The Forsaken Hero

When I awoke the following morning, the sun streamed sharply through the curtains, indicating the sun was already high in the sky. Soltair and Trithe were nowhere to be found, but a plate of pastries sat on the table, weighing down a note. It seems they let me sleep in again. As I stretched, yawning, I glanced out the window, watching the students stream by on the crackled cobblestone streets.

It had almost been a month since the attack, and the city had come a long way. Most of the salvageable structures of the campus were back in full operations, with the exception of the City Lord’s keep, which had sustained tremendous damage due to its proximity to the battle. As far as I knew, only the upper quarters, like where Soltair’s room was, and a few council chambers were still suitable for habitation. Occasionally, the entire structure groaned, shifting on its foundation, but that had mostly ceased after the construction crew magically reinforced it.

Out in the city, I could make out a few heaping piles of rubble towering over the nearby buildings. Some of them were the size of entire city blocks but were so dense even fourth-circle spells had trouble moving them. Even now, a squad of students, led by their professor, struggled to move a single monolithic boulder, one that looked suspiciously like a foot. I turned away, closing the curtains. If anyone asked, I could claim it was preemptive retribution for the ”accidental” torture I was subject to after the attack.

After dressing, I settled into a chair, pushing away the plate to uncover the note. The sweets were undoubtedly another of Soltair and Trithe’s manipulative gestures, one which I had no intention of falling prey to. But, as I glanced over the note, one somehow found its way into my hand.

The note was short and brief, instructing me to meet them at the War Council War early in the afternoon. Of course, Soltair also mentioned the pastries, claiming to have noticed how much I loved them yesterday, so he found a few for me today.

How kind of him to let me know he was paying attention to me. Huffing, I sat back, glaring at the note and imagining what kind of face he would make when he came back and saw I left them relatively untouched. As if I could accept-

I stared blankly at the plate, which was now mostly empty. My tail twitched and I ducked my head, cheeks burning. It wasn’t like it was my fault, right? It would have been a waste to just let perfectly good pastries go to waste. Yeah, that was it.

After convincing myself of the righteousness of my cause, I stowed the last few sweets in my satchel and left. My nerves hummed with anxiety as I walked down the halls toward the War Council. It was early, but there was no way I could sit still considering the weight of the next few hours. Part of me was actually excited, in a way, as Soltair promised my soul would be mended, while the rest of my mind was wary. Nothing came without a price, after all.

I found a wandering servant to point me in the right direction and came to a stop before the door, twenty minutes before the meeting began. With a deep breath, I twisted the handle and entered.

The room was fairly large, with walls more than thirty feet in length. A heavy, ring-shaped table dominated the center of the room, with over thirty chairs aligned around its circumference. Streams of light emanated from a crystal floating in the hole in the middle, building a complex map of the local topography. An elderly man sat in one of the chairs, leaning back, his eyes closed, and a lonely slant to his face.

I felt it the moment I looked at him. A faint pressure hid a power that loomed over me like a lion to a lamb. My muscles tensed and my mind slowed, my every instinct warning me back. It was the same, predatory sensation I first the basilisk and later the dragon.

He started, his droopy eyes sliding open and locking onto me. Immediately, his aura intensified, stifling my lungs and sending a tingle of pain through my soul. What scared me the most was that the old man seemed entirely unaware of his effect on me, as if it was as natural as breathing.

He opened his mouth, sending a jolt of terror through me. Was he going to cast a spell? ”D-Don’t hurt me!” I cried, my voice barely more than a whimper. My tail shivered with fright, and I tried to back away, but my muscles refused to cooperate.

He frowned, the motion drawing his aged wrinkles taught across his face. ”What are you going on about? Even if you’re a demonkin, I have no intention of purging you. Not now, at least.”

”P-please,” I stammered, the tightness in my chest making it difficult to breathe.

He raised an eyebrow before a flash of understanding illuminated his face. ”Ah, my apologies. I just returned from assisting the Water Hero at a gate, so my inquisitor’s aura is still active.”

I gasped as his pressure vanished, doing my best to reclaim my quivering muscles. After a second, the trembles subsided, and I stumbled toward the table. The mage waved his hand, and a current of air pulled a chair out for me, into which I gratefully collapsed. After a few shallow breaths, I looked up, able to concentrate on the man for the first time. He wore plain, silver robes unadorned save a simple gold embroidered rube on his breast. It took me a moment to recognize it, and my eyes widened as I recalled its meaning. Similar to the Life rune for Hope, it held no exact translation but stood for justice. The rune of the inquisitors.

”Who are you?” I asked carefully, risking a glance at his face.

He nodded, meeting my gaze impassively. ”I assumed I’d need no introduction, but your ignorance is not unexpected. I am Korvin, hand of the gods and Grand Inquisitor of the church.

”I-Inquisitor?”

”I’ve heard somewhat about you from Inquisitor Terran, although his knowledge was gained through second-hand means. He interrogated someone who knew you well, supposedly. Regardless, I can see you’re merely a shell of your former self. Considering the reported damage of the spells unleashed by the demon, I find the state of your soul rather curious. How is it your soul is shattered beyond repair while even the weaker students have begun to recover?”

As he asked his question, how eyes glowed with light, seeming to pierce right through me. It was an unfamiliar familiar, one I hadn’t experienced since unlocking the Eyes of Fate, which shielded me from prying eyes. Did that mean he could see my soul? My suspicions were confirmed as his eyes narrowed, his hand rising to unconsciously stroke his chin.

”Infernal Mana. Most curious. I’m shocked you have survived this long, but I doubt you’ll last much longer.”

”What?” I gasped, feeling my heart lurch.

”Quite simple, really. It might feel like you’re recovering, but that’s simply your soul growing numb to the pain. Judging by your current state, I assume you constantly feel pain? Do you ever wake up in the night crying? Tingles whenever someone releases their aura?

I nodded numbly, wishing more than ever I still see whatever he saw. Korvin settled back into his seat, his eyes losing their magical luster.

”Whatever that demon did tore apart your soul. Despite my feelings for your kind, I’ll admit you’ve impressed me. Even I don’t have the sheer willpower and skill to hold together a soul shattered like yours. I’ve seen much stronger than you break with a portion of that damage. But even you have a limit, and you’re going to reach it, sooner rather than later. Even if you somehow survive, you’ll never be able to use mana again.”

I stared numbly at the inquisitor, terrified as much at the prospect of being devoid of magic as losing my life. In a way, I was prepared to die from the moment I chose to accept the demon’s offer, but losing my mana was too much. The thought of being utterly empty, eternally devoid of the warmth that constantly sustained me nearly chased the fires of hope from my soul.

Korvin frowned as I teared up. ”Stop that,” he chided, ”for the gods have smiled upon you, and provided a means of salvation.” He reached into a spatial pouch and withdrew an intricate medallion fastened on a fine silver chain no thicker than twine. The medallion depicted a featureless woman wrapped tightly in chains crisscrossing her entire body from her ankles to her hands, which were stretched high overhead. ”This is a Divine Artifact known as the Soul Binder. It contains the power to bind your soul together and prevent it from collapsing. It will stall the progression of your soul’s fragmentation and allow you to use mana once more.”

The silver medallion’s polished surface shone like a mirror, scattering the light of the magic crystals in a dance of sparkles. The colorful allure left me mesmerized, calling to me as surely as any voice.

”Will it really?” I asked, pressing a hand to my throbbing heart.

”Of course. What use have I to lie?”

Managing to tear my gaze from the shining medallion, I found the inquisitor watching intently. Taking a deep breath, I asked, ”And the cost?”

He smiled, and my gaze returned to the gently spinning amulet. ”Cost? Consider this a gift for your efforts. But I feel obligated to warn you, despite my instructions, that such power rarely comes without its burdens. Due to its ability to bind your soul, you will find it particularly difficult to remove. By using its abilities, your soul will become reliant on its stabilizing force. Removing it will, in all likelihood, allow your soul to dissipate entirely.”

Taking this amulet would be adding yet another limitation to my life, not to mention tying another string to the church. Divine Artifacts were the property of the church, meaning they could retrieve the amulet whenever they desired. By embracing this gift, I would be placed forever under their hold. Was that really so different than the slave crest? Didn’t I already live by their whims?

But if what the inquisitor said was true, none of that truly mattered. Freedom only mattered if you were alive to use it. I groaned, running a hand over my horns. If only I could see my soul, or verify its state for myself. But even the lightest sip of mana sent a shiver of agony through me, leaving me gripping the table tightly.

As my expression contorted, the Inquisitor frowned. ”This gift is not to be taken lightly. The gods have decided to extend a hand of mercy to one as lowly as yourself, a bridge to cross the gap you’re rebelliousness has caused. Do not make the mistake of rejecting them, and prove yourself a traitor.”

My tail flicked agitatedly at his words. Why was he speaking as if I had options? And what was all this about mercy and forgiveness? It couldn’t be clearer to me that this was simply another method of control. But what choice did I have? At the very least, Soltair had promised to secure my life, so perhaps this wasn’t as bad as it seemed. If he were still willing to support me, then the amulet’s restrictions wouldn’t be unbearable.

Slowly, my agitation faded to resignation and I slumped in my chair, feeling powerless. ”Okay,” I whispered.

He stood, pacing around the table until he stood behind me. I looked down, gripping the folds of my skirt tightly as his hands rested on my shoulders. A shiver coursed down my spine to the tip of my tail when his thumb brushed the flesh near the Sunpurge, and again as the metal chain slipped around my neck. The medallion’s weight hung low on my chest, resting between the modest curves of my cleavage, oppressive and cold.

”You made the correct choice.”