In a rocking chair on the back porch of a house sat a man. His face scarred by battle, his soul stained by the bloodshed of a past war he fought to protect his homeland. His grandchild sat crosslegged in front of him, wide eyes gazing in admiration and adoring wonder at him as he prepared to speak of a tale that had been told to him a hundred times since his birth. The old man took a deep breath in and let it out, suppressing the demons of his past. "Listen, my dear grandchild, to the tale of a time that to some feels oh so long ago. A story of good and evil."

"When our hearts were broken, when the skies grew grey and smoke choked the air within the lungs of our people."

"He arrived."

 "A bold courageous lone pilot with fire in his eyes that burned fierce and bright. His MiG-29 screamed like a banshee as he defied the enemy that threatened to destroy us. On the first day he defeated many men and became a revered ace. The second day he continued even as his gravest foe, The Black Bear, rampaged across the land."

"The days of strife continued, the fighting unceasing. Many grew tired and weary yet still we pressed on for overhead flew over us a guardian. A beacon of light that stood against the darkness that howled as it encircled us in it's maw."

"In his wings he carried the spirit of the people that which fueled his unwavering resolve. His canons roared as they pounded the beasts of men, punishment and justice raining upon the enemy with righteous fury. Each missile he fired flew true to their mark, striking down the wayward souls of the condemned, staving off the darkness."

"The monsters did their best to slay him. To silence the voices of our people and quell our defiant resistance. They failed time and again. No matter how many of his brethren they slew, no matter how much of our land they burned, our valiant spirit never faltered to rise against those who sought to crush us."

The child listened intently, engrossed in the old man's story.

"Some say he was a hero. Others, a myth. To the oppressive tyrants, a vengeful specter. We never knew who he was. We didn't care if he was real or just a name who's tale was meant to inspire courage and bring hope to the victims of the Red Legions. What we know is that he was more than a man or a myth."

"He was our spirit. Our country's soul raging against the Red Dawn that threatened to swallow us whole and consume us with such dark efficacy. He delivered us from the depths of despair and defeat. He was a symbol of the free and the brave. He gave the enemy hell in exchange for our survival and we placed in him our faith. He asked of us only one thing: to believe."

"We believed."

The child shifted in place, fidgeting eagerly as he asked a simple question he already knew the answer to but loved to hear answered no many how many times it was asked: 

"What was his name Papa?"

The old man placed a rough gnarled hand upon his grandchild's head and tussled his hair affectionately with a smile, tears of pride in his eyes.

"The Ghost of Kyiv."

Once There Was a Hero

Lucas Ricciotti