In the great realms of fantasy where even Gods might hold no sway, where the sky is earth and earth is sky, where exist things complete and incomplete, lives too a life a thought which has no place in the world of men.
A dream so far removed from the world that it exists nowhere else. It is a world without the hero. A world in which there is no need of such. A world in which the bonds of folk and blood are cherished and fondly embraced.
A world in which the corrupt have not been born, and there no subversive folk or traitors who live in the world or its dreams. A world which we could only strive to become, and forget the heroes and causes they fought so such wicked folk and ways could be forgotten and not repeated.
For the world already knows a world without heroes, one where those wicked, subversive and poisonous folk weave their way through to kill as parasites from within. And in days long passed before those folk were came from corrupted seed and womb, the heroes fought as legends against monsters and things far beyond the realm of men.
How sweet a world it must be, one which lacks a hero for lack of those to save.
A dream to which one might slip away to consider when it the nightmare of infestation.
A prompt response.