The Forsaken Hero

I awoke lying on the ground, soft shoots of grass tickling around my ears. Sunlight bathed me in gentle warmth, broken by soft shadows that wove before my face. The wind sighed in my ears, carrying the rustle of leaves and the clear chirp of birds. It was quiet and peaceful, and for a time, even the constant throb of the Sunpurge faded away. I allowed myself, for a time, to soak it in without daring to open my eyes, afraid that the moment I did, it would vanish into the cold steel and stone of dungeon walls. If this were a dream, I’d rather not wake up.

Something stirred beside me. A moment later, a long, polished shaft slid into my parted fingers. A tingle raced through my fingers and down my arm.

”Go away,” I muttered, trying to push away the staff. ”Just a little longer.”

But it persisted, rolling itself against my palm and vibrating urgently until I groaned and opened my eyes. Sitting up, I looked about and found myself nestled in an ancient forest. The air was crisp and clear, the breeze cool against my skin, carrying a lingering winter chill. Spring had long since come, and was nearly gone, on the southern continent, meaning this could only be the northern. Or even some other place I’d never heard of, though that seemed unlikely.

The trees were gnarled and old, with chaotic twisting roots and trunks thicker than I was tall. Fresh leaves clothed the burly branches, which stretched high overhead to form an erratic canopy. Vines curled between bushes and trunks, mixing with the spring shoots to form a soft carpet. A thin stream wound through the forest not ten feet from where I sat, trickling over moss-covered roots and rocks.

The staff hummed in approval as I crawled over to the water and drank. The crystal water was frigid with the spring thaw, shocking the lethargy of the teleportation from my system. Conscious of my shaky legs, I used the staff as a crutch and raised myself to my feet. I was barefoot, but the dirt and new growth were soft against my soles, giving slightly beneath my weight and creeping between my toes. I sighed contentedly, my tail brushing the tips of the grasses, and stretched.

My soul felt alive and free, swaddled in the warmth of Fate’s lingering divinity. The demonkin woman said that would fade soon, which would deprive me of my abilities. My soul would return to its fractured state, exactly as it had been a month after the Curse Demon shattered it. The Inquisitor’s amulet held it in stasis ever since then, enslaving me with endless torture at the hands of those accursed threads.

She’d shown me the spell the Curse Demon used to heal Elise, but it was fifth-circle. It would take months to accumulate that much power on my own, and even then there was no guarantee of success. I would have to modify the spell on my own, which wasn’t a task I was unfamiliar with, but still incredibly daunting.

When it came to the soul, I had learned the hard way a mistake could cripple, or worse, kill. The tortured groans of the Last Light Company rang in my ears, driving the message home. I had meddled with powers I didn’t understand, and nearly killed them all. If it weren’t for experimenting with the wolf only the night before, all of our souls would have been lost to infernal corruption.

The staff shook, breaking me from my thoughts, and I realized I’d been gripping it with white knuckles. It broke free of my grip and pulsed gently, swaying side to side as though it were impatient.

After sorting through the spatial ring, I found a pair of my old travel boots, worn and in dire need of oil, but still functional. Slipping on a pair of stockings, I drew on the old leather boots and tightened the laces. It had been months since I’d done any walking beyond what was required of a maid, but they still fit perfectly. They’d been broken by hundreds of miles on the road and felt practically molded to my feet.

Only a fraction of the divinity remained, but it seemed no less energetic, rapidly leading me through the woods. The trees, which had seemed so calm and tranquil, showed a different side. Branches tore at my hair and clothes, and roots rose to catch at my feet. Occasionally, I had to grab and hold my tail close so it didn’t drag across brambles or particular rough patches of bark. Every so often the staff came to a floating rest, pausing just long enough for me to catch up before slipping through the woods once more.

After nearly an hour, my body felt ready to give out. My legs trembled in exhaustion, and my breath came in erratic pants. Dozens of scratches covered my bare legs and shoulders, with several deep enough to draw lines of beaded blood.

As I crossed a particularly wide glade, filled with blooming blossoms and soft grass, the staff shuddered and floated to the ground. I stumbled forward and caught it, holding it lovingly as the last drops of the divinity slipped away.

”Goodbye,” I whispered, stroking the polished wooden runes carved beneath the crystal on the top. The gem glittered with inner starlight, resonating with my soul. The swaddle of divinity began to dissipate, exposing the jagged fractures.

I hissed, sucking in a sharp breath as the familiar pain washed over me. The last few hours had been blissfully peaceful, a slight lull in the exquisite fires that kept me company. It was a staunch reminder that although I was free, the storms had yet to pass.

As the staff grew lifeless in my hands, a deep sense of loneliness settled into my heart. I was far from anywhere and anyone I knew, alone in the wilderness of the northern continent. The demonkin woman’s words echoed in my mind, urging me to wait until ”she” found me. I had no clue who that might be, but I felt an instinctive sense of trust and certainty. She would come, fate willing, and I would be ready.

Encouraged by the thought, I grasped the staff tightly in my hand and peered about. A few distant trails of smoke rose into the sky, faint against the evening sky. A village, or perhaps a town, judging by the amount of smoke.

Just the thought of meeting people sent a thrill of anxiety through me. My body ached with a thousand phantom lashes, and my hands instinctively began to shake. I was alone and helpless. What if there was someone like Lord Byron there? Whether they wanted to kill, torture, or force themselves upon me, I would be at their mercy.

It was an irrational thought, not everyone was evil and wanted to hurt me. I wouldn’t survive on my own, not without food, water, and shelter. But even that understanding did little to calm my fears, and I hugged the staff, tears gathering in my eyes.

I found myself staring up at the sky, beyond the trails of smoke. The first stars twinkled in the scarlet sky, ushering in the night. They were dim and quiet, mere sparkles on the horizon, but they resonated deep in my soul. I couldn’t stay here forever. I could only believe Fate had guided me here, and wouldn’t abandon me now. So, taking their comforting light as a guide, I gathered my courage and started toward the village.

The village lay low in a valley, surrounded by rugged mountains and thick forests. The mountains here were nothing like those bordering the Kingdom of Radia, seeming almost tame in comparison. Their slopes were gentle and cliffs barely more than graded gravel pits. Countless rivers coursed through the terrain like icy veins, carrying frigid meltwater down to the lowlands.

What had seemed so close turned out to far, far further than I anticipated. The ancient woods transformed in the black clutches of night, dark and foreboding even to my demonkin eyes. The roots and branches that had previously hindered my progress now felt malicious, clawing at my weakened body like skeletal fingers. The warmth of the sun vanished with the light, and the late-winter chill wrapped around my scrawny, malnourished flesh, penetrating deep into my bones. The thin, ragged slave dress did little more to warm me than thoughts of food filling my shrunken stomach.

A wolf howled somewhere in the distance, a lonely, drawn-out cry that faded off into the depths of the night. Several seconds later, another followed, and then another. Soon, they echoed all around me, drawing ever nearer as the minutes passed. They sounded feral and desperate, bearing the same merciless viciousness I’d found in slavers and demons.

Doing my best to ignore the prickling fear creeping up down my spine and tail, I clutched my staff tightly and stumbled through the trees, ignoring the branches tearing long scratches across my flesh. Occasionally, one glanced off the Sunpruge, sending a blinding burst of black dots across my vision, but, blinking away the tears, I pressed on, heading for the village. Wolves were afraid of fire, and the villagers would surely have measures to drive them off, right?

Gradually, the crisp scents of the forest gave way to the hot, ashy haze of woodsmoke. Coughing as the smoke stung my lungs, I peered through the branches, just making out faint trails of embers drifting through the night sky. My ears twitched at the distant barking of a dog, no doubt upset by the frequent howls.

Dark shadows flitted at the edges of my vision, stalking toward me until I noticed, then retreating behind the gnarled trees. Were those wolves, or simply my imagination? Whatever the case, the shapes grew bolder as I drew nearer the village, lingering just long and close enough that I began to tremble, small whimpers pressing through my frozen lips.

The howls surrounded me in all directions save the village, and I caught occasional flashes of glowing red eyes or the glint of white teeth. They should have caught me by now. There was no way they couldn’t have. What were they being so patient for? Were they just enjoying the hunt? Watching the last, feeble protests of their prey?

But I refused to give up, to let the crippling fear and apprehension bring me down. The trees began to thin, scattered farmland appearing on either side. I hastened onward, forcing what little strength remained into my legs. I crested a hill, and there it was! A smattering of houses on the outer rim of the village, windows flickering with welcoming light. Somehow, despite all odds, I had made it.

And during that small, distracting moment of hope, the first wolf struck.