The Forsaken Hero

The old church was dusty and decrepit, just as old and run-down as my memory hinted it should be. The pew seat was hard and unforgiving, but the air was warm and welcoming. Faint groans of discomfort drifted over from the infirmary side of the building, joined by my own as the priest took my slender shoulders in his hands.

”Regeneration,” he cried.

As he chanted, a series of magic circles sprang into the air around me. They were weak and flawed, as all magic based on the inefficient chants was, but it was a fifth-circle spell regardless. I sighed as the soft, green Life Magic flowed over me, soothing the countless aches, bruises, and lacerations afflicting my flesh. It was the first time in months I’d been free of the constant sting of the whip, fist, or any of the other assorted instruments they used to discipline slaves. Through my refusal to accept Masters-no, Byron’s-advances, I had tasted them all.

Rodrick’s hands squeezed my shoulders comfortingly, his spell finished. My exhaustion was gone, washed away by the potency of his magic. Something in my memory stirred, and I tilted my head.

”Fourth-level?” I asked softly, barely managing the words.

”Not anymore,” he replied with a gentle smile. ”After you inspired me, I pushed through and achieved fifth. Now, I’m the strongest healer east of the mountains, until you hit the Divine Throne that is.”

”Oh.”

Something about his strong, firm tones stirred my memory, and I shifted, trying to get a better look at him. Yes, I remembered now. This was the place I first cast Restoration. And Fyren had been here when...

My eyes filled with tears at the thought of the large, broad-shouldered man. He was gone, now, as was everyone else. Korra, the one who had returned, had never found me. She likely never would.

”Where is your slave crest? I can’t imagine Lord Byron would see you freed,” Rodrick asked hurriedly, taken aback by the sudden tears. He patted my head gently, and crooned soothingly, doing everything he could to distract me from dark thoughts.

”I’m free,” I whispered. My hand instinctively tightened on my staff, which was feeling somehow radiating a sense of pride.

He covered his mouth and coughed lightly, then used the same hand to rub his chin. ”In any case, would you wait here a moment? I have something for you.”

I nodded duly and leaned back, resting my head on the hard, wooden back of the pew. The next thing I knew, Rodrick was shaking me awake, his face a mask of concern. My cheeks felt wet, and I realized I’d been crying. That wasn’t unusual, as I often awoke to find myself drenched in sorrow, but it felt particularly poignant right now. Aurle was dead, and Fate was gone.

He cleared his throat and took a seat beside me, awkwardly patting my knee. He held a yellowed envelope in his other hand, the flap open to reveal a single paged letter. A slight bulge in the envelope teased some small items contained behind the page.

”A few months back, I received a letter from the Divine Throne. It was from a priest named Thron, who claimed to be the head librarian. He said someone would come my way that would need this ring,” he said, fishing through the envelope and raising the item causing the bulge.

I gasped, recognizing the simple band of silver as a spatial item. Rodrick set it in the palm of my hand and closed my fingers over it, pressing the warm metal into my flesh. I stared at it for a long moment, my chest so tight I couldn’t breathe. Thron. The old man’s face was reduced to a hazy memory, but the loving, grandfatherly care he showed me remained sheltered in my heart.

”Forgive me for being presumptuous, but I can only assume he meant you. I heard what happened at the Divine Throne, and how you were denounced as a hero. I can only imagine what’s happened to you at the hands of Lord Byron, and I hope this helps you on your way.”

I stiffened, my tail curling anxiously around my leg. ”You know? Then why...?”

He smiled, smoothing a lock of crimson away from my face. ”Not everything’s about heroes and demons. Regardless of what else you’ve done, you saved dozens of people in this city, and helped me in more ways than I could repay through a lifetime of service. The least I could do is hold a letter and give you a place to rest, even if it’s only temporary.”

I nodded slowly, then turned my attention to the letter in the envelope. He slipped it out and handed it over to me. My hand shook as I turned it over, gently unfolding the parchment. It felt old and fragile, smelling of musty tomes. I inhaled deeply and closed my eyes longingly. The familiar scents clamped around my heart, causing me to ache with nostalgia, brushing the cobwebs from my memories. Just how many hours had I spent pouring over spellbooks and tomes?

Finally bringing myself to open the page, I stared at it blankly. The entire parchment was a mass of complex lines, dots, and squiggles, completely nonsensical in every way. I had the vague sense it was writing, and that I should be able to read it, but just trying made my head hurt.

”Is something the matter?” Rodrick asked, taking in my creased brow and agitated tail.

”I can’t read it,” I mumbled, absently twisting my fingers around the tip of my horn.

”That’s strange,” he replied, stroking his chin, ”All heroes should be able to read and speak any language.”

I froze, slowly raising my head to meet his gaze. The emptiness that had plagued my soul since Fate disappeared gnawed at me, making itself known once more. Being a hero brought many subtle blessings with it that helped one adapt to the world. The tongue spoken locally happened to be a dialect my demonkin host body was familiar with, so I had failed to even notice.

I held the letter out, helplessly pleading with my eyes. The middle-aged priest smiled gently and took it, eyes darting as he read over the first few lines. He cleared his throat and began to read.

”Xiviyah, I expect this letter will make it to you sooner or later. I write this not knowing what to say or how to say it, only that I must, and that the words will come. It is as though Fate herself guides my hands.

”Shortly after your trial, I came across a rather familiar satchel. It was pure chance that it crossed my path, but I think luck had little to do with it. For some reason known only to the gods above, and to my shame, I betrayed my rather conservative nature and stole the contents. Only afterward did I recognize the belongings, and have enclosed them in the spatial ring accompanying this letter. I have added to them a bit, with the hopes of preparing you for any circumstances you find yourself in. Also included are several tomes I believe will help you in your spell-casting progress, namely an advanced book on runes and eighth-circle magic. It is my understanding you achieved seventh level previously, so I hope this was an appropriate assumption.

”Finally, I feel the need to reassure you. Despite what the church thinks, or what you may have done, you hold a special place in my heart. I know Selena felt the same. We collaborated on obtaining the staff, but it was she who took the blame. I still don’t know how they caught on, but I suspect it was a revelation from the Sun God himself. Regardless, she has fled the Divine Throne and returned to her people. Should you ever find yourself near Sylvarus, the kingdom of the elves on the northern continent, be sure to visit. I am certain she will welcome you with open arms.

”I have not forgotten you, Xiviyah, nor will I ever. No matter what the church or gods say, I look upon you as my own family and love you as I would any of my grandchildren, were they still with us. I expect I shall be unable to meet you again before old age claims me, but I pray to whatever god will listen you are safe. May you find happiness and learn to smile. Thron.”

Thron’s words seeped into my heart and soul, soothing the bitter scars left by countless betrayals and trials. Tears welled up in my eyes, only spilling over as Rodrick fell silent and folded the letter.

He hadn’t forgotten me. That phrase alone meant more than all the kind words in the world. And Selena! Ever since the Sun God manipulated me into revealing her as the thief, I worried constantly. Hearing she was safe, and that she felt as Thron, filled me with relief.

Never before had I been so grateful to be wrong. I had assumed everyone abandoned me, hating me for what I was and had done. But even in the starless night, there was hope. Fate may have been gone, but she fulfilled her promise. I was free.

No sooner had Rodrick replaced the letter and handed me the envelope than the entire world trembled. The threads of fate trembled, not to the degree black that cracks appeared, but still showing signs of instability. Even without looking, I could feel the waves of power emanating from somewhere high above the city. The Gate was breaking.