Today, it is a bad day.

I woke up too early, I am tired and now I am following the big crowd that is converging in the main square in this dreary day. In contrast with the bad weather, I can hear the sound of the trumpets and drums of the royal guard echoing through the streets. The royal palace and its central square, the opulent structure that towers over all the others buildings in the capital, is now open for the sacred selection ceremony that will determine the new chosen hero.

Everyone in the city is obliged to participate to the trial to determine the godsend warrior that will drive out the demons from the kingdom. As we do not know the choice of the gods, even the lowliest thug may be a powerful knight that in the future will save the city from the darkness. Nonetheless, all the heroes chosen in the past were nobles or rich, so the citizens of the low city like me consider this ceremony as a dumb way to choose someone that is good looking enough to be certified as a hero and act as a beacon of hope for the people.

I am sorry for the man or woman that will be chosen, because being a hero means fighting the worst enemies of the humanity without the guarantee to return alive.

I look blankly to the magic brazier in which the suitors will put their hand to be judged by the gods. I really hope that the selection will be short and the hero be revealed before my turn: I admit that putting your hand in the fire, even if it is a magical one, may be stressful, and I would like to avoid it. Moreover, I must return to my family’s shop before noon.

The symphony of the royal guard stop, and we all see the royal councillor start talking about the importance of duty, heroism and the importance of sacrificing our lives for the kingdom when needed, as if he is really determined to do it himself.

“My fellow citizen, we must resist the invasion of these foul creatures. As such, the royal family has decided to choose the new champion in our city. The gods must have already sent us the chivalrous warrior that will save us: may the gods bless us in our search.”

I wait for my turn. It is frivolous to think that a merchant’s son like me have the right to set foot on the sacred ground of the palace, but at least I am in good company. Old, young, rich and poor: the people start putting, one after another, their right hand in the fire of the magical brazier without being burned. No reaction whatsoever from the flame: the hero has not been revealed.

It is my turn. I take courage: the flame is almost stroking my hand, and the red, bright colour turned blue.

The others suitors watch me in disbelief. I do not understand what is happening. The royal guards and the councillor stand beside me. What have I done? Have I broken the brazier?

“The gods have chosen! We have a new hero!”

“What?!?”

One of the guards take my arm and raise it to the sky, almost lifting me in the process.

I knew it.

Today, it is a bad day.