The Hall of Heroes, a museum dedicated to those powerful men and women who put their lives on the line to protect the everyday citizens. A monument of concrete and glass, filled to bursting with statues of heroes, paintings of battles, artifacts, legendary accounts, and rooms for each. Ten-thousand visitors a day, and a historical monument in itself. Built over five-hundred years ago, by benefactors unknown, it has stood as a record of greatness through countless disasters.
Marcel David, a young man of only thirteen years old, on a field trip with Winson Ridge High School, walks in alongside his class of twenty-two. A young woman with blonde hair greets them at the entrance.
"Welcome." She says in a cheery upbeat manner. "Are you here for a tour?"
"Ah, yes. Winson Ridge. Eleven o'clock." Their teacher, Mrs. Jackdaw, a Greek woman in her late thirties, says. The blonde woman checks her tablet, scrolling through time slots, until she spots it.
"Here it is. You reserved a full tour of the facility for three hours. For… twenty-seven, teachers included?"
"Yes. That's correct."
While filling out the forms and waiting for their assigned tour guide to arrive, the kids of Winson Ridge entertained themselves by a variety of means. Some played on their phones, others waited quietly. Marcel David however, thought it best to look at the closest exhibits. He was eager to get started, impatient even, because this was his favorite place in the city. Even before the school trip, he'd been here at least three times a year, and whenever they created new exhibits, or updated old ones. However, he was especially excited as this would be his first full tour. Soon, the tour guide arrived, and the kids regathered together. The guide was an elderly man, with white hair and a thin build. He wore a tweed suit with patches. The patches were not fashionable, but functional. The suit itself was old and worn, and had been repaired on multiple occasions. He wore tan trousers, and newly polished leather shoes, also worn, but well-maintained. The newest thing he wore was a brass pocket-watch, already starting to lose its luster.
The man stood at the front of the group, and spoke loudly. "Greetings everyone. I am Omar, and welcome to the Hall of Heroes. We here are so glad that you have joined us today. Is everyone ready to begin?" If the students were three or so years younger, they might have responded with a resounding 'yeah!' but instead it was a subdued murmur of acknowledgment. Except from Marcel, who smiled excitedly and follows close as the tour begins.
They walk though all of the main rooms, and up and down the side rooms for the smaller exhibits. All the while Omar speaks at length to the class, giving, sometimes overly, detailed, explanations to the class about each item of interest. Most of the class however, starts to get bored after about an hour and a half. Noticing this, Mrs. Jackdaw make a suggestion.
"Mr. Omar. Perhaps a quick break is a good idea? Let everyone go use the facilities, get a drink, etc." She says.
"That's probably a good idea. How long do you think?" Omar asks, checking his watch.
"Maybe twenty minutes?" She says. Omar nods, and the crowd temporarily disperses. Marcel however, walks over to a statue of three marble pillars, and a fourth in a half-completed state. Atop the pillars are a slab of black stone.
Each pillar has an engraving. The first reads, "Our people grow," the second says, "Our people wander," and the third says, "Our people fight." The fourth and unfinished pillar, only half as tall as the others, just reads "Our people…" Marcel looks at it for a while, studying it closely. It's a new exhibit he'd never seen before, and hadn't heard was added. He walks over to the nearby plaque, and reads the name, 'Pillars of Eras.'
Behind him, Omar notices his interest, and walks up. "Interesting, isn't it?"
"Huh? Oh, um, yes. I've never seen it before." Marcel says.
"It was just added yesterday. The donator asked that it not be advertised yet." Omar says.
"Why?"
"I don't know. Artists are funny like that sometimes." The two look at the statue for a moment, but Omar glances down at Marcel. "I know you, right? Not just from the class… you come here a lot."
"Yeah. I do. I love the heroes, you know. And learning about them."
"Think you'll be one someday?" Omar asks.
"Yeah… maybe. I want to." Marcel tilts his head, thinking about the statue. "What does this mean?"
"We'll get to it in a few minutes in the tour. Do you wanna wait?" Marcel frowns a bit, slightly disappointed, but says nothing and shrugs. Seeing this, Omar looks up at the statue, thinks a moment, and starts talking. "Each pillar is meant to symbolize the three major eras of human history across the world." He points at the first, "'Our people grow' is meant to represent humanity's expansion in the first era. How we overcame the chaos and darkness, and began to increase in number. The second, 'Our people wander,' represents the founding of civilizations and the nomadic eras. When hunting and gathering was all we had, so we moved with the seasons. The third, 'Our people fight,' is the expanding of civilizations through wars, their falls from disease, and refoundings in later generations."
"And that one?" Marcel asks, pointing at the unfinished pillar.
"That's this era. It hasn't been decided yet."
Marcel was quiet for a second, thinking. "I think it will be the era of heroes."
"Ha. Probably."
With that, Marcel thanked Omar, and began walking around while everyone else did various task during their break. Eventually, the group regathered and resumed the tour, and came to the portrait room, where various paintings of historical figures hung on the walls.
"Can anyone tell me who this portrait is of?" Omar asks. He gestures to a heavyset man with long hair. The painting is not of just his head, but rather, depicts a man in the middle of a battle. His hair is tied in braids and nearly dragging on the ground behind him. In his hand is a bone club, and at his feet are dozens of dead bodies.
"Shimshon, the Radiant." A student says.
"Correct. This is a painting of one of his early battles. Does anyone know why he is here?"
"He was killing those guys his people were at war with." Another student offers.
"No, well, yes, but what I meant was, why is this painting here; in the Hall of Heroes? Shimshon lived in the third era, but heroes did not start to appear until the start of our current era, around a thousand years ago. So why is he here?" No one answers. Even the teachers seem a bit confused.
"Why?" Mrs. Jackdaw asks.
"Because he was a hero." Omar says, pleased. Everyone looks confused at one another. "Recently, many scholars have begun to question when the heroes first began to appear. Many researchers now agree that while the commonality of heroes did not start until the fourth era, heroes themselves likely began to appear well before that. Shimshon the Radiant being one of the earliest examples. We have legends of what he did, and many scholars simply chalked it up to that. But in hindsight, much of what he did was not too far off from what heroes today can do." Omar moved one painting to the left. It was a man with a bushy beard, and wearing bright clothes. "Take this one. Does anyone know who this is?" This time, no one answers. "This is Elontola the Wise. He was said to be the smartest man who ever lived, and there is some debate about whether he was a hero or not. Personally, I am in the pro category myself. Some suggest that this could be the explanation for the majority of ancient myths and legends."
One by one, Omar went to each painting, explaining either why they were included, or if the person was well known to the class, which few were to Mrs. Jackdaw's dismay, he would give a brief summary of whatever feat was being displayed by their portrait.
One thing everyone knew however, was the impact of heroes. When they arrived, the world changed. Society progressed rapidly, disasters, natural or otherwise, became more frequent. One-thousand years ago, aliens invaded, and heroes stepped forward. Each displayed some awesome power, some extra ordinary gift, and fought. Under the guidance of heroes, some found prosperity, other hardships. Not all heroes agreed, and once the world was safe again, and peace was restored, it was quickly undone. In the last few hundred years, most heroes have settled down, forging a unilateral alliance.
"And now everyone, we've come to the end of the tour. Thank you all for coming, and we welcome you back soon." Omar says, and ends the tour.
Mrs. Jackdaw speaks up, "Everyone. Go ahead and take your notes and begin filling out the reports I handed you on the bus. You have thirty minutes to decide what you all want to do your reports on, and gather information before we return to the bus. Stay close, and if you have any questions, Mr. Omar and I are here to help." With that, the group of twentyish kids disperses to go to their chosen exhibits; most going in groups of two or three. Marcel however, stays behind, undecided what to write his report on.
"Need some help young man?" Omar asks Marcel.
"Oh. I'm still undecided on what I want to write about. I know everything about these heroes, and I actually wanted to write about something I didn't know."
"Really?" Omar says, raising an eyebrow. "A student who likes learning. I've seen more unicorns than I've seen that." He jokes. "Well, if you could learn about something, what would it be?"
"Hmmm, maybe the Cardinals? But I already know everything about them."
"Ohhh, do you? Then, if I were to ask the Cardinal Tempest… say, what he did for a living, what would he say?"
"What?"
"You know, Tempest. The first Cardinal. Slew the trench beast of 1963."
"Um… a hero?" Marcel answers, confused by the question.
"I think he'd say he was a farmer."
"A farmer?"
"Yup." Omar says, with a knowing look on his face and a wry smile like some kind of trickster.
"Why would he say that?" Marcel asks.
"Tempest grew up on a farm, and even while working with the Cardinals, he still runs it. The news never covers it because no one really cares these days, but if you asked Tempest what he does for a living, he probably wouldn't say he was a hero. He might say farmer." Omar explains. Marcel is struck dumbfounded. Looking at Omar like the word 'stupid' was written across both their faces in brightly colored ink.
"He… a farm? What?"
"Yup. Same is true for Mirage as well."
"Mirage is a farmer too?" Marcel asks in disbelief.
"No, no. She's a baker. Owns a little shop in Japan."
"The Saint? Mirage the Saint?"
"Yup.
"Owns a bakery?"
"A pretty good one too. Fantastic cookies."
"What does Fortis do?"
"Fortis was a lumberjack in Canada for over three-hundred years, but became an investment banker about six years ago."
"An investment banker?"
"And a lumberjack." Omar says, leaning against the railing of the statue of the three Cardinals.
"How do you know this? Is this true?" Marcel asks, suspicious.
"I know because I've met them. The nature of my work and all. They told me themselves. It's all true. I bet it would make for an interesting report topic."
"I never realized they were anything other than just heroes." Marcel says, stunned.
"What about you?" Omar asks.
"Me?"
"You think people will be surprised to learn what you do in the future? You said you want to be a hero, didn't you?"
"Oh, yeah. But I doubt I can be." Marcel says, disappointed.
"Why's that?" Omar asks seriously.
"I have powers, a little bit of aura, but it's not much." Marcel says. He holds out his hand and a dim blue energy radiates from his skin, just barely covering the palm in a wispy smoke like form. This level of 'gift' was average for most people. Some had a bit more, others had so little they couldn't even manifest it. Others still had different gifts, in a wide array of forms and uses. Aura was a common ability in that around thirty percent of people who did have one or more gifts usually had aura. Though the most common was enhanced lifespan.
"Well that's nothing to be upset about. That's more than enough aura to be a hero." Omar said, assuring the young man. "Look, I've got it too." Omar extends his hand out, matching what Marcel did, and covered his hand entirely in aura. Marcel notices immediately though, that this was not the same. Omars was brighter, nearly white with flecks of gold, and completely controlled. There was no smoke-like wispiness. It was crisp and sharp, like a razor.
"Woah… are you a hero too?" Marcel asks, wide-eyed.
"I was. I'm mostly retired now. But you know what I'd say if someone ever asked me what I did for a living?"
Marcel looks around, "Tour guide?"
"Tour guide." Omar's eye glow for a moment, and he smiles. "You want it?"
"Want what?"
"My aura."
"What?"
"You can have it. I'm old anyway. I don't need it anymore."
"I don't understand." Marcel says, not comprehending the offer.
"I can transfer it to you."
"You can?" Marcel says, finally understanding and shocked. "But that's impossible."
"For most people, yes. But if you really want to be a hero, you'll need some more aura. Might as well practice while you're young."
"Is this real?"
"Yup."
"What's the catch?" Marcel asks, suddenly suspicious.
"No catch. Just say yes and it's yours."
Later, Marcel and the Winsor class are leaving the museum, talking about their projects and other various topics. Marcel however, focuses entirely on the bright blue, but still unrefined aura emitting from his hand. A smile plastered on his face.
"Was the group tough, Mr. Omar?" The blonde receptionist, Natile, at the front desk asks as the group leaves.
"No, it was a good group."
"Seemed like you had at least one eager beaver. You spent a lot of time talking with him." She says, her eyes glowing a soft orange. She had the power to see events happening in her vicinity with perfect clarity, even through walls. She was both the receptionist, and a key member of the security.
"That was Marcel David. He's been coming here for years. He's a good kid; works on a sheep ranch with his parents and older brothers. He's got a good heart. I've had an eye on him for a while."
"You think you'll make him your successor one day?" She asks.
"I gave him some power. Let's see what he does with it." Omar says.