The Forsaken Hero

Korra stood over the fallen High Inquisitor, her shoulders slumping as adrenaline gave way to exhaustion. Gayron moved beside her, his winking out one by one like embers. She turned to him, offering a weak smile, before her gaze drifted over his shoulder, falling on us. She stiffened, her expression sharpening.

I offered a small wave, unable to muster the heart for a smile. It hurt to see them looking so worn down and weary, standing amid the dead as they were.

”The hell are you doing here? I thought we told you to stay away!” Korra shouted, storming toward us. Gayron sighed, shaking his head as he trailed after her.

”Korra, she’s the one who brought me,” Victor said, catching her with a hand on her shoulder.

Korra shook it off, turning her glare on him. ”Yeah? About time you started doing something useful! Get bored of moping around after your precious church betrayed you?”

Victor flinched. He opened his mouth to respond, but R’lissea stepped between them, her expression stern.

”This isn’t the time or place. Aerion and Selena are still fighting.”

”And Luke,” I said.

They all turned to look at me, and I blushed, ducking my head. ”He is,” I mumbled.

”Right. Well, you’re safe for now, and that bastard’s dead,” Korra said. She nudged Evlon’s body with her foot, a flicker of satisfaction crossing her face. ”Come on, let’s see what’s left of that Tribunal.”

”Wait, where’s Fable?” I asked as we turned toward Aerion.

”He left the moment we grounded the last skyship,” R’lissea said. ”I think he went to help Luke.”

”And he didn’t tell me?” My lips curved in a slight pout. If Luke had needed his help, why hadn’t he said something in the Nexus? Or had he asked Fable specifically?

Before I could give it any more thought, a sudden burst of aura rippled through the courtyard. We ran to the source, finding Aerion crouching beside a kneeling Lord Ellenwinter, his sword plunged in his chest. Crimson blood dribbled from the blade, pooling beneath his rich, satin robes. Aerion leaned forward, whispering something in the dying Lord’s ear. Whatever he said caused the elf’s eyes to widen, and he slumped over, the last of his life leaving him. With a grunt, Aerion ripped his blade free and rose, turning to a small group of nobles and soldiers huddled tightly together against the gates of the Grove.

”What have you done?” Lord Splitbark, hiding in the back, cried when the last light left Lord Ellenwinter’s eyes. ”What violence have you brought to our people? How many are dead because of your ambitions?”

Aerion stalked toward them, aura lashing around him like a thunderhead. The group shrank back, the guards lifting their weapons, struggling to resist the weight of his aura.

”Aerion, wait!” I cried, but he didn’t seem to hear me.

With a slash of his sword, he cut through several of the guards with windblade, letting their bisected corpses tumble to the ground. Lord Splitbark backed up, the rest of his retinue abandoning him and fleeing to the sides. He bumped against the wall, his back arching as Aerion’s sword came up to his throat.

”You can’t kill me,” he said, a tremor in his voice. ”I’ve never once ordered any to raise a hand against you or your house. I can overlook Lord Ellenwinter’s death as self-defense, but any more is--”

”What? Unnegotiable?” Aerion’s smile showed teeth.

Lord Splitbark swallowed. ”My house manages the majority of the finances and trade for the entire empire. If you kill me now, can you even comprehend the ramifications? Tens of thousands within Duskwood alone will starve in the first few months, never mind the countless villages and towns that depend on our travelling merchants. And what of the military you turned against us? In the wake of a civil war, looting and bandits will be as thick as flies around a corpse. DO you think the garrisons will continue to follow someone that can’t keep them equipped, fed, or guarantee safety for their families?”

Aerion’s blade hesitated, the tip quivering an inch from his neck. I touched my own throat, shivering. How many times had I found myself in this very situation?

”Listen to me, Lord Sunsinger,” Lord Splitbark pled. ”Whatever new kingdom you imagine, you’ll need my help to manage it. I’ve the wisdom of a thousand years of merchantry and trade. I’m willing to strike any bargain to see it so. I’ll surrender the management of all our properties and assets. I’ll order our entire house and all our vassals to take every step necessary to guarantee the success of Sylvarus in the days ahead. There’s no reason for us to be enemies when we can be allies. Without the stubborn Ellenwinter’s interfering, and together with the Whitemarshs, we can build Sylvarus anew--”

”You still don’t get it, do you?” Aerion asked softly.

He pressed the blade a little closer, drawing a line of blood. I could feel the tension, see the subtle shift in Aerion’s stance that sent chills down my spine.

”I beg your pardon?” Lord Splitbark gulped.

”’Us’ and ’them,’ ’houses’ and ’vassals.’ What are those but an illusion you’ve forced upon our kingdom? With a blade at your throat, can your house do anything? Though you had a thousand soldiers between us, would they matter one whit? In this world, the real one, only two things matter right now. Not Sunsinger and Splitbark, but me and you.”

”I-I don’t understand,” the lord said, wincing as the blade dug deeper.

”And you never will.” Aerion’s smile was a cruel, feral thing. ”You were right, by the way, about everything. Sylvarus is in for many hardships, and thousands more will likely die. But it will be the pain of an ingot in the forge. I owe it to our people a hundred years from now to purge the impurities now, to cut the rot out at the root. Your poisonous lies die with you, old man.”

”You monster...” Lord Splitbark gasped.

”Monster?” Aerion’s voice was a soft, deadly whisper, the word rolling off his tongue like he was tasting it for the first time. ”Perhaps you’re right.” A chilling smile touched his lips. ”But in this night, it’s only monsters who’ll still be standing when the sun finally rises.”

He drove the blade home without ceremony, effortlessly piercing the ancient elf’s throat. Lord Splitbark collapsed, clutching at the wound as blood pulsed between his fingers, gasping his final breaths. Aerion stood over the fallen lord long after he’d stopped twitching, his sword sheathed in blood. The remaining nobles and soldiers stared in horror, frozen in place by the brutal finality of it all. He turned his gaze on them, his eyes cold and hard as granite.

”The old ways are dead,” he declared, his voice ringing across the courtyard. ”No more will Sylvarus be bound by the weak, supported by the illusion of law and tradition. For too long, we have labored under the weight of our past, sacrificing our progress for the sake of comfort and stability. But no more!”

He raised a fist to the sky. ”In blood we have come, and in blood we shall remain. Let us honor the sacrifices of the dead by building a kingdom worthy of them. A kingdom where lords are chosen by merit, and kings by strength. A Sylvarus where every man and woman has the right to choose their own fate!”

The hundreds of soldiers in the courtyard responded, raising their own swords and shouting with him, their crimson threads standing out in the evening light. I shivered, a cold dread coiling in my stomach as their cheers filled the evening air. They chanted his name, their devotion to him as clear as their hatred for the lords who had ruled them for so long.

”Our work is not done,” Aerion said, slashing his sword through empty air, flicking the blood from its edge. ”Our brethren and sisters continue the fight without us, tearing down the last bastions of the old ways. Go, my friends, and bring them news of our victory. Bring aid and mercy to the helpless, the innocent, and weak, for they are our own now. But make no mistake, for those who oppress us, who seek to poison our land, bring nothing but the sword. For the Crimson Dawn!”

They roared back their approval, a wave of sound so loud it shook the very foundations of the grove. He turned to watch them go, their armor glinting in the fading light as they raced from the courtyard.

As the last of them departed, the only ones left were the members of the Sunsinger house, their guards, and us. As the last of their cheers faded, Aerion’s aura vanished, and he slumped, catching himself on his sword. The facade of strength and confidence crumpled, replaced by a hollow exhaustion that seemed to age him decades in the space of a heartbeat.

Lady Whitemarsh rushed to his side, her face a mask of worry. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, her touch tentative, as if she feared he might lash out.

”It’s done,” she said. ”But are you certain that was the right choice? Keeping Lord Splitbark alive would have been beneficial for the--”

”What use is a blacksmith who only knows how to forge chains?” he asked, pulling away from her. ”What is a merchant who has spent a lifetime poisoning the very food he sells? I meant every word, Lady Whitemarsh.” Suddenly, he groaned, touching his shoulder. ”But by the gods, I hadn’t known that bastard Ellenwinter kept up with the sword. I might not have been so arrogant to call myself the strongest swordsman if I had.”