Thorn Hero

Anyi's thoughts drifted as the name Thorn Hero echoed in his mind. 'Thorn Hero… who could that be?' He couldn't recall any notable figure by that title from his past life. In the grand tapestry of Heroes he had known, certain individuals stood out sharply in his memory.

The [Holy Hero], Ariana Aldrich, had been at the heart of it all. Her reputation was unrivaled, her abilities known far and wide. No one dared to question her status as the finest of them all. 'No matter the nature of her powers, in reputation alone, she stands above the rest,' Anyi mused. Everyone knew of Ariana's deeds, her grace, her resurrection ability that tipped the scales of war.

The [Shield Hero], too, was a legend. His mastery of defense made him the impenetrable wall that led the charge against the Demon Lords, his shield holding back the tides of darkness, protecting the other Heroes from certain death. Anyi could still remember the way the Shield Hero had stood tall amidst chaos, unyielding, ever-vigilant.

Then there was the "Red-Haired Witch," the [Exterminate Hero], a figure feared and revered in equal measure. Her strength grew with every monster she felled, earning her the title of one of the deadliest forces in existence. Her reputation was marked by the sheer volume of slain beasts, a grim reminder of the world's peril and her unwavering resolve.

But Thorn Hero? Nothing about the title stirred Anyi's memory. There was no fame, no legendary feat attached to it. It was almost as though this Hero existed merely to fill a slot in the squad. In his past life, the team had been carefully chosen, each member possessing distinct abilities and roles. Surely, Thorn Hero must have something special, something that set her apart. Yet, for the life of him, Anyi couldn't grasp what it might be.

'Maybe this person holds some hidden potential,' Anyi thought as they neared the meeting. 'In the strongest Hero squad, everyone had something that made them stand out… perhaps I'll find out soon enough.'

...

Miruku Sinsa sat huddled beneath the footrest of the ornate carriage, hidden from view by thick, drawn curtains. She repeated her introduction in her mind, over and over: 'I am Miruku Sinsa, aged 15 years, and I belong to the assassin family of Brana. From this day forth, I will be joining the Hero squad. Please provide me with the ample advice I require.'

Her heart pounded as she imagined the moment of her introduction. The pressure gnawed at her, turning her thoughts into a swirling storm of doubt. Every possible scenario of her first meeting with the other Heroes played out in her mind, but none ended well.

She leaned against the carriage wall, sighing. "Why... why do I have to be here?" she muttered, almost to herself. Since childhood, Miruku had always been shy. She hated being the center of attention, yet somehow, she was now bound to join the Hero squad, a place where there would be no escaping the spotlight.

As she reminisced, fragments of her early days floated through her mind. She remembered when she was just seven, visiting a prestigious magic academy in a major city. Her introduction then had been as brief and forgettable as her presence: "I'm Miruku Sinsa," she had said before sinking into her seat. No one had cared, no one had asked her anything further, and just like that, she had faded into the background.

That had always been the way. Social interactions were like invisible walls she couldn't break through. At the academy, she had missed the crucial moments to form bonds, the days when friendships blossomed and cliques solidified. Each time she thought to approach a group or start a conversation, hesitation held her back. And by the time she had gathered the courage, it was too late. The groups had already formed, and she was left on the outside.

Should I go over and mingle? she would ask herself, but then the moment would pass. Each failed attempt only added another layer to the wall of isolation around her. She would watch the others talk and laugh, knowing where they went to play, what they ate together, and the little dramas that played out between them. But it was always from a distance, an observer with no way in. 

Even when she found herself in the rare position to answer a question or engage in conversation, she froze. What would she say next? What if her words didn't make sense? What if they dismissed her thoughts? The conversation would move on, leaving her in a cloud of regret for not speaking when she had the chance.

In time, she learned to retreat. Solitude became her shield. She ate alone, studied magic on her own, completed her assignments without assistance. Even in the dormitory she shared with others, she maintained the bare minimum of communication. When conversations did occur, she never voiced the thoughts that hovered on the edge of her mind. It was easier not to speak, easier to remain in her self-imposed isolation.

Miruku had been expected to be a bright, lively child, but she had drifted into solitude, becoming a ghost in the shadow of her family name.

At the age of eleven, Miruku had already completed her studies, an impressive feat for one so young. Yet, despite her achievements, she often found herself in the shadows during family gatherings, quietly observing the world around her. During these events, she noticed something peculiar about her father. Like her, he was a man of few words. But unlike her, he was never alone. Guests constantly surrounded him, eager to engage in conversation, while he sat silent, offering only the occasional nod or smile.

Curiosity gnawed at Miruku. One evening, as the last of the guests departed, she approached her father, her voice hesitant but determined. "Father, why is it that when people talk about so many things, you never say a word?"

Her father regarded her with a calm, steady gaze before answering. "They see me as strong," he replied simply. "They come to me because they seek my reaction, not my words."

Miruku blinked, trying to understand. "But if you don't speak, isn't that a waste of time?"

Her father's lips curled into a small smile. "Entertainment, my child, is only entertaining if we choose to see it that way. If you view every interaction as a waste, nothing in life will feel meaningful."

Miruku pondered this, her brows furrowed in thought. "But when will you talk, then? When is it worth it to speak?"

Her father leaned in slightly, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "When you find yourself in the company of the strong, of those who have earned their place through struggle and triumph, that is the time to share your experiences. Listen closely, Miruku. A strong person's silence speaks of tranquility and control. The weak remain silent out of fear, out of uncertainty. If you wish to wield your silence like a sword, then you must first become strong."

His words echoed in her mind, sharp and unyielding. Become strong. It was more than a suggestion—it was a command, a path laid out before her. "Yes, Father," she whispered, her heart swelling with newfound determination.

With that vision in her mind, she began to devise a disciplined strategy. Every move she made, every action she took, was aimed at one goal: attaining power. And with power, she would become the person others revered—not through words, but through strength and the quiet dignity her father had taught her.

First, Miruku set her sights on honing her skills to become the strongest assassin her family had ever produced. Day and night, she dedicated herself to perfecting her craft, sharpening her blades, and moving through the shadows with unmatched precision. Once she had proven herself, she would eliminate high-ranking generals and influential figures from opposing factions, building a reputation that would echo across the land. Her dream was clear: to be draped in a graceful gown, holding a magnificent glass of red wine, and basking in the admiration of all those around her at grand banquets.

But all her plans crumbled in a single devastating year. News reached her that the enemy kingdom she had targeted had been utterly obliterated—not by any assassin's blade, but by monstrous creatures that had ravaged the land. The thought struck her like a bolt of lightning, and she found herself standing before the bulletin board, her eyes tracing the bold headlines over and over: "The enemy has perished!" "The enemy kingdom is no more!"

Her heart twisted with grief. Everything she had worked toward—the fame, the grandeur, the image of herself in that elegant gown surrounded by admirers—was shattered. A future she had meticulously crafted in her mind had crumbled to dust before her eyes. She could see it slipping away, her vision of success vanishing into the void.

Miruku's despair turned into a soft, mournful laugh, barely audible amidst the chaos of her thoughts. But then, something caught her eye: a word, repeated twice on the bulletin, that seemed to pulse with promise. "Monster." She whispered it under her breath, tasting its meaning.

Monsters. They had the power to obliterate entire nations. If she could turn her skills toward slaying these creatures, her fame would eclipse anything she could have gained through political assassination. A fire reignited within her, banishing the grayness that had taken over her world. Her vision was reborn, but this time with an even grander purpose.

"The people will surround me again," she thought, her pulse quickening with excitement. "I'll hold that glass of red wine, dressed in the most stunning gown, with all eyes on me."

Miruku awkwardly stammered as the words tumbled from her lips: "I am Thorn Hero… I want to become the strongest assassin…"

The sentence felt incomplete, clumsy—far from capturing the deep ambition that burned within her. Yet, she said it anyway, because she had to say something. But as the words echoed in her mind, a painful realization followed. She didn't have the strength to slay monsters, and despite all her training, she wasn't truly prepared for this. Not for the weight of being a Hero.

How had it all come to this moment?

"Wait, wait, wait!" 

She jerked awake as the carriage screeched to a halt. Disoriented, she glanced around wildly. "Who even put me in this carriage?!" The white curtains fluttered as if mocking her confusion.

Then, it hit her. She had chosen this. She had agreed to step out of her comfort zone, to begin a new life beyond the confines of her quiet existence. But as she sat there now, her heart pounding in her chest, she couldn't fathom why. What was she even doing here? What business did she have standing among the Heroes, ready to face the monsters when she was nowhere near ready herself?

Doubt clawed at her mind, and she found herself seriously contemplating turning back. Rejecting the call. Was this really her path? Or had she been swept up in the currents of something far beyond her control? 

For a moment, she considered abandoning it all—rejecting the mission, the title, the daunting weight of expectation. She wasn't sure she belonged here, and the thought of being a burden to the others gnawed at her.