The Forsaken Hero

I clasped my hands together against my chest, feeling the rapid beat of my heart. Levin was going to help me. We could save Korra!

”Don’t get all starry-eyed yet,” Levin grunted. ”Heal me first, then I’ll see if there’s anything to be done. I’m not running a suicide mission, not if it compromises my image as a hero.”

He was right. It was too soon to celebrate. There was no guarantee I would be able to heal his soul, or that we could rescue Korra from a High Inquisitor. But, even so, I couldn’t keep my tail from twitching as I took a few shallow breaths and calmed myself enough to activate the Oracle of Eternity.

My eyes glistened with starlight as the world opened up before me, the stars of fate appearing as glistening dots woven through reality itself. Turning my gaze to Levin’s soul, I was assaulted by the cruel, twisted scars entwined around his soul, crippling and suppressing his mana.

It was fascinating, not in a good way, but like a devastating forest fire or tornado, gripping my attention until all else faded away. Entranced, I stood and slipped around the table and reached out to him, laying a hand on his chest, hardly even noticing as he stiffened in surprise.

The damage done to his soul was far greater than anything I’d seen before. Levin’s soul had completely rejected the infernal mana, and was relatively unhampered on the inside. It was totally different from Fable’s scenario, where he had begun to fuse with the energy, warping and twisting, becoming something new. Humans couldn’t evolve with infernal mana, not like animals or monsters. Instead, they just hurt.

The closest thing I’d ever done was healing the infernal mana from my own and the Last Light Company’s souls. But this was on an entirely different level. The infernal mana had only just begun to settle in, while here, it was rooted deep and unshakable. Elek the archon, one of the few allies of the Sun God who cared enough to stand up for me, said healing infernal corruption was all but impossible.

But I had created the spell for it, a third-circle piece based on the fragmented experience I’d accumulated. All I needed was to adapt it to Levin’s soul and pray it worked. If it didn’t, Korra would be forever out of reach.

Levin shifted uncomfortably as I remained motionless for several minutes, studying him intently. His soul was powerful and nuanced, infinitely more complex than the soldiers of the Last Light Company. His abilities complicated the issue, bundled up tightly within the constraints of infernal corruption. They overlapped the natural cycle of mana and winding complexities, making learning his soul twice as hard.

After nearly twenty minutes of silence, Levin coughed and rested one of his large hands over mine on his chest. ”Are you even doing anything?” He asked gruffly.

I blinked and looked up, taking a second to remember where I was. ”Y-yes, I’ve almost got the spell ready. Just give me a few more seconds, and...there.”

The first time I used this spell on Fable, I nearly lost my identity and personality entirely, merging with Fable’s. Souls were extraordinarily delicate, and any spell that interacted with them in any way required built-in safeguards to protect that vulnerability. I’d managed to revise it to the point it worked, but this time, building on my experiences, I increased the spell’s power by adding another magic circle. The full effects and impact of the spell were far from certain, and its efficiency was certainly lacking, but it was the best I could manage without years of research and development.

My fingers curled against Levin’s chest as I summoned my mana and began to cast. He shifted uncomfortably as unfamiliar streams of mana flowed into his soul, weaving between the cracks in the sheath of infernal mana, slowly breaking it apart. His soul was like an arctic ocean, merely the surface frozen over. If I could just break up the ice, the waves and current would do the rest.

Everything went smoothly until his grip on my hand tightened painfully, a low grunt escaping his parted lips. ”Xiviyah...” He hissed, ”What the hell are you doing to me?”

”Just hold on a little longer. It’s going to hurt, but it should work,” I pled, wincing as his fingers dug into my flesh.

”Should?”

I ignored his protests and pushed on, invading his soul with more and more of my mana. Slowly, but by bit, it began to crack and wither, attacked from above and beneath by our combined efforts. At long last, the entire shell shattered, and Levin threw back his head and screamed. I cried out as his grip crushed my hand, my bones groaning and squealing as they ground together.

”Levin, please! It hurts!”

”So do I!” he bellowed, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Somehow, I managed to squirm my way free and collapsed backwards, my tail lashing in pain. He writhed in his chair for what felt like forever, pleading and groaning for the pain to stop. And at last it did, leaving him slumped in the chair, his chest rising and falling with exhausted pants.

”Is it done?” he whispered duly. ”I can’t...not again...”

”It’s done.”

His shoulders rose and fell with a heavy breath and he slowly straightened. A moment later, the strained cycles of his soul lit up, and his eyes shot open wide. A powerful pulse of aura rolled across the room, striking me with an incredible weight, knocking the breath from my lungs. His soul gleamed amid the ruined shards of infernal mana, which crumbled and dissolved from the inside out, leaving his soul bright and clear. His body was still twisted and scarred, and his soul to some degree, but the worst of the corruption was gone.

”It still hurts,” he said, voice tainted with a hint of condemnation.

”That might never go away,” I whispered, pressing a hand to my chest. I’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be at peace, to be free of the pain.

Levin nodded and took a deep breath, then looked at his hands, frowning. ”And this?”

”I’m...not skilled enough with Life Magic,” I admitted softly, gazing at the thick, veiny scars lacing his hand. ”Perhaps R’lissea or a Life Mage could do something, but I’ve done all I can.”

He stared at his hand for a moment longer before clenching it into a fist. ”It’s enough,” he muttered. ”I can use my mana again.”

The room seemed to tilt slightly, the edges blurring at the corners of my vision, and I staggered back, sinking into my chair. Levin glanced at me, his eyes flicking to my tail, which curled limply around my ankle, heavy with exhaustion. Healing Levin had consumed much of my concentration and focus, leaving me vulnerable to the darkness I’d barely kept at bay. It was like a dam had broken, the terror of the previous day, and my fear for Korra, coming crashing down all at once.

”You alright?” Levin asked. He peered at me uncertainly, cold eyes warned by a flicker of concern. It was the first time he’d looked at me with anything other than contempt or indifference, a crack in the facade of a broken hero.

”I’m fine. Just a little tired,” I said. ”Please, can we save Korra now?”

He shifted comfortably, his eyes scatting away from mine and latching onto the table, as though it were now the most interesting thing in the world. ”Well, you see, uh...alright, here’s the deal. Those are inquisitors. I’m sure they have Korra’s best interest at heart. They’re part of the church, after all, the people we’ve been fighting beside for years now. I’m a hero, Xiviyah. I can’t afford to jump to conclusions and attack our allies. The consequences would be too great.”

From the moment he refused to meet my eyes, a cold, clawed hand gripped my heart. It grew tighter with every word, squeezing until my breath left my lungs and the heavy weight of dread settled in my stomach. I’d never fully trusted Levin, yet this betrayal burned like the blade of an inquisitor, piercing my tender heart. My tail twitched once, then fell still.

”But I...I healed you,” I whispered, broken. A single tear trickled down my cheek.

”And I’m grateful for that.” His eyes wandered around the room, studying the table, walls, even the scars on his hands. Anywhere by me.

”I-I couldn’t heal everything...but I tried my best. Was I not enough?” I practically sobbed. ”Please, we have to save Korra!”

He fidgeted, twisting his hands together, rubbing his scars. At last his shoulders slumped, and he finally met my gaze. His eyes were wet and haunted, sending a chill down my tail.

”I-I can’t, Xiviyah. I can’t help her, even if I had the chance.”

Another tear followed the path of the first. ”But your ability!”

He nodded and swallowed hard. ”I said I had an ability that nullifies poison. I do, and it’s working now, but the truth is, it’s a passive, personal effect. I can’t use it on someone else. Even Korra.” he took a long, shaky breath and bowed his head. ”Even if we saved her from the inquisitors, she would just die. I don’t want to watch that, not again. I’ve already lost so many friends...my whole party...I can’t. Not again.”

”But you promised...” My voice cracked in a sob, the weight of his betrayal finally overthrowing the last lingering flickers of hope.

”I’m sorry.”