The Forsaken Hero

Time felt meaningless before the Inquisitor’s interrogation. They never seemed to tire of hearing my voice, be it honest answers or screams. Occasionally, while the elder was taking notes, Emery, the apprentice, would grow bored, and take it out on me. She used all sorts of weak spells to torment me. Occasionally, after a particularly successful attempt, judged only by my expressions of pain, she would report excitedly to her mentor, who would roll his eyes.

By the time he finally snapped his notebook shut, blood streamed from countless wounds on my body, running down my bare form and splattering in fine drops upon the white floor. Where my skin wasn’t stained crimson, it was bruised and broken, discolored with hideous blotches of yellow and purple. My soul fared no better, the constant stimulation leaving me hovering on the borders of unconsciousness.

”Well done, Emery,” the mentor said, ruffling her hair.

She smiled brightly, but quickly subdued the expression. ”Thank you for your guidance.”

”We shall review what you have learned tomorrow, but let us adjourn for now. It’s been a long day and you should get some rest.”

”But what about you?” she asked, suppressing a sudden yawn.

He laughed wryly, hefting the thick notebook. ”The Grand Inquisitor will be expecting a report tomorrow. Although we’ve obtained much, it’s going to take some time to organize.”

Voices that had covered me in vitriol now chatted with friendly tones, showcasing a relationship I expected with a close teacher and student, not torturers. They spoke so casually that I wondered whether they’d forgotten my broken body was still before them, but that couldn’t be true. I was a slave to them, worse than even an animal. What cause had they for being conscientious now?

”As for you, filthblood,” the inquisitor said, turning a critical eye on me, ”you would do well to gather your composure. It would be disgraceful for the other heroes to see you in this state.”

He spoke as though it were all my fault, as if they had been willing to hold a civil conversation, but I lacked the strength to think about it more than that. It didn’t matter, at this point. Nothing did.

Even so, something he said registered in my thoughts, dull and clouded as they were. ”Heroes?” I asked, raising my head weakly.

”Naturally,” he scoffed. ”It’s been a year since they were summoned into this world, and all of Enusia deserves to celebrate. Because of their efforts, this world is safely given the time to prepare for the demon’s invasion. They are loyal and true, paragons of their gods and allies of humanity. If only you had learned to live as they...”

His words twisted with sarcasm, an obvious jab. It stung, but not as much as it once might have. I had tried my best, but nothing I did was good enough. No magic, accomplishment, or growth I achieved was satisfactory. The gods made it very clear who I was wasn’t as important as what I was.

I lowered my head, too weak to hold it up any longer. Upon seeing my powerlessness and the dull, defeated look in my eyes, he snapped. The magic chains broke free of the cuffs and retreated into the circles on the floor and ceiling. I collapsed onto the ground, crying. I had long since run out of tears, but they gathered once more as relief came to my burning body. Even the cold, hard stone felt comfortable compared to the agony I’d been subjected to.

The inquisitor cast a second circle spell, one I vaguely recognized as Binding Winds. The air stirred, wrapping around me none too gently. I groaned as the breeze chafed against my open wounds, too weak to scream. Emery looked disappointed at my silence, but could only shrug and leave before us.

The spell behaved differently, but it took a few seconds before I realized why. The inquisitor had cast the modified version, the one that allowed the caster to move and manipulate it to their every whim. As far as I knew, no one else had attempted to modify Binding Winds before. Had he mastered it just by hearing me describe it? Once again, I was reminded of the terrifying talent and ability of the Inquisitors. Even Emery, a mere apprentice, was at the Sixth Level, and far more capable than almost any other mage I’d seen her age.

The halls of the Dusk Chambers passed by in a blur, and we soon found ourselves at the entrance to the Slave Quarters. The corridors were filled with slaves, meaning it had to be after dinner time, when their duties were completed. They scattered before the inquisitor, but he didn’t bother stopping their curious whispers. Countless eyes locked onto me, and an irrepressible shiver crept down my spine as I was forced to remember my current state: naked and exposed. The fact that their gazes held only disgust or pity brought me no comfort; but in the end, it was only a small humiliation compared to what I had suffered throughout the past few days.

A familiar room appeared before me, the very same I had lived in before leaving the Divine Throne. The familiar notches in the wooden floor dug into my bare feet, and even the familiar, must scent remained the same. Dark stains blotched the floor, evidence of the tears I shed long ago.

I tried to take a step back, away from the painful reminder of my past, but the inquisitor threw me forward, sending me sprawling onto the floor. My body ached as a thousand bruises protested the impact, and my head began pounding once more.

He cleared his throat, gazing at me condescendingly. ”For the duration of your time at the Divine Throne, you will follow these orders: Obey all priests and nobles above your status. Do not undertake any thought or action that might lead to the harming of others or your immediate or eventual escape. And lastly, you must display your horns, tail, and slave crest at all times so that all shall know who you are and of your betrayal.”

I felt far too tired to even nod, but managed a slight dip of my head as his lips drew into a thin, hard line. He grunted, satisfied, and moved to leave, only to stop and toss something on the floor before me.

”And put some damn clothes on, you slut,” he growled, and then was gone.

The door slammed shut behind him, plunging the room into silence. Outside, in the room, the soft light of the crystal kept the shadows in the corners, but inwardly, only the slightest embers of hope flickered amid the darkness shrouding my heart. A distant smile on a face I hardly recalled. Encouraging words spoken in a voice lost to time. Who was it again? Who’s wrinkled hands had lifted me, whose blonde hair teased the edges of my mind? Why did the gentle trickle of water soothe my pain?

Those questions, and more, kept me company until the darkness claimed me, and I slipped into unconsciousness.

Scarcely had I closed my eyes than I was being shaken awake. I struggled to open my eyes, but they were heavy and swollen from the previous day’s tears. After a few seconds, the shaking resumed, growing rougher, until I managed to groan. The simple vibration seemed to tear into my parched throat, and I curled up in pain, barely suppressing a cough-one that I knew would hurt far worse than a simple groan.

My entire body ached, but as I gained my bearings, a peaceful warmth filled my soul. Mana! At that moment, nothing else mattered, and I drew on the wondrous power, taking long, deep breaths. After a few seconds, I regained enough strength to open my eyes.

Piercing green eyes stared into mine, dancing with light, yet wavering with concern. There was something familiar about them, and the beautiful face they belonged to, a faint stirring in my memories. Perhaps it was a priestess or mage I trained with, or one of the other slaves who had somehow wandered into my room. They weren’t supposed to be able to, but did the inquisitor even set the lock?

”Xiviyah?”

The girl’s voice was soft and hesitant, as though anxious about something. Her brow knit together as I stared back at her, slowly blinking.

”You’re eyes,” she asked, raising a hand to my cheek. ”They’re full of stars! What happened to you?”

I flinched away, fearing the sting of a slap, but her touch was gentle, caring even. It sent a tingle through my entire body, and I found myself instinctively trusting her. ”W-who...?” I managed to whisper.

She recoiled at that, hurt flashing through her eyes, but took a few deep breaths and calmed herself. I groaned again, raising a hand to rub my horn, my tail rustling uneasily. Why was she so familiar? My mind was dark and muddy, with nothing coming to me. Only the fear and pain of the Inquisition remained bright and clear, forever haunting my waking thoughts.

”You really don’t remember me?” She asked, tilting her head slightly, ”It’s me, Korra. The Water Hero.”