The Forsaken Hero

The trial was being held in the Great Chapel, bathed in the light of the Shard of Omniscience. The eight gargantuan statues of the main gods of this world stood as sentinels, silently judging the proceedings. Their eyes seemed to bore into me, filled with condemnation. Even Fate’s visage felt cold and distant, so very different than the warm, loving woman who had held me close during the night.

But perhaps this statue was more accurate, anyway. Fate claimed gods never lied, but what had she done if not abandoned me? Our meeting gave every impression as a last farewell, the goddess’ tears being proof. She claimed to care for me, to sorrow at my pain, yet she had sent me to Enusia believing full well my life would end the moment I was taken from the cage in the warehouse.

Immersed in my own despondency, I scarcely noticed the gathered masses. The Pope and his Fathers sat on a raised dais overlooking the chapel, their backs to the shard. Inquisitors lined the massive room, their white robes stark and pure, acting as guards for the trial. Hundreds of priests, mages, and influential figures acted as witnesses, forming a sizeable crowd running from the dais to the doors. Judging by the bustle and noise beyond, they extended well into the hallway as well. I knelt before the dias, eyes downcast and tail curled defensively around my knees, surrounded by faces. Some were curious, even sympathetic, but the majority bore nothing but hostility in their gazes.

Elek, the arbiter, leaned against the Sun God’s statue, standing imposingly with his arms crossed. He was fully dressed for war, with his great sword strapped to his back, looking fully out of place amid the affluent finery of the draping silks and ruffles of the other attendees. Even the priests wore their finest, dressed as though they were attending a royal court as opposed to a criminal’s trial.

I hurriedly looked down as he noticed my gaze, his eyes burrowing into my soul, shivering at my vulnerability. Denied my mana through the Soul Binder, I was without the protective power of Adaptive Resistance and the Eyes of Fate, wholly exposed to anything I might be subjected to. That should have terrified me, but instead, I found myself empty and numb, caring little for what should befall me. If anything, I wished they would end this farce and do as they pleased. It wasn’t as though they intended to hold a fair, honest trial, anyway.

At long last, the Pope stood, raising a hand to quell the scattered whispers. ”It is with heavy hearts,” he began, ”that we assemble here today, to witness and judge the deplorable behavior of one of the gods’ chosen heroes. But in this time of war, we will do what we must. Grand Inquisitor Korvin, you have been charged with this investigation. Please present your findings.”

That was it. There was no preamble, no pleasantries, only a gravity and conciseness fitting the situation. Korvin, the one who deceived me into surrendering my soul, descended from the dais, moving before me and addressing the crowd. His presence filled the room, giving all a sense of his grand majesty and ninth-level power. His face and tone were solemn and official, in sharp contrast with the wily, vicious fanaticism of the man in my memories.

”I shall begin by ensuring the credibility of this trial,” he said, holding up a ring. ”Fate Hero, I hereby strip you of all previous commands and obligations by the slave crest, removing all potential possibilities that your words are not your own.”

The slave crest flashed, acknowledging his command and leaving me as free as I’d been since receiving the crest in the first place. But that ended a moment later, as he said, ”Speak only when spoken to, and reply on with yes or no unless specifically directed. In that case, answer any question fully and completely, providing only information that is relevant to the inquiry.”

The crest lit up once more, binding my tongue. With that one command, their intentions became crystal clear. They now controlled the conversation, removing any chance I might say something to weaken their arguments. They could set up, lead, or otherwise direct my responses without much effort, ensuring my own words would condemn me.

But the same question I had the night before came back to me, only this time stronger. Why? Why go through all this effort? I was but a mere demonkin, a slave at that. Very few had had any sort of real connection with me, and while they might protest, surely their influence was lacking compared to a direct order from the Sun God.

Grand Inquisitor Korvin cleared his throat, casting his gaze around the encircled masses. ”I do not wish to waste time, so I shall begin with an issue we are all familiar with. Half a year ago, one of the Divine’s precious artifacts was stolen. By the time we tracked down the thief, they had fled, but we have since recovered the whereabouts of this stolen artifact, which is, itself, of priceless value.”

The crowd murmured, looking between themselves in consternation. Divine Artifacts were every bit as holy as the Shard of Omniscience, and even speaking of one improperly could lead to severe punishment. Stealing one...that could only mean death.

”Through thorough investigation and the voice of the Divine, we have learned that the Fate Hero is an accomplice in this crime, even going so far as to wield it in plain sight. I ask you, Fate Hero, are you currently in possession of a stolen Divine Artifact?”

”No.”

My quiet, terse response stunned the chapel. The Grand Inquisitor’s glare stabbed through me, radiating such intense hatred my entire body trembled. But the damage was done, that one word had undermined any momentum he had established. Nobles and priests looked at each other, baffled, falling into intense, whispered discussion.

”Explain,” Korvin spat through gritted teeth.

”How can I steal what belongs to me?” I asked, raising my head and staring him in the eye. ”I am the Fate Hero. It is my right and duty to wield the Staff of Fate. You can no more take it from me than you could the Holy Sword from Soltair.”

”Insolence!” a short-haired female inquisitor shouted, ”you dare to claim what the property of the Divine?”

Korvin shot the woman a sharp look, silencing her, but didn’t disagree. ”You are a filthblood slave. You own nothing, not even your own soul. To say otherwise is to scorn the mercy of the gods, who, for reasons known only to them, spared your worthless life. As such, you have no right over the Staff of Fate, and could only have used it as they specifically permitted. But you received no such permission from the Divine nor their spokesman, and thus possess it illicitly.”

With that, he seemed to regain some of the audience, and the Trial progressed once more. Korvin brought forth several more claims, many of them falsified or grossly misinterpreted, ranging from the killing of the priests in the upper halls of the Divine Throne to the choice I made to abandon the Fire and Undead Heroes in the Ice Demon Gate. Occasionally, they would ask a particularly condemning question, specifically singling out a single aspect or choice I made, and then proceeding to spin my answer as they wished. By the time we reached the final accusatory point, even Elek, who had watched the hours-long trial stone-faced, regarded me with wariness.

”I believe it is clear by now,” Grand Inquisitor Korvin said, leveling an accusatory finger at me, ”that this filthblood has acted purely on selfish, corrupt desires. But there is yet one more thing I am duty-bound to share. To even think of it burns my soul, that one called as a hero sent from the gods could stoop to such evils, but I must reveal the truth.”

There was only one thing he could be speaking about, but that shouldn’t be possible! No one else could know! A heavy sense of dread settled in my stomach, and I closed my eyes, feeling sick. No one else save one...

”Through investigation, I obtained witnesses that spoke of the Fate Hero’s participation in the battle for the Western University. Tens of thousands of students, civilians, and mages were slaughtered by the foul schemes of a powerful demon and his demonkin cult. Eyewitnesses have confirmed the presence of an infernal dragon, which initiated the attack and led to the death of one of our most powerful and loyal mages, Slivera. But despite all of those horrors, there was one more factor that caused more damage and death than all others combined. Moments before the Sun Hero slew the demon, a final, devastating spell descended upon the city. That spell was an infernal version of the seventh-circle fate spell Mana Storm, one known to have been studied and successfully cast by the Fate Hero just days before. Although I have confirmed and reconfirmed it many times, this truth must come from the source itself. Fate Hero, are you responsible for that catastrophic spell?”

My entire body trembled as the slave crest flashed, forcing my tongue. ”Yes.”

A stunned silence descended over the chapel, every eye focused on me. I deflated, my tail sagging, and closed my eyes. Moisture gathered on my eyelashes, a small token of the seething storm of despair writhing within me.

But the Inquisitor wasn’t finished, rending my heart in twain with his next question, something he shouldn’t have known to ask. ”And did you truly give your soul to a demon?”

”Y-yes,” I whispered, a single tear trickling down my cheek. No matter how much I desperately rejected it, there was only one possible explanation. Elise had betrayed me.

And the light within died, snuffed out like a candle in the wind.