He's like fire and ice and rage. He's like the night, and the storm in the heart of the sun. He's ancient and forever. He burns at the centre of time and he can see the turn of the universe. And... he's wonderful.
Hero can be anyone. Even a man doing something as simple and reassuring as putting a coat around a young boy's shoulders to let him the world hadn't ended.
Where have all the goodmen gone
And where are all the gods?
Where's the great white Hercules to fight the rising odds?
Isn't there a white knight upon a fiery steed?