Nael swallowed hard, his heart hammering in his chest.

  The man had already spoken. He had watched the match. He knew his name.

  Behind the curtains of neighboring houses, silhouettes observed the scene with barely concealed curiosity.

  "What do you want to discuss?" Nael asked, his voice unsteady.

  "You. What you've become." The man paused, letting the weight of those words settle. "We represent the Hero Academy."

  Behind Nael, the front door burst open.

  Claude, his father, stood on the threshold. His face was grave, jaw clenched. He swept the representatives with a sharp look.

  "Come inside. We're not doing this on the doorstep."

  ***

  The living room had never felt so small.

  Everyone took their seats around the coffee table. The representatives sat with perfect military posture — backs straight, hands resting on their knees. Claude and Aveline settled onto the couch, rigid as statues.

  Nael remained standing near the door, unable to sit. His legs trembled slightly. He crossed his arms to hide the shaking in his hands.

  Only the chirping of crickets outside and the dull ticking of the wall clock filled the room. The atmosphere was heavy, thick with a tension that seemed to vibrate in the air itself.

  Aveline was the first to break the oppressive silence.

  "Tell me... why have you come for my son?"

  Her voice trembled despite herself. She gripped Claude's hand so hard her knuckles went white.

  The men remained silent for a moment. Then the one who appeared to lead the group — a man in his forties with graying temples and a piercing gaze — answered calmly:

  "Ma'am, your son is special. He died. He saw the beyond. And he came back. The Academy takes in cases like his."

  Claude stiffened instantly.

  "You deal with superpowers, and my son doesn't have any. The fact that he came back from the dead doesn't make him a superman. It's divine grace, nothing more. Leave him alone."

  "My husband is right," Aveline added, her voice trembling but firm. "We won't let you take our son. His place is here, with us."

  She held Nael in her gaze, as if reassuring herself he was still there — real, solid, alive.

  The representative nodded calmly, not a trace of surprise in his eyes. As though he had heard this reaction hundreds of times before.

  "I understand your position. We only want to help him understand what's happening to him. The choice is yours. The choice is his."

  He paused, letting the words hang in the air.

  "We'll return in two days. If the answer is no, the matter will be closed. We won't come back."

  Nael listened without a word, his heart pounding. His hands trembled faintly against his sides. He pushed them into his pockets to hide it.

  The men rose with near-military synchronization, bowed politely, and left the house.

  When the door clicked shut, a heavy silence fell.

  Claude was the first to stand, letting out a long, weary sigh. His shoulders sagged as though an invisible weight had just settled onto them.

  "Those people made me want to go straight to bed. Goodnight, Nael."

  He climbed the stairs with heavy footsteps, dragging his feet.

  Aveline approached Nael and gently cupped his cheek. Her fingers were warm, grounding.

  "Mom will be here for you no matter what, okay?"

  Nael took his mother's hand, a faint smile crossing his face.

  "Okay, Mom. Goodnight."

  She kissed his forehead — a long, tender kiss, almost desperate — then headed upstairs herself.

  ***

  Nael threw himself onto his bed, unable to quiet the restlessness churning inside him.

  He turned left. Then right. Then onto his back. But sleep refused to come.

  Questions tumbled through his mind, spinning endlessly.

  *The Academy. Heroes. My power — if I even have one.*

  *What do I actually want?*

  He sat up abruptly, grabbed a book at random from his shelf, and started reading to calm his thoughts.

  Adventure novels. Stories of heroes. Tales he had devoured as a child, dreaming of being like them.

  When he finally looked up, it was nearly midnight.

  He closed the book with a sigh, pulled off his clothes, and lay back down.

  The ceiling fan spun above him, stirring the warm summer night air. A faint, lukewarm breeze drifted across his bare skin.

  Silence settled in. Heavy. Suffocating.

  Nael closed his eyes, trying to force himself to sleep.

  But something was wrong.

  Heat. Not the ordinary heat of a summer night. Something deeper, more intimate — as though it wasn't coming from the air at all, but from inside his bones.

  He shoved the sheet aside, thinking that would be enough. It wasn't.

  The heat spread through his chest, then into his arms, then down his legs, advancing like a tide that couldn't be stopped. His skin began to redden. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead and ran down his temples.

  He sat up in bed, gasping.

  "What's happening..."

  It wasn't a question. It was a breath. Barely more than a whisper.

  The temperature kept climbing. His heart was hammering against his ribs with a force that frightened him — not the quick rhythm of a sprint, but something else. Something that felt like pressure. Like something trying to force its way out of him.

  He pressed a trembling hand to his chest.

  Burning.

  "It's too much... I can't take it..."

  He tried to stand. The floor gave way beneath him. A brutal wave of dizziness crashed over him, and everything went black.

  ***

  *Lightborn... Lightborn...*

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  His own name echoed in his head, distant, distorted.

  He couldn't hear anything else. His body spun and tumbled, tossed through an endless void. His chest was crushed beneath an invisible weight.

  When he opened his eyes, he was lying somewhere entirely white.

  Empty. Silent.

  No walls. No ceiling. Just an infinite white expanse stretching in every direction.

  Nael struggled to his feet, his head still heavy, and began walking, calling out:

  "Hey! Is anyone there?! Can someone please take me back to my room?!"

  His voice rang through the void, swallowed whole, leaving no echo.

  Farther ahead, he spotted a figure seated with its back to him.

  A chill ran down his spine.

  "What a pleasure to see you again, Lightborn."

  Nael stopped dead.

  That voice.

  It was him. The mysterious being.

  Lightborn. The name his parents had given him. *Born of Light.*

  They had told him they had struggled for years to have a child, and that Nael had been a true gift — a light born in the darkness.

  The being continued, without turning around:

  "Nael Lightborn. You used to want to be a hero, didn't you? What changed? Are you afraid now?"

  Nael scratched the back of his head, unable to answer.

  Since the trauma, fear had taken root inside him. A dull, paralyzing fear that had buried itself deep.

  "I understand what you feel," the being continued gently. "But you're not the same person anymore. You've noticed, haven't you? You received a gift. And gifts are meant to be used."

  Nael finally opened his mouth, throat tight:

  "Yes... I've noticed I'm not the same. But the fear won't leave me. This gift you're talking about... did you give it to me so I'd become a hero?"

  "You acted like a hero regardless. In spite of your fear. But I can take this gift back if you don't intend to use it."

  Nael's eyes went wide.

  "Take it back? Why?"

  "A gift left unused is worth nothing."

  Nael said nothing, his heart hammering. Then:

  "Let me think about it."

  "Alright. But follow me first. There's something I want to show you."

  They began to walk.

  Nael tried to move ahead of the man to see his face, but an invisible force held him back, keeping him always one step behind.

  "Why won't you let me see your face?"

  "It's not time yet."

  The man snapped his fingers — a powerful wind rushed through, and Nael instinctively shut his eyes.

  When he opened them, everything had changed.

  He stood somewhere of extraordinary beauty: towering trees, vivid flowers, peaceful animals. Everything breathed life, serenity, harmony.

  Struck with wonder, Nael stood frozen, mouth slightly open, eyes wide.

  "Nael. Keep moving. This isn't what I want to show you."

  They pressed on through the paradise garden. A question surfaced in Nael's mind.

  "You said every gift is meant to be used?"

  "Yes."

  The man stopped and pointed to a magnificent tree — tall, powerful, its branches reaching wide toward the sky. Then he gestured to another beside it: gnarled, stunted, withered in the shadow of the first.

  "Same seed. Same potential. But one found the light. The other didn't. Gifts are like that. Everyone has them. Few know which ones they carry. Fewer still find where to let them grow."

  Nael studied the two trees, something clicking inside him.

  *The gift alone isn't enough. You have to know how to nurture it. How to make it grow.*

  The man stopped before a small spring of incomparable clarity. The water shimmered as though thousands of diamonds danced within it.

  "Come closer, Nael. And look."

  Nael approached cautiously. The man invited him to crouch beside the spring, then rested a gentle hand on his shoulder.

  In an instant, Nael was pulled beyond himself — into something greater than anything he had ever known.

  A flood of sensation surged through his mind — not images, but raw, unfiltered feeling, hitting him all at once.

  He saw his mother on her knees in the darkness of her room, praying for him, her hands clasped so tightly her fingers had gone white.

  He felt the hollow ache of a man who had just lost his job and didn't know how to tell his children. The muffled sobs of a teenage girl alone in a school bathroom. The silence of an old man dying, clutching a photograph of a woman he would never see again.

  But also — and this surprised him most — sparks of light scattered through it all. A stranger giving away their last meal to someone on the street. A couple holding hands despite having nothing. A teacher staying late, alone in an empty classroom, carefully preparing lessons no one would thank them for.

  So much pain. So much hope. The two inseparable, woven together.

  When the man lifted his hand, tears were running down Nael's face. He trembled, overwhelmed, shaken to his core.

  But something had shifted.

  His eyes had grown brighter, deeper. As though a veil had been lifted.

  He understood now.

  *The world doesn't need perfect heroes. It needs people who get back up in spite of their fear.*

  Nael wiped his eyes and rose slowly, still unsteady.

  "I think I can let you go now," the being said softly. "Go. Be what you want to be. Do what you want to do."

  Nael shook his head slowly, feeling that his doubts and fears had finally loosened their grip. Not entirely. But enough.

  "Will we see each other again someday?"

  "Probably, Lightborn. But for now, I'll be watching."

  A faint smile crossed Nael's lips.

  "You're not going to sneak up and take back what you gave me, are you?" he asked with a light laugh.

  "No. That gift is yours now."

  A wide smile spread across Nael's face. He gave a small wave as the light slowly faded around him.

  ***

  When Nael opened his eyes, he was back in his bed, frozen through — as though every trace of warmth had been drained from his body at once.

  His sheets were soaked with cold sweat. He was shaking violently.

  He pulled his blanket tight around himself, shivering.

  *What was that?*

  *Was it real? Or just a dream?*

  But somewhere deep down, he already knew.

  It was real.

  He glanced at the clock on his nightstand. 1:47 a.m.

  Sleep wasn't coming. Too many thoughts were spinning through his mind.

  He got up, switched on his bedside lamp, grabbed his notebook, and started sketching his hero costume.

  After several attempts — a cape? No, too conspicuous. A mask? Maybe. Reinforced gloves? — he still hadn't landed on the right design.

  He closed the notebook with a sigh and flopped back onto his bed, arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling.

  *Tomorrow, I'll tell them.*

  *I'll join the Academy.*

  That thought, rather than frightening him, filled him with a quiet, settled determination.

  ***

  An hour passed. Then another. Sleep refused to come.

  Nael gave up, switched on his bedside lamp, and grabbed his notebook. He tried to sketch what he had seen in the vision — that breathtaking world, those towering trees, that impossibly clear spring. But the images kept dissolving, replaced by something else: the weight of all that suffering he had felt pressing against him, raw and endless.

  He turned the page.

  And began drawing his hero costume instead.

  Cape? No — too flashy, too much of a target. A mask? Maybe. Reinforced gloves? He sketched, crossed out, started over. After a dozen attempts, he still hadn't found the right design. He closed the notebook with a sigh and dropped it on the nightstand.

  It was just past 4 a.m.

  He lay there for a moment staring at the ceiling, then made a decision.

  He got up.

  Moving quietly through the darkened hallway, Nael headed downstairs. The house was still, wrapped in the kind of silence that only exists in the hours before dawn. He stood in the kitchen for a moment, looking around.

  Then he rolled up his sleeves and got to work.

  He washed the dishes piled in the sink. Wiped down the counters. Swept the floor. Folded the blanket left on the couch. Straightened the shoes by the door. Small things. Ordinary things. The kind of things his parents did every day without anyone noticing.

  Then he started on breakfast.

  Coffee, brewed slowly and carefully — the way his father liked it, strong but not bitter. Toast. Eggs. He found a jar of jam at the back of the cupboard and set it on the table alongside everything else.

  He stood back and looked at the table.

  It wasn't much. But it was the only way he knew how to say what he couldn't bring himself to put into words.

  *Thank you. For everything. I'm sorry I can't explain what's happening to me. I love you.*

  By the time he finished, pale morning light was beginning to filter through the windows. The clock on the wall read 6:03 a.m.

  Nael went upstairs and knocked softly on his parents' door.

  Knock knock.

  "Yeah, what is it, son?" his father's voice came through, groggy and hoarse.

  "Nothing serious, Dad. Just wanted to let you know breakfast is ready."

  A pause. Then his mother's voice, confused, half-laughing:

  "Breakfast?"

  Aveline and Claude emerged a few minutes later, faces still soft with sleep, shuffling into the dining room in their pajamas.

  Nael had opened the windows, letting the cool morning air drift in. The soft early light of sunrise bathed the table in gold.

  Everyone sat and began to eat. Claude took his first sip of coffee and raised an eyebrow, pleasantly caught off guard.

  "Not bad at all. I didn't know you could cook," he said with a laugh.

  "Very impressive. All of it," his mother added, her smile warm.

  "Thanks," Nael said, quietly pleased.

  In the morning stillness, only the soft clink of cutlery broke the silence.

  Then Nael's throat tightened, and he spoke:

  "Mom, Dad... I wanted to tell you..."

  His mother interrupted him gently, a sad but understanding smile on her lips:

  "Sweetheart, we already know. You don't need to say it."

  His father nodded, eyes glistening.

  They rose together and pulled him into their arms.

  "We'll always be with you. Always," Aveline whispered, her voice breaking.

  "You should go get ready. They'll be here soon," she added softly.

  Nael blinked, caught off guard.

  "But how did you...?"

  "We called them this morning, right after you woke us up for breakfast," his mother explained tenderly. "We knew then that you'd made your decision."

  "But Mom, I just wanted to—"

  "Don't worry," Claude interrupted, smiling. "We trust you."

  ***

  At 4 p.m., a horn sounded outside.

  The Academy representatives had arrived.

  Nael was ready. Bag packed. Clothes folded. Heart pounding — but steady.

  His parents and the representatives signed several documents at the living room table.

  "That will be everything," one of the men said. "Your son will be free to visit whenever he likes... but not for the first five months."

  "Why five months?" Claude asked, brow furrowing.

  "During that period, he'll be following an intensive training and academic program. He won't have time to travel back and forth."

  Claude exhaled heavily.

  "Alright..."

  This was the moment. The moment to leave.

  Nael stood, heart heavy. He hugged his mother, who was already crying. Then his father, who was fighting to hold it together, eyes red.

  "Let's go," the representatives said.

  Nael turned back one last time.

  He looked at his parents. His house. His childhood.

  He raised his hand.

  Then got in the car.

  It pulled away.

  Nael glanced at the side mirror and saw his parents standing together in front of the house. His father had his arms around his mother, who was weeping silently.

  He couldn't stop his own tears from coming.

  But he wiped them away quickly and turned to face forward.

  *When you see me again, I'll be a great hero.*

  *I promise.*

  For him, a new life was beginning.

  ***

  **END OF CHAPTER 4**