The Forsaken Hero

A/N: Once again, I feel obligated to provide a warning for the contents of this Chapter. It contains dark and graphic themes. Reader discretion is advised.

The Sunpurge shivered, sending waves of agony through my body. In response to \ the excruciating pain, my eyes shot open, and I distantly heard myself screaming. The abrupt awakening left me bleary-eyed, my mind in chaos. My wrists ached, and an unfamiliar weight hung about my neck. As my vision cleared, the blurred colors sharpened into an unfamiliar face, barely an inch from mine.

The man’s eyes were bloodshot and sharp, twisted with hatred, and illuminated by a dying candle on the other side of the room The man’s hot breath flew in my face, choking me with its stench. He was wrinkled and mature, with flecks of white staining his gray hair.

”You’re finally awake,” he snarled, removing his hand from my shoulder.

I groaned in relief as the pressure left the Sunpurge, allowing me a moment to clear my mind. I was chained up in a large prison, likely beneath the citadel. My hands were raised above my head, and a thick collar tethered me to the wall. I was suspended to the point I was forced to strain to prevent the manacles from digging into my wrists. I wore the same dress I had during the fight with the Curse Demon, although now it barely qualified as ”rags.” The original color had been lost behind crimson stains, and several jagged rips threatened the integrity of the garment and my modesty.

There were five other demonkin chained up beside me, Their bodies were bruised and cut, with fresh streams of blood crisscrossing their skin. They lay on the ground, restrained by only their collars, although I could make out two empty sets of manacles above each of them. Although they were unconscious, their muscles occasionally twitched in pain.

The man grabbed my chin, jerking my head back, staring me in the eye. ”IF you don’t want to end up like them, answer my questions. How did you manage to slay Slivera?”

I looked at him, straining my mind to understand his question. ”K-kill Slivera? I didn’t have an-”

A sharp crack rang out. Everything was black for a second, and when I came to, I was staring at the wall, my cheek smarting. A single, reflexive tear trickled down my cheek, tracing the outline of a bruise already beginning to form.

”How did you disable the Heart?” he asked coldly,

”I-I’m not one of them! I’m Xi-”

Another crack, this one on my other cheek. My face and neck ached from the force of the blows, and my head lolled limp down. From my new perspective, I could make out the robes of a professor, along with the Dragon House badge.

”Lies. You were clearly involved in the attack. Why else would you have been found in the square with the other surviving cultists? Students of my house failed to identify, meaning you’re not a student, and these horns,” he grabbed them, yanking me roughly to stare him in the eyes again, ”prove your true nature.” He raised his hand, and a flame appeared in it. ”And I’ll make sure you pay for every humiliation you’ve forced us to suffer.”

I started at the magic in shock. I couldn’t see them. I couldn’t see anything. As I tried to open the Eyes of Fate, my soul blazed with the pain of a thousand cuts. With that crushing realization, I realized I was alone. The overwhelming sea of Infernal Mana had broken my soul into a thousand fragments, leaving me bereft of mana, abilities, and any sense of security.

Ever since I left the warehouse, I had never felt so powerless or vulnerable before. Tears welled up in my eyes, overflowing to stream down my cheeks. Judging by the cruel grin in the professors ’ eyes, my identification as a cultist was no accident. Was this some sort of twisted revenge for humiliating their house?

What was even more terrifying was that I was still here. Judging by the sore ache of my muscles and the hunger twisting my stomach, I’d been unconscious for several days, at the very least. So where was Fyren? How had Soltair not found me? I could feel the persistent tug of the slave crest, pulling somewhere above me. He should feel the same. Surely, if he were looking, that would lead him to me. The draw wasn’t incredibly specific, but with its rough guidance, it shouldn’t take this long to search the city.

Suddenly, the flame drew closer, hovering near my face. I strained my neck, trying to pull away from the scorching heat, but could only scream as the fire licked at the pale flesh of my cheek. Tears hissed the moment they left my eyes, evaporating instantly. It had been long since I’d tasted the heat of fire, but now, I had no Adaptive Resistance to hide behind.

”That’s enough, Forgen,” a woman’s voice came from somewhere behind him. ”You’ll kill her at this rate. Her body’s barely first level, at best.”

”Fine,” he grunted, pulling the fires away.

I sagged against the chains, unable to stop the sobs that wracked my body. After a few seconds of reprieve, the professor continued to interrogate me on details related to the attack. But, no matter what answer I gave, he accused me of lying and used some form of violence: both physical and magical, to torture me. From blade to curse magic, it seemed he was more interested in relieving his pent-up fury with my screams than anything else. Occasionally, the woman, who remained hidden behind him, would reprimand the professor before he went too far.

Several long, brutal hours dragged by leaving me a broken mess hanging weakly from the manacles. My dress had been torn off at some point, leaving me exposed to his punishments. Countless small burns, lacerations, and bruises covered my body. Trails of blood streaked across my body, coursing down my limbs and dripping onto the floor.

When at last the professor grew tired, he pulled away, casting a spell to clean the blood splatters from his robes. ”I’ll leave you here to think, for a while. You’d better have satisfactory answers when next I return.”

He turned and began to stride away, hands folded peacefully in his robes. The woman raised her voice, sounding a little surprised. ”Aren’t you going to release her from the manacles? Those are only meant for use during interrogation, after all.”

”No,” the professor replied, ”I don’t think I will.”

The two retreated, still arguing the point. Their voices disappeared as the iron-bound oak door closed, plunging the room into darkness. The individual injuries blurred together, creating an oppressive darkness that crushed my mind, leaving me broken and defeated, unwilling to imagine so much as resisting. As the hours crawled by, all hope of escape dwindled.

Every so often, a few drops of water escaped the ceiling above, dripping onto my face. The entire room seemed to leak, but such moisture was scarcely enough to stave off dehydration. Hunger gnawed at my stomach, and my wrists and shoulders began to burn, stressed by the uncomfortable position forced by my chains. Countless times, I reached for the comforting solace of my mana, only to find myself barren, alone.

Occasionally, I was startled from the murky darkness by the salty taste of tears, which seemed to come and go without reason. Whenever I managed to doze off, nightmares and visions plagued me, and I often awoke screaming. But no matter what happened, or how many days passed, the door never opened. After a while, many of my wounds began to heal, while others burned hot, showing signs of infection.

The other demonkin were in much better shape but kept mostly to themselves. They constantly looked at me, staring at my exposed body, but I couldn’t tell if it was from lust or curiosity, as though wondering why a stranger had been thrown in with them.

My only sense of time was provided by the consistent drip from the ceiling. I wondered if they knew about it, or if they had intended to let me die of dehydration and Fate was still looking after me. At some point, I began counting the drops but lost track when the first bead of blood broke through the chafing on my wrist, trickling down my arm. It curled past my bicep, dribbling down my back and leg before dropping to the ground.

Days later, when footsteps finally sounded outside the door, dozens of such streaks stained my body, layering upon the scabs and partially healed bruises that remained. My hands and shoulders had long since lost feeling, but then again, so had the rest of me. I lacked the strength to so much as raise my head as the padlocks clicked and the door swung open.

The oppressive silence shattered with Soltair’s cheerful voice. ”This should be the last one. But I’m not sure what she’d be doing down here with the cultist prisoners. I mean, maybe she really did just-what in the hells?”

Shock and horror filled his voice, and I groaned weakly, hoping to draw his attention and praying he recognized beneath the layers of blood and filth. My eyelids fluttered weakly but refused to open. The other demonkin stirred, similarly weakened by starvation. Footsteps drew near, followed by Soltair’s horrified gasp.

”X-Xiviyah? Trithe! Get in here!”

”What is it? Aren’t they just the demonkin prisoners?” More footsteps, soft, and light, before Trithe’s whisper reached my ears. ”Gods above!”

Hands grabbed my wrists, and the manacles shattered like porcelain. No longer supported by the weights, I collapsed like a doll into a pair of strong arms. My flesh exploded with tingles as blood rushed through neglected veins, and several of my cuts began to ooze pus and blood, disrupted by the motion.

”What happened to you?” Soltair gasped. I felt the folds of a cloak wrap around me, sticking to my bloody flesh.

Another demonkin squealed, and I finally succeeded in opening my eyes to slit. Trithe’s blurry form clutched the cultist by the neck, raising him off the ground. ”Why is Xiviyah here?” she demanded.

The demonkin shook limply in her grasp before stammering, ”I-I don’t know! They brought her here after us and interrogated her as well.”

”Then why is she nearly dead and you’re alive?” She emphasized her words by squeezing his throat tightly.

Gasping for air, the demonkin grabbed at her hands weakly. ”They just tortured her for no reason! She wasn’t even with us, but he seemed to take pleasure in breaking her, torturing her until she couldn’t answer.”

Trithe dropped the demonkin, allowing it to collapse, its chest heaving. Soltair lifted me, looking into my trembling eyes.

”You’re okay now,” he said, pulling me close to his chest. ”I’ve got you.”

As we departed the dungeon, Trithe turned to him, creasing her brow. ”Why didn’t she just escape?”

”I’m not sure. At first, that spell would have suppressed her mana, as it did ours, but at her strength, it should have recovered by now.”

Vaguely, I registered their words. Moving unconsciously, I reached for my soul, shivering as the long-forgotten sensation of warmth pulsed, tantalizing, yet out of reach. The mere brush with my soul sent a shiver of pain through my body. My soul had healed some, but the damage I suffered from the sea of Infernal Mana had yet to disappear completely. But even beyond that, there was a slight pressure in the air, threatening to disrupt my soul the instant I touched my mana. Even in my current state, I recognized it as the discordant field created by dispel magic. Had someone cast the spell recently? What confused me further was that we were still below ground, likely in the dungeon. What kind of situation required a dispel magic there?

Moments later, bright light streamed through my swollen eyelids. Fresh, clean air invaded my nostrils, washing the stagnant dust from my lungs. The soft, warm light of the sun, whose touch I had nearly forgotten, caressed my skin, bringing tears to my eyes.

A voice, kind and gentle, unforgettable, split the air in a scream. Elise.

”Xiviyah!”