Thirteen years.
That's how long it had been since I'd opened my eyes in this world. Thirteen years since I'd been nothing more than a flicker of consciousness drifting in the void.
Now, the boy in the mirror looked nothing like that lost soul.He looked like Indra Ōtsutsuki reborn—sharp eyes, raven-black hair with a hint of violet sheen, features too perfect to be mortal. Even I had to admit it: the gods had gone overboard with this one.
People in Thebes called me blessed.I called it training.
Every dawn, before the first rooster crowed, I meditated to keep my mana steady and to refine my chakra. The once-fragile network inside my body had become a roaring current, balanced perfectly with the spiritual energy that had become second nature to me.
I had long since awakened the three-tomoe Sharingan, each tomoe spinning lazily when I focused. Through those eyes, the world moved slower, the patterns of energy clearer.
By thirteen, I'd mastered the sword to a level that made even warriors gape. The forms of Yoriichi came to me as naturally as breathing. My blade was a whisper, an extension of thought and spirit.
The teachings of the Shaman King had woven into my daily life as well—summoning spirits for guidance, shaping spells and curses to heal, to bind, to protect. My magic pulsed with mana drawn from the world itself.
Yet despite the power, I never forgot what mattered most: the people.
When storms came, I calmed the winds. When sickness spread, I purified the wells with mana and herbs. The villagers loved me not because I was strong, but because I used that strength for them. Children ran to me when I returned from patrol, farmers offered food at my door, and my mother still scolded me for staying up too late reading scrolls.
I had become what Hercules should have been from the start—a protector.
Hercules himself had changed.The arrogance that once hung over him had faded, tempered by loss, love, and more than a few lessons I'd driven home.
He'd saved the village from a monstrous boar months ago, and since then he'd married Megara, a woman as fiery as she was kind. They already had children—strong, loud, and adored by the townsfolk.
When he saw me training one morning, he laughed."You've become stronger than I ever dreamed, little brother."
I sheathed my sword and smiled. "And you've become wiser than I ever expected."
He grinned, shaking his head. "I swear, sometimes I think you're the older one."
"Sometimes, I am."
We laughed together, the sound carrying across the fields.
The truth was, I'd worked hard to make him into the brother I wanted him to be—a man who protected without pride, who fought with honor, who understood humility. And he had listened.
Now, when people spoke of us, they didn't just praise Hercules the hero; they spoke of us—the two brothers who guarded their land.
That night, as I stood beneath the stars, the wind carried a whisper that wasn't mortal.
"Child of power… the world beyond your village stirs. Heroes rise. Gods watch."
I opened my eyes, the Sharingan gleaming in the dark."I've been waiting for the call," I said softly. "Let them watch."
Because the age of heroes was coming—and I was ready to step into it.