The Forsaken Hero

The banquet seemed identical to every other one I’d been forced to attend in this world. Loud talking, laughter, and conversation enveloped me the moment the door opened. The tingling of glass and scrape of plates grated against my sensitive ears, and the flood of bright lights was harsh against my eyes. I shied away as eyes turned toward us, curious who the newcomers were. It took less than a second for gasps of shock to draw the attention of others, until the entire room stared at me.

The inquisitor marched forward unabashed, seemingly ignorant of the powerful stares of kings, rulers, and fathers. Still under her command, I staggered after her lest I suffer the public humiliation of a punishment. I moved unsteadily, drunk on the overwhelming exposure and battling a paralyzing anxiety. There were so many people watching my every move, their eyes narrowed, their lips curled in disgust, leaving my mind blank save a sole remaining instinctual thought. To run.

But I couldn’t. My fear of the slave crest overpowered all else, forcing me into the banquet hall. My hands tightened around the folds of my skirt as a thousand whispers broke out, the vicious gossip driving me to walk far faster than I had originally had strength for.

Most heavy of all were the stares of the other heroes, who sat proudly in the seats of honor. I dimly recalled someone mentioning it was the celebration of the one year anniversary of the summoning, which was the supposed purpose of this festival. Had we really been in Enusia for an entire year? It felt like an entire lifetime to me, filled with more pain and suffering than I had imagined possible. It hadn’t all been dark, but now that those lights had faded, leaving me darkness, I wish it had been.

Soltair raised an eyebrow at me before giving a slight, disappointed shake of his head. Beyond that, he spared me no more attention, returning to his conversation with Levin, the Earth Hero. The Justice Hero, Victor, stared at me, eyes smoldering with condemnation. His indignation was justified, as he no doubt remembered, as I did, when he detained me half a year ago for being a Demon spy. He walked the straight and narrow, or at least, what he perceived as such. Even with what little I knew of him, there was no doubt he’d be furious about my betrayal.

The other heroes leaned between morbid curiosity and outright hatred. Ronin’s glare caused a shiver to run down my tail while Connor’s impassive gaze felt colder than the Ice Gate. Whatever warmth he had once shown was gone, and he no longer flinched whenever he glanced at me. Worst of all, Korra didn’t so much as acknowledge my arrival, pretending to be deep in discussion with Grace, the Storm Hero. But her eyes were red and puffy as though she’d been crying, and her hands shook ever so slightly. I lingered on her for a second, my heart sinking lower as she refused to turn, even as Grace’s eyes alighted upon me.

Beside her was Alex. He watched me closely, lips curved in a slight smirk. His smile widened when he noticed me watching, taking on a decidedly inviting note. I shivered, clutching my arms around myself, feeling naked, and vulnerable before him. His two companions were there too, and I briefly wondered why’d then been absent all the gate. It might have been for the best, considering the devastation wrought on our own forces. Regardless, the thought didn’t last long as I was herded roughly forward, past their gazes.

The inquisitor bid me sit at the servant’s table, farthest from the festivities. The servants had their hands full waiting on the guests, but the few who had managed to sit edged as far from me as they could. Their submissive gazes were marked with fear, and they practically shivered with fright.

Eventually, the atmosphere returned to normal, and the guests picked up their conversations where they left off. But, amid the clamor and confusion of the endless political maneuvers, thickly veiled insults, and the occasional burst of raucous laughter, I felt their stares resting upon me. The moment I arrived, it became impossible for anyone to focus on anything else. I was the hero who had betrayed the world, nearly leading it to ruin. The dirty filthblood the church had shown mercy to, only to be stabbed in the back.

For some reason, I found myself thinking of the words of the elf I met so very long ago. He’d said I was an inspiration to the oppressed everywhere, that my constant courage and conviction inspired them to have hope even as the entire world turned against him. I’d been appalled at the time, to know so many people were thinking of me, but now the weight of that worship settled on me fully. I groaned softly, hiding my face in my hands, wishing I could disappear into the darkness that threatened to consume me.

The soft scrape of wood against wood freed me from my despair, and I looked up to find a slave placing a bowl before me. It was simple food, slave food, but my stomach nearly leaped out of my throat in excitement. I glanced up, daring to meet his gaze, and was shocked at the warmth in his eyes.

”Don’t give up,” he whispered, keeping his eyes on the ground.

He turned and left, almost fleeing, and I stared after him. His face felt familiar, but I knew we hadn’t spoken before. Was he one of the slaves I had healed? Before I left the Divine Throne, I would often practice my Life Magic on the other slaves who had been injured in beatings or fights amongst themselves. But would they still remember the lost, timid girl who had stayed among them a few months?

Distracted by my thoughts, I almost missed it when the Pope stood. The banquet hall grew silent, and he began giving what had to be a prepared speech. His topics ranged from the bitter battles in the gates to the war preparations in every country of the world. In the year since the gods gave their warning, Enusia had been gearing up. We heroes had fought alongside their standing armies, but in the war to come, they would be far from enough. Part of our purpose in closing the gates was to stall the time of the invasion, and allow even the common man to be prepared to fight.

He spoke for nearly an hour, and as his speech was drawing to a close, he finally turned to me and gestured. Following the orders of the inquisitor, who was leaning against a pillar on the other side of the room, I rose, bowing my head and doing everything I could to appear small to avoid attracting attention. It didn’t work, however, as the dreaded eyes returned, causing my tail to twist uneasily.

The Pope held out his hand and a Father handed him a tightly bound scroll. Unfurling it, he began reading off a record of the Trial, deeply exploring the various accusations leveled against me and the results of their judgment. The entire hall was silent as the stones themselves, and by the time he finished, every man and woman glared at me with open hatred and hostility. Not a single king, noble, or priest held even a measure of curiosity or skepticism, and I couldn’t blame them. I had no intention of hurting the people of this world, but my choices had caused the deaths of thousands. Most of the charges leveled against me were mere fabrications of exaggerated misdeeds, but that didn’t remove the stain of the sins I had committed.

After closing the scroll, the Pope started on rhetoric, reciting from memory what he claimed to be the will of the gods concerning me. It was all slander and insult, but the words slipped by, feeling meaningless. Not because they were pompous or pretentiously unique, but quite the opposite. They were things I’d heard a thousand times coming from just as many mouths.

Fallen hero, slave, filthblood. All names and descriptions I’d been given, but in the end, who was I really? I didn’t know anymore. Was I a slave, or a hero? Things had been confusing enough before, but now, my title and status were gone, leaving me nothing but chains. My life was sworn for one thing alone, but now I had been cast aside, deprived of purpose and meaning.

Eventually, the Pope finished his speech, glaring at me until I sat once more. He then announced the rest of the festival, but his voice sounded far away and muffled. No, it wasn’t him, but me. The prolonged period of activity today stressed my body and mind, both atrophied from days and weeks of neglect. Haze invaded the edges of my vision, and I found myself bent over the table, resting my head on my forearms. Slowly, my eyes closed. He was still talking, going on about a tournament of some sort.

Surely I could rest for a minute. Just a few breaths, and then I’d be fine. The darkness closed in, taking me out of consciousness. The last thing I registered was the faint tingling of mana, writhing in my soul in warning, and Alex’s gaze, pressing into me.