but he couldn't hold it in anymore.
The tears wouldn't stop coming out. The pain was greater than anything the stone could have ever inflicted on him. His sobbing, distraught expression was one of genuine regret and sorrow.
I-I killed this incredible person…! Because of me…! I-I… have no right…!
Old Man Hartford patted Reed's back and said, \”…You can do it, too. I know you can, son.\”
H-Huh?