The Forsaken Hero

The Heart of Haven was quiet. The small fountain, bearing my likeness, burbled gently, like the small streams of Heartland. I sat before the state, sitting with my legs tucked up the side, unconsciously mirroring its pose. With a wave of my hand, I summoned my staff, resting it horizontally across my lap.

It had been weeks since I’d consciously sought the Oracle of Eternity, but it leaped at my call. Darkness broke across my vision, dragging me into my soul space. I focused on Aerion, Elise, the council–anything that might get me a glimpse of what lay ahead. Fate responded, weaving the starlight into a vision.

Blinking back stars, I looked around, finding myself in an unfamiliar courtyard. The walls were thin and graceful, more ornamental than even those protecting the Ellenwinter Estate. The building itself was smaller than the typical mansions, built from worked stone. Pillars supported soaring arches on the exterior, with sculpted mouldings. Tall panes of stained glass windows nestled within the arches. They literally glowed from within, emanating such mana that it made the air swim like I was looking underwater.

”A cathedral?” I whispered, tilting my head slightly.

I couldn’t think of what else it might be. No noble wealthy enough to afford such an opulent building would live in the outer city, nor have a manor this small. The guards on duty were numerous, but they wore no affiliate sigils. More than that, however, I could think of nowhere else, save perhaps the casting of a ninth-circle spell, where I’d felt this much mana concentrated before. I’d never visited the Cathedral of Duskwood, for the elves refused to let anyone associated with the demons anywhere near it, but this must be it. There just had to be a shard inside that building. Moreover, someone was using it.

As I drifted around the courtyard, catching my bearings, I drew close enough to the squad of guards watching the gate to hear their conversation. At first, it sounded like idle chatter, but I soon pricked my ears, my interest piqued.

”Damn, those bastards are everywhere these days,” one of the men said, nodding to the street.

The others muttered their assent, and I followed their glares to see a woman crossing the market, holding a child’s hand. She was a commoner, dressed in a plain cotton dress, with a handkerchief tied around her long, brown hair. There was nothing that would warrant that kind of derision, so why would...oh. My eyes narrowed as I saw it. It was barely visible across the distance and through the market, but there was a crimson thread woven around the fringe of her handkerchief.

Almost half our home guards bought into their lies,” another said, spitting on the ground. ”All of ’em young deluded fools who can’t understand their place in the family.”

”Half?” the first raised an eyebrow. ”We’ve got maybe thirty percent. If that. Still too many, but I hadn’t heard it was so bad.”

”Probably because you’re assigned to the primary estate, not a vassal house,” a third chimed in. ”I can’t imagine many would be caught dead wearing something like that with Lord Ellenwinter walking around.”

”Not just you guys,” another said. ”We’ve got an infestation of ’em at the Yuile House. Guess we’re distant enough a vassal of the Splitbark to give them a little courage. I think every single member of the garrison, and about half our guards, wear crimson.”

One groaned. ”I knew it was a mistake to let that Sunsinger bastard in with the military. What was the commander thinking, putting him in charge? They’re all idiots for falling for his lies.”

They all shook their heads, muttering about the ignorance of the youth. I turned, sensing nothing more to glean from them, when a powerful soul caught my eye. I whirled back, my tail going rigid as I found a sixth-level being wearing a black cloak wandering through the market. None of the guards had noticed him, of course, but he stuck out like a sore thumb to my eyes. His path seemed random, but every time he stepped around a bickering shopkeeper or running child, he always ended up closer to the cathedral.

And there was a second, and a third. More kept appearing, all with their aura and appearances hidden. The other elvish commoners began to edge back, perhaps sensing something in the air. The guards were no different, letting the conversation die and straightening, looking around warily.

”The hell?” one muttered, frowning as he finally noticed something amiss. ”What’s with all the ack–”

He choked as an arrow sprouted from his throat. I recoiled at the spurt of blood, covering my mouth to suppress a scream. The others stared in shock before spinning on their heels, grabbing for their swords. A black-cloaked figure darted forward, drawing a narrow dagger from somewhere in his sleeve and plunging it into the back of the nearest guard. It pierced his gleaming armor effortlessly, slipping in and out with barely a shriek. The guard was as quiet, screaming in pain and falling to the ground, vainly reaching for the wound, trying to staunch the flow of blood.

”Attack! To the East Wall!”

The alarm finally went up as more black-cloaked figures rushed the gates. They kept coming from the panicked crowds, like ants emerging from their nest. Five, ten, twenty...I quickly lost count as they engaged the guards, slaughtering the second and third level men in a matter of seconds.

I shifted into the courtyard. Panicked soldiers ran everywhere, retreating from the walls and forming into loose ranks. I hadn’t realized just how many guards there were before, or that there seemed to be low-level church soldiers mixed in with them. There was even a sixth-level inquisitor.

Dark shapes dropped over the walls, rising with their auras unfurled. More took position above the parapets, knocking arrows and choosing their targets. Of the attackers, not five were weaker than fourth-level.

”Identify yourselves,” the inquisitor snarled, taking the front with his sword. ”Who the hell dares attack this sacred place in the light of day?”

An arrow streaked at him from an archer on the wall, but the inquisitor casually deflected it with his sword. It stuck into the ground, vibrating violently.

”Fine, have it your way. Kill the intruders,” he said, pointing his sword at the black cloaked figures.

The guards rallied to his cry, charging forward. The black cloaks scattered, forcing the soldiers to spread out through the courtyard, easy pickings for their archers. They were fewer in number than the cathedral’s defenders, but the sheer gap in power was eerily similar to what I’d witnessed between Fyren and Luke. Even for the rare few who dueled those with the same strength of soul, the warriors in the black cloaks humiliated their opponents, showing off a wealth of experience that could only have been earned in constant, life-threatening combat. The guards, most of whom were raised in the security of Duskwood’s walls, simply couldn’t compete.

Out of the melee, a single black-robed figure emerged, stalking alone toward the last line of defense, formed before the inner gates of the cathedral. His soul was in the beginning stages of the sixth level, yet he held his aura in check. The inquisitor lifted his sword, sheathing it in sun magic.

”I won’t allow you to interfere with the ritual,” the inquisitor growled.

”You can’t stop me,” the figure said, throwing off his cloak.

I gasped as I recognized the elf. Or rather, his mismatched eyes. One was a deep sapphire, the other startling green.

”How did you know? None was informed of this visit,” the inquisitor asked.

”Did you think yourself masters of this city, that none knew of your whispered secrets and schemes? You are but interlopers, a poison as bitter as the most savage demon.”

”Oh? And who dares claim to defy the gods?”

”The night of your reign is over, broken by the Crimson Dawn.”

Esvitt lunged forward, his blade clashing against the inquisitors. The fight was short and brutal, and despite the Whitemarsh noble being weaker than the inquisitor, he easily forced him back. More of his companions broke through, joining him in battling for control of the entrance.

But as Esvitt raised his sword above the inquisitor, he froze. Light exploded behind us, erupting from the stained glass windows of the cathedral like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. The ground trembled as it grew brighter, transcending the brightness of the sun. My chest tightened as I sensed a familiar aura rising within, and I retreated a step, struggling to suppress the urge to flee.

One by one, black cloaks and guards stopped fighting, their struggles meaningless in the face of overwhelming power. They turned, shielding their eyes against the glare.

The doors burst open, blown off their hinges by a surge of aura. It gripped the courtyard with an iron hand, knocking everyone to their knees. Those who remained conscious gasped for breath, their faces pale and bodies trembling uncontrollably.

A figure emerged from within the cathedral, hovering on wings of pure, translucent light. It was male, wearing silver armor with gold detail, and a long, two-handed spear with a blade that resembled a curved sword rather than a traditional spear head. It wasn’t his face that I knew, but the feeling of his soul, and the angelic amulet hanging around his neck. For the second time in its history, an Arbiter had set foot in Enusia.