Home.

Home meant the shadow of the mountains overhead and fresh air always with the threat of chill and a bad decision away from deadly in the depths of winter. Wind roared through the evergreens like the starving lions in his tattered books, echoed and moaned like the lost maiden in that old fable within the crevices and valleys and along the cliff face. The weather breezed in whispering sweet and warm in spring, crackled and hummed with lightning in summer, poured rain and sleet upon the burnished golds and reds of autumn, and fell deceptively soft and cold and heavy with the unceasing snows of winter.

Home meant a wide swath of green grass in every direction, cropped short by unstoppable, blunt teeth. Fields, barely large enough to sustain the small herd of goats that owned the people there rather than the other way around, were surrounded by wooden fences in constant need of repair. Chicken pecked at the bare patch of land near a small, lopsided coop with obvious patches on its walls. A tiny vegetable garden was encircled by a much taller, sturdier fence to keep out the goats and shiny bits of metal were tied to fraying bits of string to keep out crows and chickens alike. Flowers burst out of boxes made of warped, long-unusable bits of wood set around the tiny house near the coop.

Home meant the house, barely more than a hovel, built against the foot of the mountain. The roof was thatched in autumn with straw. The cracks in the walls were daubed with clay before the first snows, though a draft always managed to steal its way inside. It was the smell of dinner on the table and sound of softly, lovingly spoken conversation as the one-room, bottom floor sunk into darkness and candlelight. It was the rickety creaking ladder up to the loft and his little straw-filled mattress under piles of handmade quilts. The scent of lavender to keep away the bugs, and rosemary stuffed in his pillow for restful sleep.

Home also meant a cage. A cage of duties and responsibilities. A cage made by grief and the lingering shadow of death. It was a dead-end road with no room for dreams and wishes.

Not that it stopped Izuku much.

Barely eighteen, Izuku's body was already corded with muscle, shoulders and arms thick from hauling recalcitrant goats and lifting loads too heavy for only one pair of hands. His legs were sturdy and his tread wide, always moving fast to the next task that needed done. His hands were rough and callused and constantly in motion. His skin was burned to a dark tan, even after a long, sunless winter, and his shaggy, curly hair was pulled back into an unkempt short tail to keep out of his eyes. Though by the end of the day, the wild mess always managed to spring mostly free and get in his way.

But Izuku still took time – leaning against the fence posts, sweat dripping down his face and neck, cheeks red from exertion – to stare out over the meager fields his father had once scrapped every last penny together to buy. Gazing with unseeing green eyes. Well, he could see. Just not what was right in front of him.

Instead he saw roads untaken. Swords and shields and valiant steeds on the great road, Wia Pakis, the main road that cut through the entirety of their kingdom, Pakei, to the Barrier far in the south where it was weakest. He saw a hand lifted to clasp his, respect and camaraderie hard won and lifelong. He saw battles he could fight, people he could save, and friends. Friends like he'd never had. Who knew secrets he didn't even have yet. What would it be like to have adventures alongside people like that? People who leaned on him as he leaned on them?

He father used to tell stories of the soldiers he'd fought alongside. He remembered the gruff voices that laughed in the shadows of their tiny house. The women and men that wore the colors of the King's Spears sitting around the tiny fireplace and drinking mead with his mother and father late into the night. And him peeking over the edge of his loft with eyes bright and curious. Dreaming of the day he'd go with them, the too-bright blue and crimson of a greenfoot and a spear twice his height, but fitted perfectly into his palm.

"Izuku!"

His mother's voice, thin and frayed by distance and his dreams between them, snapped him out of his head. The fence post leaning on his hip slipped at his movement and he floundered wildly to catch it before it fell. Knowing food lay ahead, his stomach rumbled so hard his guts quivered and made him chuckle at himself as he set the loose post against the fence. Mother did say he was still growing – "like a weed! You'll be taller than your blessed father at this rate. Wouldn't he be so proud!" – and his almost unending hunger was definitely proof of that. He used his hand on the fence post that was very sturdily set deep in the ground to jump the wooden bars. His boots hit the grass on the other side with a thud and he was off, loping over the fields, skittering around and apologizing to every goat he managed to get in the way of.

In the doorway, Inko shook her head fondly and sighed. He grinned sheepishly and leaned down to press a fleeting kiss to her cheek.

"Morning, Mama. How's the neighbors?" he asked, both politely and genuinely interested.

Inko sighed again, this time with a small measure of concern. She stepped back to let him into the house. As he stomped the dirt and mud onto the mat, she informed him of – "Well, young Mrs. Hamamoto is fit to burst with her first baby, and Mr. Jiuro lost another pair of boots while fishing." Izuku laughed while his mother giggled quietly before sobering. "But... when I went by to see Mrs. Shuzenji, her last cow had died."

Izuku winced. Mrs. Shuzenji was an older woman, with zero family left to help her day-to-day. While the village did what they could, she was a stubborn old woman who refused 'charity'. Having what was left of her independence whittled away by the last milking cow sadly passing away could not have made for a pleasant visit. The front door snicked shut and his nose twitched at the smell of vegetable stew and freshly baked bread. His stomach almost roared, shaking under his hand, while he and his mother laughed their way towards the table.

"You really should eat a bigger breakfast, sweetie. Just toast or a bite of cheese is not enough," Inko scolded good-naturedly, ladling stew into bowls while Izuku set out the table things and a mug of cool barley water.

"I eat more than enough, Mama," Izuku assured her, ears pinkening.

She tsked in disagreement, her brows furrowed lightly, and placed the bowls on the table. They settled in their chairs and silence reigned long enough for Izuku to inhale the first half of his portion and gulp down the barley water, sweetened by cinnamon and leaving a refreshing taste in his mouth. Inko buttered some soft, dark bread for him, eating much more leisurely than her son, with dark green gaze sharp on his movements. She already refilled his bowl before he scraped the bottom and ignored his protests with a gentle shake of her head.

"You work so hard to keep ahold of this farm for me, sweetie. At least let me feed you properly when I can," she retorted.

Izuku swallowed hard, eyes the same shade and shape as his mother's downcast. He remembered all too well the days she reminded him of. In the darkest, coldest months of winter, when their rations were down to withered turnips and cupfuls of millet left for bread. When they had to eat less to give to the animals shivering in the barn, waiting for spring to come again so the goats could eat the grass and they could hoard the last of the oats for themselves. The last couple years had been a lot better than those first years after his father had died, but they still welcomed spring with a hollowness to their cheeks and stomachs.

Thinking of that had Izuku thinking about Mrs. Shuzenji. She'd always managed to get through winters by selling dairy products all year. Cow's milk was rare and coveted by the richest folks in the area, goat's milk seen as for peasants and cats, not well-bred men and women. With the last cow gone, how would Mrs. Shuzenji save enough to get her through the coming winter? His chewing slowed, his spoon falling to his empty bowl.

"Mama?"

"Yes, Izuku?" she replied, sipping her water with a contented smile. She might not have been as dusty and sweaty as her son, but she'd had just as busy and hot a morning doing the village errands.

"Can Mrs. Shuzenji come live with us?" Izuku asked. Inko stared, then slowly, her mouth stretched into a proud smile. He was flushing bright red before he realized why.

"There's my good boy with his generous heart," Inko murmured softly. The heat burned over his whole face, even spreading down to his neck with an uncomfortable prickle. "You do realize we'll need to work even harder to make sure we have enough for winter? And we'll need to make room for her to have some privacy of her own?"

Izuku pictured in his mind just what he needed to add onto the house for a room of her own, plus the extra work that would even get his mother working in the fields with him all summer. Calculating the cost of this, the amount of time for that, the remaining months they had to make it work, had him chewing on his thumbnail worriedly.

But he was also nodding.

"We can do it, can't we?" he asked, gaze earnest and jaw firm. Inko smiled wider and nodded back.

"That we can. And Mrs. Shuzenji is no slouch herself. I'm sure she'll get even our orneriest nanny milking more than either of us ever could. She's got a way with animals."

Izuku grinned lopsidedly. "She's just as stubborn as they are."

Mother and son both laughed at the thought. And the honesty of the statement itself.

By next afternoon, Mrs. Shuzenji had ordered him around the village and back again. Each crate and piece of furniture carried carefully on his back or tied securely down in a cart borrowed from the inn several minutes down the road. Mrs. Shuzenji no doubt had harangued it out of their hands for the afternoon. It had taken only one trip from her old home to theirs. Izuku was almost positive the obstinate old woman must have some bit of magic in her to fit so much stuff on one rather small cart (or on Izuku's back as he trotted along besides the cart and slow-moving mule). It did help that she sold some of her bigger items for a pretty decent amount of petty cash.

She'd moved in with a stubborn set to her wrinkly face and her sleeves pushed up her spindly arms. Within a few hours, her bed – a real bed with ropes pulled tight to hold the feather mattress off the ground! – was set up, their rickety table with uneven legs was replaced with her much nicer one and well-worn matching chairs set around it. The old stools were broken down for firewood, the table set aside to use for patching the holes in the walls. Her curtains, handwoven and trimmed with intricate lace made by her own hand, were hung, and the old ones she promised Inko she would turn into pretty pillows. Pillows she'd be putting on the comfy, stuffed armchairs that squatted in front of the fire.

His mother's bed was taken up to the loft for them to share until a new room could be added on for Mrs. Shuzenji – 'call me Chiyo, boy! What's with this Shuzenji nonsense?' When Inko promised the room to be finished before autumn, Shuzen – Chiyo – merely chuckled and shook her head. Her squinting eyes were sharp as they looked over Izuku's awkwardly crouched figure, acting as if standing straight up and towering over the tiny old woman might be offensive somehow.

"I very much doubt we'll have need of it. But whatever helps, m'dear," Chiyo had chuffed, patting Inko's round cheek before barking at Izuku to hang up her pictures not crookedly.

Hours later, with noon already gone, Izuku slid down into the utterly luxurious armchair Mrs. Chiyo wasn't sitting in, sighing in relief to be off his feet. His arms and shoulders were too sore to even pick up the chipped mug of barley water at his elbow – because Mrs. Chiyo had brought cute little end tables with lacy doilies draping off the rounded edges to place beside the chairs. They were specifically for cups of tea or books. That's it, no other purpose but to hold a cup or book for him. How unnecessary and…and decadent.

Inko perched gingerly on the arm of the chair next to him and ran her fingers through his damp, curly hair. "You did a good job today, sweetie. Would you like something special for dinner? To welcome Mrs. Chiyo home?"

"None of that now," Chiyo interrupted, voice sharp but with a smile softening the edges of her mouth. "The dinner will be to thank you both for offering me a home. I did not relish the idea of going all the way to the Capital at my age. You choose what you'd like and you'll use my coin to do it!"

"N-no, Mrs. Chiyo, you're our guest!" Mother and son protested at once, honestly appalled at the idea of buying food outside of a fair or special festival.

"Stuff and nonsense, I am no guest," she hurrumphed. "I'm family now, there's no way about it now that I'm here. And this tired old auntie wants some steak and gravy pie from the inn," Chiyo informed them with a knock of her stick to the floor.

Inko and Izuku both perked up, almost drooling at the idea. The inn was famous for their steak and gravy pie; beef was a rare, expensive treat for them they rarely indulged in. The Midoriyas glanced at each other, wavering between good manners and longing.

"You have to return that wretched buggy back to the inn anyhow. Take my wallet, child, and get going. Get you out from under foot while I get to know your unruly flock. You'll help me, won't you, Inko?"

"Oh, yes, yes of course! But we could- we should pay for it…" Inko tried one last time to protect, wringing her hands as she spoke.

"I said stuff and nonsense and I meant it. Now, get going and take your time walking back, boy. We've got time enough before supper time and you don't need to wear yourself out to get here anytime soon," Chiyo warned him seriously, eyes glinting strangely.

A trickle of awareness ran down Izuku's spine, but he shrugged it off.

He finally nodded and, pausing just long enough to gulp down the water, made his way towards the door. "I'll be back by sunset, Mama! Welcome home, Mrs. Ch-Ch-Chiyo!" he called. He grinned at the 'tch' the old woman retorted with and the farewell of his mother's.

Getting the cart back the inn was fairly uneventful. The mule was slow, but knew its way home sure enough. The moment it realized what direction they were headed in, Izuku barely had to use the reins. Instead, he spent most the drive humming quietly and imagining his usual fairy tales. This time it involved the sea, something he'd only read about in books. The only place the kingdom touched the sea was much further to the south, past the edges of barren desert that the Barrier cut off from the Outside. But he'd read a lot of books, and managed to see an illumination done in a book of the golden beaches of the south before the merchant had put the expensive treasure safely away. He imagined the rocking of the cart was like the rocking of a ship, the roar of the wind through the not-so-distant evergreens was the roar of the wild, untamed sea. Would the wind be always hot out there? Izuku thought so, and he imagined the feeling of summer sun burning his skin a dark brown like the people of caravans had. The clash of his cutlass and the shouts of his shipmates rang in his ears while the boom of cannons rocked the deck beneath his heavy, waterproof boots. He wasn't quite sure if he'd rather be a pirate or a sailor on one of the new naval ships the Capital sent asea, so he focused more on the action and the romance of a fight on the distant Pakis Bay (the Barrier cut off too much of the ocean beyond to be a true sea).

The cart rumbling over cobblestones jerked him unceremoniously out of his daydreams. The inn on a short road off the Wia Pakis was the only one within 5 days travel in either direction of their village to be cobbled. With a self-deprecating sigh, Izuku smirked to himself and swung down to the courtyard the moment the mule halted in its tracks. Its floppy ears wiggled and waggled about its bony head and Izuku chuckled as he grasped ahold of the harness.

"Thanks for the ride, fella. Good job today," he whispered, holding out a flat palm with a pile of oats and turnip pieces from his pocket. The mule snuffled at the handful with relish, licking his palm for good measure and making him laugh out loud.

"Thanks for returning our boy here afore night time, young Midoriya," the innkeeper greeted from the back door of the inn. "We were worried old lady Shuzenji would want him till tomorrow eve."

Izuku rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged. "We got done pretty quick. She's pretty scarily efficient."

The innkeeper barked a laugh and jerked his head towards the stables. "You all right putting Raba in his stall? I can take care of most the equipment later tonight, if you make sure our mule is taken care of for me. Dinner's about to get started so I have to head back in."

"I can do that, sir. Um, could I actually order some dinner? We're hoping to get your special," Izuku asked, already leading Raba a little closer towards the inn. The innkeeper rubbed his chin, already nodding.

"I'll make sure to set some aside for you. If you don't mind to wait a while for 'em? I'm making 'em hot and fresh tonight."

"Yes, thank you, sir!" Izuku exclaimed, bowing quickly. The innkeeper grinned.

"You're too polite, kid. Come back around a little after an hour from now. I'll have something ready for you."

Izuku bowed again and quickly led the mule away. The idea of fresh hot pies had a skip in his step. This was gonna be a good end to a busy day, even if he had to share his room with his mother for a while. He whistled as he unhitched Raba and brushed him down enough that his shaggy grey coat shined. Fresh water was pumped into the trough in the yard, and Izuku checked his hooves and mane for burrs while Raba drank deep. He slipped a few more pieces of turnips among his manger of hay before dropping the bar into place and patted the mule goodbye in his stall.

"You treat all animals that well, or just ones you borrow?" asked a rough, crackling sort of voice. Izuku squeaked and looked around in confusion, eyes wide. "Down here, pipsqueak!"

Izuku glanced down and almost tripped backward when he saw the short old man at bellybutton level right next to him. "H-Hello, s-sir!" he stammered.

The old man huffed and rubbed the side of his nose. He was very short, and stooped even lower over a stick he leaned much of his weight on. A cowl covered most of his face, the merest glint of his eyes showing under the lip of the hood. His hands were big and callused, brown and weathered like a laborer's and his nondescript, clothes were baggy and shapeless. And filthy with road-dust and mud stains. "I asked you a question, kid."

"Ah- oh, um." Izuku wracked his brain to remember it. "I guess so? I've got goats at home, so I'm used to animals, sir."

"Hmph," the old man grunted, pulling on his short grey beard and squinting suspiciously up at him. "I suppose you don't care about a homeless old man like me, though, eh, Toshinori?"

"Huh? What? Wh- Sorry, sir, I'm Midoriya, Izuku. Are you lost, do you need help, sir?" Izuku asked, baffled and eyes scanning the empty back-courtyard of the inn. He yelped in shock as the little man's walking stick smacked at his shins painfully.

"You think I'm stupid, sonny? I ain't lost. I'm exactly where I'm needed to be!"

"I-I'm sorry?!" Izuku squeaked while his hands waved defensively in front him. "I didn't mean to insinuate- I guess, I did mean to- but I didn't mean to offend you, sir!"

"Hrmph." He peered up at Izuku even more suspiciously. "I guess I believe you. Now, where am I?" the man asked, glancing around himself with a perplexed hum. Izuku gaped at him.

"Right off the Wia Pakis, sir. Um, my village is about a thirty minute walk north of here. It doesn't really have a name though… We just call it Foot."

The man squinted at Izuku again. "That's a stupid name. Is it smelly or something?"

Izuku laughed awkwardly and rubbed the back of his head. "I guess it is strange. But it's just… a bit of houses at the foot of the mountain range, yanno? Nothing special. So we call it that, for short. My farm is built right up against nearest mountain, actually."

Something bright and strange glinted in the man's suddenly cunning, assessing gaze. "You don't say?" he muttered. "All right then, I'll be going home with you," the man announced.

Izuku gaped again. "R-Really? Of course, if you need a place to stay, I'm sure my mother wouldn't mind. But Mrs. Shuzenji just moved in and we're a bit crowded–"

"Shuzenji?" the man asked sharply, eyes even more piercing. Izuku's spine straightened as he gulped.

"Y-yes? Do you know her?"

The old man frowned darkly until, abruptly, he smiled wide, slow, and bright. "Not at all!" He burst into loud, grating laughter a second later.

Izuku chuckled haltingly, mouth twitching and wobbling. What's... funny?! "I gotta… buy dinner. Um, would you like some, too?"

The man thought about it, then nodded. "I haven't eaten anything decent in a while. Grasshoppers just don't taste that good."

Izuku laughed, then quickly cut himself off when the man didn't laugh, too.

"You think it's funny to eat grasshoppers, boy?" he asked dangerously.

"N-No, s-sorry!" Izuku ran for the inn before he did something offensive again.

The old man's heavy gaze stayed on his back the whole time. Does he think I'm going to leave him here? Izuku wondered with sweat sliding down his temple as he paid for an extra steak pie. What are mother and Mrs. Shuzenji going to say? He thought a second later, sighing softly.

The trek back towards his village was… strange. The man still hadn't told Izuku his name, either talking over Izuku whenever he tried to ask, or outright ignoring it when Izuku managed to get it out. He ate his pie while they walked, gravy smearing over his beard and gnarled hands. He walked fast for a little old man with a walking stick, all while eating and chattering nonstop. Izuku, for the life of him, could not recall a word of what was said afterwards. Not because he forgot anything, but mainly because the man managed to say nothing at all while never stopping chatting. And in all that talk, never mentioned his name, where he was from, or where he was going.

Izuku shifted the cumbersome box filled with steaming hot pies, grimacing at the heat against his arms. It didn't exactly burn, but it wasn't comfortable. Plus, his stomach started rumbling about five minutes ago as the scent of beef and brown gravy and buttery pastry wafted upwards to his nose. It took all his willpower just to not start drooling.

"Let's take a short cut!" the man proclaimed a second later. Izuku blinked over – and down – at him.

"A short cut?" Izuku repeated dumbly. He looked towards the wide, sandy road that led straight past his village. The forest that abutted the foot of the mountain and crept up one side of his village was already at their side, but even he, a native of this area, knew better than to take a "shortcut" through it. It honestly wouldn't be, since there weren't any trodden paths through the trees and the village wasn't built that far from Wia Pakis. "Um, sir, it would be better to stay on the road. We're almost there," he tried to assure him.

The old man snorted loudly and disparagingly. "Where's your sense of adventure, Toshinori?"

"I'm Izuku, sir."

"Are you coming or not?" the man asked, already striking out into the forest as he spoke.

Izuku looked down at the small wooden box in his arms, up at the road that led home, and then, finally, at the small man's swiftly disappearing back.

"I can't just let him get lost in the woods now. We're not that far, we could still make it home before the pies get cold. And we've got at least an hour of light left before the sun goes down. We'll be fine," he told himself aloud. He was used to a captive audience of uncaring goats, and long since gotten used to muttering aloud at them when thinking. It was odd to glance around and miss the reassuringly indifferent faces of the nannies and billies. He rolled back his shoulders and straightened his spine, before hurrying after the loud cursing and thwacking of a stick against bushes.

The forest wasn't exactly dark, but it wasn't very bright either. The shade under the trees was heavier and cooler, and it sent shivers down Izuku's back. Ahead of him, the nameless old man led him in an unerringly straight line. Towards the towering mountains, still capped in winter snow at the peaks. Izuku glanced off to the side, knowing they'd need to head that way to make it to the village eventually, but the old man was cursing and muttering so loudly that every time Izuku tried to speak up, his words went unheard. He breathed deep, frowning, readying himself to shout if necessary, knowing his mother and Mrs. Shuzenji was waiting for their dinners, when the old man let out a cry of excitement.

Or fear.

Without thinking it through, Izuku ran. Jumping over the low bushes and shrubs, ignoring the whipping of branches to his face and pine needles showering down the back of his shirt, to catch up to the strange man. Who may have finally gotten himself hurt.

"Sir! Sir, where are you!? Sir!" Izuku panted out, eyes scanning past trees and distracting shadows. The face of the mountain was suddenly in front of him, a narrow clearing of tall, tangled grass and saplings lining the bottom. He recognized this as one of the goats' favorite grazing spots, and relief had his thundering heart slowing. "Sir?" he called again, setting the box of pies down to be ready if the man needed help.

There was a strange, echoing sound of his name and he turned towards it.

A familiar thrill ran down his spine when he caught sight of sunlight pouring from a crevice amongst the rocks.

I very much doubt we'll have need of it.

Izuku edged closer, licking at his dry lips and clenching his shaking hands. He'd come to this little meadow a hundred times, a thousand times even. But he'd never seen that particular crack amongst the boulders and crags of the mountain. It had always been a sheer, rugged-face cliff, with barely even a wild flower growing in the cracks let alone handholds or caves. The nearest pass was days to the south and went nowhere, because the other side of the mountains was Outside, shielded by the rippling purple Barrier that shined like the northern lights in his story books in the darkest nights of winter.

But there was definitely an opening now, shining with late afternoon sunlight and just wide enough for him to squeeze through. And probably a little old man, too. Izuku just barely made out the sound of a loud, raucous laughter. With a groan, Izuku squeezed himself into the crack, wincing and muttering as he shuffled side-step by side-step into the depths of the mountain. Just as abruptly as it started, it ended, sending him stumbling and wheezing into a tiny valley. Not really a valley though. More like a thin canyon, the top of which was so high above him he couldn't see it. It looked like a jagged line between two sheer rock faces, filled with tall grass and taller flowers. He almost turned, hearing nothing save the wind, until he saw the bent and flattened stalks of grass leading further in.

"Sir?" Izuku called, creeping into the hushed little canyon, heart thumping in his throat.

There was no reply, and worry had his heart thudding faster and faster. Was he hurt? Had he fallen? Had he never come here at all and was Izuku following the path of some wild mountain animal? While his pies got cold?!

Just as Izuku decided to turn back and begin his search back at the valley, his boots met a slope of pebbles. And slipped out from under him.

He shouted in alarm, arms pinwheeling, heels skidding and sliding over smooth pebbles that showered down the slope in front of him. He just barely caught the sound of echoing, like the sound of a fierce autumn typhoon, when his balance completely disappeared and he fell, hard, to his butt and slid the rest of the way down into the mouth of a small dark cave. Izuku sat perfectly still, scraped hands and sore ass stinging at his fall, as he wheezed and gasped his breath back. There was no sound of the old man, either laughing at him or moaning in pain. In fact, there were no sounds at all but the last of the pebbles coming to rest at his sides.

And the slow, steady drip of something in the cave.

"This was a bad idea. I should've tied that man to me with a rope, like a leash! Or carried him on my back! He's lighter than Mrs. Shuzenji's giant mirror and I carried that all the way to my house," Izuku grumbled, slowly, wincingly, getting to his feet and dusting off the seat of his pants. As he turned a little to check for rips, a glint caught his eye.

And that thrill came back.

"What was that?" he whispered softly, squinting and crouching awkwardly to peer into pitch black interior of the cavern.

No. Not pitch black.

There, what looked deep and rather far into the cave, was that glimmer. A glimmer of bright, unnatural blue.

Frowning and throat sand-paper dry, Izuku crept one step inside. Then, another. And another. Until he was striding through darkness, hands awkwardly in front of him to glide over the bumpy, uneven walls of the cavern. Multiple times he lost sight of the blue light when he had to turn this way or that to get around stalagmites or piles of rubble. Tiny puddles of freezing snowmelt splashed over his boots, seeping into the holes and cuts in the worn leather to burn and dampen his feet. But he kept going, strides lengthening and breath getting choppy with an eager sort of anticipation.

A part of him was convinced he'd fallen asleep on the cart seat, dreaming while Raba the mule plodded on and on towards the inn.

Then, the cavern opened wide. A crack in the ceiling let in a sliver of sunlight that struck a huge pillar of chunky, white quartz. It looked as though a stalagmite and stalactite had long ago grown together, and the white quartz glittered like petrified snow or frozen salt.

Izuku felt his jaw drop when his eyes finally made out what he was seeing in the quartz though.

A…

A sword?

Izuku rubbed his eyes. Then, blinked and rubbed them again. Because swords in stones were things that happened in story books! The Hero, the One True Heir, the Daring Princess, the Seventh Son, or the Dragon Lady Knight, people destined for greatness and epic adventures – those were the kinds of people who found swords in stones! Not a goatboy without a father and a dead-end life in a village called Foot.

He shuffled closer anyway, drawn to the shadow of a sword deep within the opaque rock. As he got closer, he couldn't help but smirk a little. Because the sword inside the crystal was… well…

Useless.

It was rusty and battered. The blade, though as long as Izuku was tall, was nicked and scored, even burned black in places. The leather that wrapped around the hilt was frayed and torn. The pommel had broken off, leaving a jagged end to the hilt. And set into the guard was an empty pit where a gem had once rested.

Of course Izuku would find an abandoned old sword. For a second, he'd almost imagined he could've been the kind of hero he'd dreamed about. But he was still just a stupid goatboy named Midoriya.

He touched the white rock with half a laugh, something wistful and pained in the sound echoing back at him.

Two things happened at once.

That blue light returned – flashing so brightly from what Izuku had thought to be an empty pit that he'd cried out and covered his eyes.

The crystal cracked.

Hairlines fractures from where his fingers had touched. Growing, growing, screaming and growling as rock tore itself apart. To suddenly shatter like frigid glass. He could feel it fall like rain on his shoulders and hair, even on his arms that he'd crossed over his eyes at the blaze of blue light. Izuku slowly dropped his arms, glowing white grit falling from his body at the motion. And the sword in the stone gleamed an unnatural blue, the hilt temptingly free and the blade still sunk deep into the rock.

His hand was reaching for it before he could thinking, his rough, farmwork-callused hands wrapping around the battered old hilt as if he'd been born to wield such a weapon instead of a hoe and plough.

The gem in the guard flashed again, but though it was just as bright as before, he wasn't blinded, nor did he flinch. Without so much as a scrape, the sword pulled free. As easy and smooth as lifting a knife free of butter.

In his head resonated words. Words spoken by a voice that was deep and booming and regal. A voice that made him want to drop to his knees, but also lifted his rapidly beating heart to his throat with something like hope.

WE FINALLY FOUND YOU. THE BOY WHO WILL SAVE THE WORLD.

Izuku dropped to his knees, eyes rolling up into the back of his head, and he fell over without a gasp.

FORGOT THAT WOULD HAPPEN. SORRY, M'BOY.

Izuku's hand stay curled tightly around the sword even as the world went dark.

A/N: There will be romance later in the story! Right now it's only focused on introducing the characters and worldbuilding set up! There will be more than the sunshine trio in the band of heroes, too! But they're the first, and main, three. 8D

And yes, this is directly inspired by the 2nd ED of season 2.