Suffice to say, Micky and his sister were both crying buckets by the time their father reached this part of the story. Even Percy was quite moved by the old Hero’s stubbornness, despite having pretty much predicted the ending. He couldn’t help but feel some newfound respect – not only for the Dying Hero, but also for the countless others like him around the universe.

Based on what Micky’s father had said, it seemed the old man had accidentally stumbled upon the principle of deattunement, allowing him to prevent the beast mana from interacting too violently with his own. This was how he had been able to consume larger pieces of the gimbhal hearts, and to do so more frequently too.

He sighed internally.

As an alchemist, Percy understood better than most that the Hero’s methods had still been terribly inefficient. Without redirection or pacification, he wouldn’t dare to put a single drop of nectar in his own body. It was a miracle that man had even lasted that long.

Even more tragic was the fact that people could, technically,cleanse their cores without beast mana. Of course, it was ten times slower than even the diluted elixirs, meaning it would take one a full century for their first promotion.

‘Which would have still been shorter and less painful than what this guy had done…’

Sadly, it took quite a leap of logic to imagine that chipping away at the impurities in one’s core for a hundred years would lead to a promotion. It was a lot simpler to just watch how the beasts did it, and to copy their methods – assuming a suitable ingredient was available.

Percy guessed that it wasn’t until a civilization already had access to elixirs or some equivalent resource that they could then study its effects on the body, realizing an advancement was possible without it.

‘By then, there’s no longer a point though, since they already have the elixirs which are twenty times faster…’

That said, it might be a good idea to explain the process to Sol when he next returned to Melodia. The girl wouldn’t really need this for herself if he brought her enough Aurora Dew to reach Green, as it would take her a thousand years to reach Blue without beast mana.

However, it wouldn’t be a bad thing for her people to be aware of – in case they failed to find the right resources to turn their world into a lesser spring. Then again, there was a good chance they’d find something once they had the strength to push back the beast tide, as they had a continent full of wildlife to explore.

Oblivious to his thoughts, Micky’s father resumed his tale as he moved his needles to his son’s arms. The good news was that the story had achieved its purpose, as the boy had been successfully distracted from the pain.

“More years passed, as the Hero persisted in his madness. Gathering the ingredients for the concoction was really inconvenient in his state, so he had to preserve his stash as best as he could. The hearts under his bed rotted, worms crawling through them. But he continued to consume them regardless, hoping the heat would kill the parasites.”

“Yet, it wasn’t long before he was completely unable to continue by himself.”

“He was forced to beg the woman again. He told her everything. About sneaking around… About the hidden stash… Even about the rotten hearts full of worms. The woman sighed, telling him she already knew – she had found out years ago. With tears in her eyes, she agreed to help him once more. She still thought it was a bad idea, but she fully understood how stubborn he was by now. Besides, he’d already wasted his whole life on this nonsense, so she figured she might as well help him through the final stretch.”

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“More years passed, as the Hero’s body continued to break. Everyone from his generation had already died a long time ago. Even the people who used to mock him had long perished in the attacks. By now, very few in the village even knew of his existence, since he never left his house.”

“The woman, the concoction and his dying body were his whole world. A living hell of his own creation. But he refused to back down. He refused to let it get to him. He hadn’t cared when the villagers laughed at him, so why would he care when they didn’t even know about him?”

“His core continued to break, and the woman was forced to amputate more of his limbs. At some point, the Hero barely even resembled a person anymore. Every time he cleansed his core, he came this close to dying. Each session was a monumental challenge in and of itself.”

“Yet, he simply refused to die. He had spent nearly two hundred years on his foolish quest. He wanted to push himself just a little longer. Just to be sure that this was a dead-end. If nothing else, it would at least serve as a warning for other people to never follow in his footsteps.”

“Or was that even what motivated him? He didn’t know. Had he done all of this to prove that elder wrong? Or had he done it to protect the villagers? But what would be the point of that?! Nobody knew him, and he didn’t know any of them either! Why should he care about anyone else?”

“Maybe he was doing it for the kind woman who had invested so much of her life to take care of him. Yes, that should be a good enough reason to keep him going. He didn’t have long anyway.”

“The Hero fell sick. It wasn’t his first time – not even close. But it sure seemed like it would be his last. The woman begged him to stop drinking the concoction. At least for a while, until he felt a little better. Yet, he refused to listen to her. What if he never got better?

He would just be wasting a few precious cleansing sessions…”

“If anything, he asked her to bring him the concoction more often. He drank it even while his core – what was left of it anyway – still burned. By now, only a piece of the organ remained. A tenth of its original volume at best. And it shrank further still with every dose…”

“A short time later, the Hero finally passed away.”

“Yet, he did so with a smile on his broken face. Even the kind woman who had taken care of him for decades couldn’t help but smile amidst her sobs, happy for the Hero.”

“Why?”

“Because the old fool had succeeded in the end! By his final breath, the tiny fragment in his sternum had changed colour, a Yellow ember going out with him…”

Micky’s and Atzi’s sobs echoed through the cold cavern, as the boy’s eyes blurred with tears. In fact, Percy noticed that even the adults had failed to retain their composure, the man’s voice having wavered close to the end of the tale.

“But dad… Did the other villagers… Did they even believe the woman? Without seeing the Hero’s core with their own eyes?” Atzi asked.

“Most of them didn’t. They thought she’d made it all up. But enough of them did. They took her words seriously, looking into the gimbhal hearts and the colourful leaves. They knew the Hero’s methods weren’t safe in their original form, but they worked hard to improve upon them until they invented the entire field of alchemy and brewed the first true elixirs.”

“It only took a few generations before the first people advanced, finally getting an edge over the beasts after being on the losing side for countless eons. They pushed the monsters back and expanded the village. They spread the knowledge to other villages too, turning the tide once and for all.”

“At some point, some of our most talented ancestors made it all the way to the end, becoming Huehue’s first gods. They ushered a long era of unprecedented prosperity for our people – all because of the Dying Hero’s stubborn efforts. At least until the outsiders invaded.”

“Even as our enemies crushed our defences and threatened our world, our people never lost hope. They all believed that another Dying Hero would appear at some point, descending from the heavens to save them. Many people named their sons after him, thinking it would bring them luck.”

“And sure enough, it was a god who bore the same name that invented the Dance of the Savage Gods, thousands upon thousands of years after the original Hero’s death. People called him the Second Hero, his achievements no less impressive than his predecessor’s.”

“After we lost the war, our people kept believing. Many still name their sons after the two Heroes, hoping another will rise, to break the chains that bind us…”

“What is it?! What’s the Dying Hero’s name?!” the girl asked, her voice trembling with both excitement and sorrow.

The skin at the corner of the man’s beak curled slightly as he looked at Micky with pride. Drawing the final symbol on his son’s leg, he allowed the cyan needles to crumble away, as the boy let go of his boosting art. The memory shattered like glass, returning Percy to Remior as the answer echoed in his ears.

“Mictlantecuhtli.”