The Forsaken Hero

”Is it true you killed high-rank demons?” The question hung in the air, brimming with awe and disbelief, before being joined by a chorus of curious voices.

”You certainly saved us with your Fire Shields, but how can you possibly cast so many spells?”

”What was the dungeon core like?”

The fire in my flesh passed into an afterthought as I was caught in the center of their attention. Soldiers came from all angles, bombarding me with gratitude and questions. My confidence fled in an instant, and I felt I would rather face down the demon hordes alone than the victorious inquiries of my allies.

I stuttered a few words, my face flushed red, and I glanced at Riven for help. The wizened archmage leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms and smiling, as though to show I was on my own. Dismayed by his deliberate distance, I faced the crowd and tried my best to engage them.

My soft, girlish voice felt out of place amid the low, noble tones of the seasoned warriors. However, their communications ceased the instant I spoke, and they listened with a reverence befitting their commander.

As I stumbled my way through conversations, I couldn’t shake the feeling of Fyren’s watchful gaze from the side, lips curved in mirth. Somehow, the soldiers had overlooked his involvement, leaving him plenty of breathing room. Traitor.

After recounting the story of our battle against the Flame Commander and his horde of demons, the topic shifted with dizzying speed. Some wondered about my origins, others about my fellow heroes, and a few about my romantic status. Given that the third usually came from older men with sly grins, I ignored it, although I couldn’t stop the red from staining my cheeks.

”Let’s have some ale!”

I’d never been so grateful in my life as when someone produced the celebratory drinks, causing the sea of soldiers to disperse. Collapsing back into my seat with a sigh, I rubbed my stinging shoulder and glared at Fyren and Riven.

”Thanks a lot,” I muttered, wiping sweat from my brow. Even on a good day, managing this level of attention would have been overwhelming.

Riven chuckled, but the lines around his smile smoothed out. ”I apologize if that made you uncomfortable. I only wanted to give you a taste of what being a hero is all about. It’s not just about the foes you defeat, but the lives you save. Every one of those soldiers owes their existence to you. The entire army does. Would it be fair to deny them the chance to express their gratitude?”

His words stirred a gnawing pit in my stomach, and I forced a bitter smile. ”Sometimes I wonder about that.” As if I could ever forget the horrified faces of the Whiteriver villagers.

Riven cleared his throat, seemingly oblivious to the dejected tinge in my voice. ”Are you feeling well enough to drink? It would be a good opportunity to form bonds with the men you fought beside. No one would forget sharing a drink with such a charming girl, and a hero at that.”

I shook my head, my desperation perhaps more evident than I intended. Yet, Riven nodded as if he’d anticipated my response. ”As you wish. However, I must insist you join us for a feast in Viriden. Although we will have to march soon, the Crimson Guard has been invited to partake in a celebratory banquet. I’m confident you would be welcomed.”

I immediately considered refusing his offer, but the warmth in his inviting gesture gave me pause, and I ran a hand along my horn in hesitation. ”I’m not sure. You’ll have to ask Soltair.”

”In that case, we’re definitely going. We haven’t had a chance to relax in weeks, not to mention a bath!”

We all turned as Soltair trudged over, his armor’s weight dragging his boots into the muck. His face lit up the moment he laid eyes on Trithe, whom he swiftly retrieved from Fyren’s arms.

Riven dipped his head in a respectful greeting. Although his words were amicable, an unspoken censure clung to his tone. ”Well met, Hero. I heard you defeated the Dungeon’s Lord in singlehanded combat. Yet, at what cost, I wonder?”

Soltair blinked, taken aback at the unusual reproach, and his expression dimmed. ”Oh, you’re right. I shouldn’t speak so frivolously when some of our soldiers didn’t make it.”

”They knew their duty, but it’s ours to carry on living without them. They died so that we might smile, after all.” From the archmage’s tone, it was clear that wasn’t it.

Baffled, Soltair glanced at Fyren and me before returning his gaze to Riven. ”Then what is it?”

Riven’s frown deepened in response to Soltair’s ignorance, prompting him to rise. Instead of advancing toward the Sun Hero, Riven moved behind me. A flicker of unease washed over me as he reached out and gently touched my sleeve, laying a hand on the burn that hadn’t stopped hurting yet. At his touch, a searing agony lanced through my body, and my surroundings dissolved into a blinding whiteness. When my senses gradually returned, I slouched in my chair, tears streaking down my cheeks. Remnants of the fiery pain in my shoulder continued to seep through my body, and I stifled a groan.

”Xiviyah! What did you do to her?” Soltair cried, leaping to his feet, his hand instinctively on his sword. Finding his arms still filled with Trithe, he lay her in a nearby chair.

”No, Hero,” Riven uttered softly. ”What did you do?”

I gasped as he pulled back my sleeve, baring my shoulder. The gentle abrasion of the cloth against my skin sent another surge of fire through me, but I forced myself to look. A harsh sunlight emanated from the charred skin of my burns. No longer concealed by my dress, it pulsed in rhythm with my heartbeat, setting my nerves aflame with pain.

”Sunpurge,” Fyren muttered, ”How did I miss that?”

Riven cast a side-long glance at the broad-shouldered adventurer, surprise dancing across his features. ”Indeed, although I’m astonished you’re familiar with it.”

”Wait, what are you saying?” Soltair interjected, his gaze riveted to glowing burns. ”Are you suggesting I did that?”

Riven caught him in a withering glare, causing him to step back. ”Are you so oblivious to your own power? Did your training omit the knowledge of why Sun Magic stands as the ultimate counter to demons?”

Soltair’s complexion paled and he staggered backward, collapsing into a chair. ”Wait, that’s Sunpurge? But I thought it only afflicted, um...demons,” he stammered weakly.

Summoning my strength, I weakly raised my head to meet their eyes. ”W-what is it? Why does it hurt so much?”

The spike of pain had been unlike anything I’d experienced, eclipsing even the smothering agony of the Slave Crest. Even now, my muscles trembled in memory of the experience, and I felt like curling up in a ball.

Both Fyren and Riven’s expressions softened at my quivering voice, and they looked at Soltair. He shied away from their gaze, but they remained silent until he met my gaze.

”Xiviyah, I didn’t mean for this to happen. I’m... I’m so sorry,” he pleaded earnestly.

”Go on, Sun Hero?” Fyren demanded coldly, ”Just what exactly did you do to her?”

Soltair eyes darted around desperately, the beginnings of an excuse gathering on his tongue. But he ultimately sighed and deflated. ”Do you remember when those priests attacked you, and I mentioned that Sun Magic is particularly effective against demons?”

I nodded, recalling how devastated I had felt after killing a few of them. Soltair had consoled me by explaining there would have been more casualties if I had reflected on any other type of magic, as Sun Magic was strong against demons but weak against humans.

”Well, as I said then, potent Sun Magic can inflict permanent harm on demons. That—” he gestured toward my shoulder ”—is what we call Sunpurge. That’s what I was referring to.”

Gingerly, I touched my shoulder, wincing as I brushed against the glowing wounds. ”Sunpurge?”

”Don’t worry. I’m sure it will get better. You can use magic to heal it and-”

Fyren snorted, silencing him with a sharp glare. ”Such naivety. Do you still believe that your actions bear no consequences? I can only blame the gods for burdening her with this instead of holding you accountable.”

”B-but most demonkin can’t contract Sunpurge, right? It’s probably just something that resembles it...”

”Would it surprise you to learn that of all people, Xiviyah is one of the few who can?” Riven asked.

Soltair looked downward, offering a nearly imperceptible shake of his head. As he reluctantly accepted the truth, I released an anxious sigh. ”How bad is it?” I whispered.

”Not dire, fortunately,” Riven replied, leaning over to examine the wound closely. ”It isn’t spreading, which means you’ll survive, but it’s something you have to live with for the rest of your life.”

”And there’s no magic for it? No spells? Nothing to make it stop hurting?” I pressed desperately.

He hesitated before meeting my gaze, as if reluctant to deliver his verdict. His indecision spoke volumes. ”I’m regretfully sorry. It no longer qualifies as Sun Magic, and thus can’t be healed. It’s like how burns caused by fire magic are just burns and not actually magic. Thus, they can’t be dispelled and must be healed with life magic. However, there is no such healing magic for sunpurge.”

”I understand,” I murmured.

”Well, that’s not to say there isn’t one,” he hastily added. ”It’s just that no one’s discovered it yet. Demonkin have been discriminated against for thousands of years, so there’s a complete and utter lack of research in the field. Maybe you or some other great Life Mage can find a cure.”

I sighed, so tired I couldn’t bring myself to think about it more. Perhaps, with time, Adaptive Resistance could take the edge off. Until then, all I could do was accept my fate.