The Forsaken Hero

The next few days flashed by, filled with new faces and experiences. After another talk with Helron, Bilev, the innkeeper, begrudgingly allowed me to remain in the room, albeit with the promise I would pay him back once I became an adventurer.

That was unfamiliar water for me, but I had no one to confide in. Money had never been a concern until now. Heroes received things as ”gifts,” and slaves were lucky to receive whatever scraps their masters remembered to give them. Trithe had once offered to take me shopping, claiming it was a delightful experience shared between women, but it had somehow never happened.

I was on slightly firmer ground when it came to adventuring. According to Soltair, our journey was nothing short of an epic adventure, and we were exemplary adventurers. But here, they seemed to talk about ”adventurers” as an occupation, or at least a structured job. Helron was a guildmaster, which seemed to be a position involved in organizing various requests and parties. With the little I gleaned from Tana and Sorrin, adventurers were ranked by their power and experience and allowed to take on specific quests for money. It wasn’t quite the romantic portrayal Soltair always talked about, but it seemed fairly simple and reasonable to me.

At first, I was reluctant to commit to anything of the sort, as it increased the risk of exposing myself. But, if I wanted to recover, I would be forced to continue using magic, which meant being known as a mage. Rather than a solitary, unpredictable threat, wouldn’t it be better to embrace it? For the first time, I would be able to support myself with a real job and honest money, without selling myself or relying on the mercy of others. It was an opportunity for a new type of freedom, one I was unexpectedly eager to explore.

Tana and Sorrin left with Helron early in the week, returning to gather the rest of their party. Like other adventurers, they were based in Heartland, but frequently traveled all through the surrounding region, hunting monsters, gathering materials, or escorting merchants. It was a week-long journey to Heartland from Westfall Village, which gave me plenty of time to prepare to meet the party.

Ever since that first excursion, I made it a point to get out of the inn for a few hours every day, walking around the village and enjoying the sun. Occasionally, I’d venture out into the forest, although never in the direction I arrived from, and I always returned well before nightfall. But even with all my caution, there was a constant feeling of being watched, which left me perpetually uneasy.

On the fifth day following the adventurer’s departure, I was in the forest, meditating on a stump. The spring weather was mild, with hardly a cloud in the sky, and I spent at least as much time soaking in the warmth as cycling mana through my soul. The dungeons of High Valley and the Divine Throne were cold and damp, and I found simply bathing leisurely in the sun nearly addicting. A slight breeze ruffled my long, scarlet hair, gently lifting the silky strands from my shoulders and splaying them in the air behind me. Even the Sunpurge felt cool, and the constant ache of my soul was hardly noticeable.

Taking hold of my staff, I gathered my mana and began to cast, weaving small, intricate runes as easily as breathing. They didn’t form any particular spell, simply drifting through the air like dandelion seeds for my own enjoyment. Combined, they held a portion of the mana needed for a first-circle spell, but it was all I could muster at the time.

”Starlight!”

The sudden, childish voice scattered my thoughts, and the glittering runes popped like bubbles. Opening my eyes, I caught sight of a young Foxkin boy, perhaps ten or eleven, standing at the edge of the small clearing, watching me with wide eyes. Behind him, a girl of the same race, a year younger, tugged at his shirt, clutching a string doll in her other hand. They shared the same rusty hair color and hazel eyes.

They spoke Beastkin, and were children from one of the three Beastkin families living in Westfall Village. Although I was nervous around their parents, these two could somehow put me at ease, and often visited while I practiced or took my walks around the village. The boy was called Ror, and the girl Sari.

Resting my staff in my lap, I met their curious gazes. ”Yes?”

”When’s Sorrin coming back?” The boy asked, running up and plopping down in front of the staff. ”He’s supposed to teach me how to be an adventurer!”

”An adventurer? Why would you want to be one of those?” I asked, slightly tilting my head.

”Isn’t it obvious? So I can be strong, just like him! He’s already fourth-level you know. He said one more quest, and he’s going to be promoted to Gold rank!”

”That’s right! And Tana’s supposed to show me some magic,” the girl added.

Her shy nature did little to quell the excited wag in her tail, and watching her try to pin it down warmed my heart. It hadn’t been so long ago I was the same, though that felt like a lifetime ago. Now, I just felt heavy and tired, my every breath tinged with longing sorrow.

”Aren’t you an adventurer too?” the boy asked suddenly, ”Did you ever kill a dragon? Sorrin says they’re the toughest things in the world!”

My breath fell short, my hands tightening around the folds of my skirt. ”Yes,” I managed to whisper through the tautness of my chest.

It wasn’t the memory of the dragon that weighed on me, but what it had done, what it had taken. The dragon had allowed the Curse Demon to appear, which set in motion the events that led to the shattering of my soul, the cause of my heroic fall and full enslavement, and Fyren’s betrayal. My heart squeezed in pain as I thought of the tall, broad-shouldered warrior, his massive greatsword on one shoulder, and his hand extended toward me. He’d promised to protect me, to stand by me no matter what. I didn’t care if he were a demon, angel, or whatever his amulet made him, I simply longed for his comforting presence.

”Please don’t cry,” Ror said, puffing out his chest. ”Even though dragons are scary, I’ll get strong enough to protect you. That’s a promise!”

I froze as the girl crawled onto the stump, her knees against mine, her small face creased in worry. ”Me too! I won’t ever let anyone hurt you again!”

”Again?” I asked, brushing a tear from my cheek.

Sari nodded emphatically and reached out a hand, pressing it against my chest. I froze, shocked by both her unexpected touch and the warmth flowing from her tiny fingers.

”Right here,” she said, ”I can see it. Like the purple vase, only it’s glowing.”

”Hey, didn’t I say sorry already? How was I supposed to know it would shatter?” the boy protested.

She stuck her tongue out at him, making his ears lay flat against his head in irritation. A surreal warmth blossomed deep in my heart, and I felt the corners of my lips twitch. Even bickering, their eyes sparkled vivaciously, filled with a deep love. The siblings were closer than anyone I’d seen and were never more than a few feet from each other.

”Does your mother know you can see things like that?” I asked.

The little Wolfkin girl nodded, smiling up at me. ”Yup! She said I shouldn’t...oh.” her face fell. ”I, um, shouldn’t tell anyone, or they might try and hurt me.”

”Don’t worry,” I murmured, smoothing a lock of hair out of her crestfallen face. ”I won’t tell anyone. I’m like you, actually. I can see things others can’t.”

”Really?” She brightened immediately, leaning forward until she practically climbed into my lap.

”That’s right. And you should listen to your mother, or you really will get hurt.”

”Like you?” Her eyes were as wide as saucers.

I flinched, my tail stiffening and eyes growing wet once more. ”Just like me.”

They stayed there for another hour, talking, laughing, and running around the clearing while I sat and watched. Something about the boy’s mannerisms struck me, teasing a long-suppressed memory from the recesses of my mind, of another boy and his little sister.

”Ror, what would you do if Sari were in trouble?” I asked.

”Save her,” he answered immediately. Caught by the solemnity of my voice, the two settled down, sitting before the stump again.

”But what if she was cursed and you couldn’t? What would you do to save her?”

Again, the answer was automatic. ”Anything.”

”And What if it meant asking a demon for help?”

”A demon?” Sari asked, her ears lying flat in fear.

Ror scrunched up his brow, looking at me evenly. ”I thought I said ’anything.’”

His surety caught me off guard, sending small butterflies scattering through my stomach. ”And would you hate the demon afterward?”

”Of course not! Not if she saved Sari, that is. I might be afraid of it, because everyone knows demons are evil, but I couldn’t hate it. Unless it tried to eat us afterward. Then I might hate it.”

”You... wouldn’t hate it?” I whispered, barely audible even to their beastkin ears.

But that boy in the village had hated me! I could see it in his eyes, from the way he scowled and reacted once he saw my horns. Even though I had saved his sister from the basilisk’s curse, he had rejected me with the rest of the village, condemning their cursed to death. And Why had the Brithlite nobles rejected me? And the other heroes? And what about the priests and mages in my early days at the Divine Throne? Why...why did Fyren leave? Why did Soltair abandon me?

The questions swirled around in my mind, growing louder and louder until I squeezed my eyes shut, tears streaming down my cheeks and sobs rocking my shoulders. They had to hate me. They had to. Else...why did it hurt so much? Why was I so alone?

Demons are evil.

Ror’s words, uttered just seconds before, reverberated through the darkness. Demons are evil. Demons are feared. Demons are hated. And I was a demon.

No matter what I did, or who I became, nothing would change that. It was my blood, tail, and horns. It was the touch of Fate coursing through my soul, the power of a fallen goddess. That was simply who I was.

”You’re not a demon,” Sari said, reaching up to touch my cheek. Her fingers came away wet with my tears, and she hesitated. ”Well, at least, I guess that’s what you are. But this...” she said, pressing her hand against my breast, ”this is who you are. And I think that’s different.”

The girl’s words bore the weight of her sole decade of experience, drawing a line that only a child could. The shadows in my heart tried to dismiss them, drowning them out with a host of self-deprecating truths. I was hated, I was forgotten, I was worthless, I was-

”Loved.”

Fate’s voice cut through my anguish, bringing with it memories of Thron’s warmth, Korra’s smile, and Elise’s tender hand. Of the loyalty of the hundreds of soldiers I’d fought beside, and the gratitude of ten thousand men, women, and children I had healed and protected.

I wasn’t a demon, slave, or even a hero. I was a girl lost in the dark, hurt, scared, and alone. The thought was strangely liberating, as though I’d finally begun to understand myself. Sari, in all of her innocence, was right. It wasn’t about what I was, but who I was, and, perhaps more importantly, who I could become.

It wasn’t much, simply a slight thinning in the murk of my darkness, but it was enough to reveal the next step. It beckoned to me, but I hesitated to take it. It would mean leaving the comfort of my sorrows and traveling into unfamiliar territory. It would mean change, with all of its pain and suffering.

Somewhere in the shadowy confines of my soul, where sorrow ruled and terror reigned, a single link in the endless chain of despair broke. I couldn’t stay here. I couldn’t give in to the hopeless despair of the past, where even the slightest touch caused me to flinch. My memories were a prison as sure as any warehouse, my trauma as heavy as any metal. And so, I had to take it, that first, small step. I would be free.