The Forsaken Hero

No matter how many times my eyes tried to tell me, I fought them. It just wasn’t possible. But the truth remained clear before me, as undeniable as the sun. The city was gone.

Not just destroyed, or razed to the ground, but gone. Our little bubble bobbed up and down in the air, floating above a massive caldera-like crater. The last remnants of the Starfall flitted through the air like the shimmer of a hot day. The bottom of the crater was a mass of glowing rock, melted and glassy from the absurd levels of energy released upon the impact. Deep chasms fractured out of the epicenter, running through the crater in jagged, dendritic patterns.

It was the scale of it all was beyond comprehension. The crater itself devoured the entire topography where the town stood, with a radius well over a mile. The sizzling bottom was hundreds of feet below us, a hazy bowl of dust and flickering magical residue. The river that flowed through the town was nothing more than a distant memory, with even the evaporated clouds of steam consumed in the blast. The impact created a shockwave so powerful it leveled anything taller than an ant for dozens of miles in all directions. Trees coated the nearby mountains, lying flat on the mountain like slicked-back hair. The entire sky was clear of clouds, and countless white fires blazed across the shattered landscape.

”Beautiful, isn’t it?” The woman asked, leaning on her staff and peering at the devastation with shining eyes. ”I never tire of the sight.”

I nodded wordlessly, still struggling to wrap my head around it all. Mana laced the air, a lasting residue that would linger for years to come. The gap between ninth-circle magic and even the most powerful eight-circle spell was wider than that between the heaven and the earth. If a sixth-circle spell affected a town, then a ninth changed the world. Even the Divine Throne, with all of its protections, walls, and priests, would vanish and fade into memory if it were struck by such a spell.

”You’re not supposed to be here,” I finally managed to whisper.

She nodded, lips curved in the faintest of smiles. ”Yeah, Enusia wasn’t meant to bear something like that. But sometimes,” she said, casting a sidelong glance at my staff, ”Fate has a strange way of betraying itself. There is no ”supposed to” in the weave of time, only what is. No force in existence can change fate, save it was part of the calculation before it began.”

”You sound just like her,” I murmured, running a hand over my horn. Hearing she wasn’t permanently gone brought some comfort, but did little to assuage the loss gnawing in my heart.

”Perhaps. But regardless, it is time you depart. They will be coming soon.”

She didn’t have to specify who. A spell this powerful toyed with reality itself, something every ninth-level presence would feel. The balance between such powers was delicate, and they worked diligently to keep each other in check. If one spell could do so much damage, I shuddered to think of what a rogue caster could do. They would undoubtedly be here to investigate, and that was likely a scenario I would fail to survive.

”I wonder if I can take a few down before my time ends,” she mused, idly stroking her horn. ”I have about five minutes before her divinity dries up, so I should be able to kill at least that Bearkin. ” She shook herself, breaking free of her reverie. ”But let’s worry about that later. First, I’ll send you on your way.”

”Wait,” I said, taking a deep breath and looking at the epicenter of the crater. It was so quiet and empty, almost unsatisfyingly so. Not a single trace of the Slave Lord or his warehouse remained, banished to the pages of history. Was he really gone? I glanced at the woman and found her humming in satisfaction, eyes closed and a blissful smile on her face. I released a pent-up breath and took her hand in mine. ”Thank you.”

A distant boom echoed in the distance, and the doppelganger floating in the sky turned toward it, her staff glowing. The demonkin before me pulled me close for one final hug, her lips soft against my forehead. A sense of peace pervaded my heart, flowing through me like warm, gentle water.

Vaguely, I was aware of magic circles spinning around us, and a flow of divinity from the dwindling supply contained within the staff. She drew away, leaving a loving whisper behind.

”Remember, you can’t give up. Live and fight until you’re free, until you can smile. Wait for her, and the path will become clear.”

The spell resolved, and I shifted as the unique sensation of teleportation took hold. The world folded up and my mind dissolved into light. The last thing I saw was her gentle smile, shining with the promise of a better, freer tomorrow.

No sooner had the twisting jerk taken hold than I found myself in darkness, alone with my thoughts. The day had moved far too quickly for me to keep up with, with Aurle and Fate’s deaths, freedom from the Slave Crest, and Fate’s divinity. But was I really free? After a year and a half of slavery and suffering, it was an impossible thought.

Something the demonkin woman said kept coming back to me. ”Live and fight until you’re free.” I had a sinking suspicion of what she meant, and the implications were daunting. There was only one thing binding me now: the Sun God’s curse. But was that something I could be freed from?

When it all began, Fate said it was a Divine Curse, which meant it drew directly upon the Sun God’s power. It was curse magic, that was certain, but could Adaptive Resistance ever truly free me from something so strong? The limits of the world were ninth, which seemed to place a hard limit on my growth.

Yet at the same time, the demonkin hadn’t held any sense of pretense or guile, but honestly believed it would happen. I had wished for the impossible before, and it had happened. Was this not simply one more thing that required faith? Fate had sacrificed the last of her power to free me. I owed it to her to see this through. If it were meant to happen, it would, and if not, I would have tried my best to live up to her hopes.

Mere moments after the resolve settled into my heart, ribbons of light sprang up out of the darkness, weaving together and creating the familiar world of a vision. Fate was gone, and my soul was too weak to sustain the Eyes of Fate on its own, which meant this could only be a gift from the Divinity. But what was so important it would expend its limited power to show me?

The picture became clear, and I recognized the towers and battlements of Viriden’s keep. A sudden swell of emotions swept over me. This was the only city that had embraced me for who I was, not reviled me for what I am. We fought beside their soldier to close the very first gate, the memory of which I held close to my heart, a constant reminder there were still good people in the world.

It didn’t take long for me to notice the signs of destruction. Long, wavering scorch marks squirreled around every southern face of stone. Wooden constructions, as well as plants and trees, still smoldered, with the smaller ones reduced directly to ash. Every window, save those reinforced by magical enchantments, was shattered, leaving glittering fragments scattered across the ground.

Half of the courtyard had been set up in a makeshift hospital. Maids and servants rushed through across the blackened flagstones, arms loaded with linens. Hundreds of injured, and just as many corpses, lay strewn about on makeshift stretchers, filling the air with their collective whimpers, groans, and screams. Lord Griffon stood tall in the courtyard, a dark look in his eye. His very presence had a calming effect, seeming to bring order to the chaos.

”Have we identified the source of the attack?” he asked one of his confidants.

”No, my lord,” the man replied, brow creased with worry. ”But all three heroes went in that direction. You don’t think-”

”We must have faith in the divine. At the very least, we are fortunate the aftershocks have died off. I wasn’t certain the town could take a fourth.”

Lord Griffon stiffened, looking up at the sky. A moment later, his eyes narrowed and he released his aura. Unlike Lord Byron, who had wiled away his hours playing with his slaves, Lord Griffon was an accomplished general, a six-level warrior in his own right. His power swept across the courtyard, alerting everyone to some yet unseen danger.

A heartbeat later, a figure slammed into the ground, shattering paving stones and creating a small crater. Guards rushed forward, leveling their spears at the rising clouds of dust and the shadowy silhouette within.

”At ease,” Lord Griffon said, raising his hand.

The soldiers relaxed, and a collective gasp rolled through the air as Levin stumbled free of the dust. He was burned and bloodied, and missing most of his armor. His back was a mass of blackened, cracked skin, rapidly scabbing as his heroic recovery kicked in. He was panting heavily, a motionless body slung over either shoulder.

”What happened, hero?” Lord Griffon asked, striding forward, a hand on his sword.

Levin looked up, a wild, terrified shadow in his eyes. He fell to a knee and dropped Soltair and Ronin, neither looking any better than he did. It was likely only due to his absurd defenses he managed to last this long.

”A-are they....?” he gasped, staring duly at their bodies.

One of the healers approached and laid a hand on Soltair, turning him over so he faced the sky. The mage recoiled at the hideous, crackling energy roiling over the Sun Heroe’s shoulder.

”Alive, for now,” he muttered, ”But I’ve never seen a wound like this. It’s a lot like corruption, only worse. What kind of monster did you face?”

Levin shook his head, taking a few deep breaths to calm the panic evident in his expression. ”I-I don’t know. She was strong. Stronger than anyone I’ve seen. She pulled a star right out of the heavens. No chant or anything, it was just there!”

”Where was the gate?” Lord Griffon asked abrptly.

Levin’s face fell further, if such a thing were even possible. ”Where High Valley used to stand.”

”Used to?”

”It’s gone,” the hero replied flatly. ”All of it.”

They continued to question Levin, but their voices died away, as did the clamor of the courtyard. The world burst into ribbons of light, which slowly dissolved into darkness.

Why had Fate’s divinity shown me that? So that I would know Soltair was alive? The thought that he might have died was like a knife twisting in my heart, but seeing him survive brought me no comfort. He had deceived and betrayed me. Had he not carried me from the warehouse, I would have died that die, so very long ago. I could have been spared all the pain, suffering, and anguish, all the tears and loss. Fate had said I was meant to die that day, that my very existence was an accident.

But had I died, I wouldn’t have met Thron or Korra. I wouldn’t have saved Elise. And now I was free. A thousand dreams I hadn’t dared dream flowed through my mind. The demonkin’s words returned to me, even as darkness arrived to claim my consciousness. I had a promise to keep.

I would learn to smile.