The Forsaken Hero

I opened my mouth, about to call out to Korra, when he raised his fist. An unfamiliar ring glittered on his finger, holding a faint connection with my soul. Yet, at the same time, Alex’s still resonated with me, coming from somewhere far below where he battled the dragon. Had they created two rings? But that was the same as having two masters at once! Was something like that even possible?

”Don’t make me hurt you,” he said, ”Just surrender silently and come with me.”

I nodded, paralyzed more by his dark aura than the threat, and he stabbed his sword forward, shattering the barrier.

”Hey!” R’lissia cried out, noticing the destruction of her spell, ”Korra!”

Korra glanced over, eyes widening in shock as Soltair swept me up in his arms. Before she could react, Ronin appeared before her, raising his sword to point at her chest. Jumping back, she began feverishly casting spells, trying to break through, but the War Hero was resolute.

”Xiviyah!” She cried, growling in frustration, ”Don’t give up, I’ll come for you!”

Her voice faded behind us as Soltair leaped from the building. The air, thick with rain and wind, rushed past as we plummeted hundreds of feet. I squeezed my eyes shut, panting in fear, and clutched Soltair’s arms tightly.

We landed hard, right atop a colossal junk of stone. It shattered beneath the impact, but Soltair barely flexed his knees. High above us, the heroes’ fight continued at full force, even as the prize they fought over disappeared into the raging Typhoon. I could hear Korra’s frantic calls drifting down on the winds, but Ronin’s presence kept her from following.

Soltair didn’t seem the least bit concerned over the destruction or death of the citizens of the Divine Throne He held me against his chest with one arm and wielded his sword in the other, easily deflecting errant attacks or shockwaves. There was a slight bounce to his step, and I occasionally heard a faint hum deep in his throat, as though he were enjoying himself. Did this scenario fulfill some part of his twisted hero fantasy? If anything, shouldn’t he be on the other side, trying to rescue the helpless girl from the cruel masters who sought to dispose of her?

Carried in his arms and bound by the ring, I peered over his shoulder at the battle faded behind us. Scattered stonework cratered the ground, crushing trees, flower beds, and the occasional priest, and shockwaves rolled the air without end. Where were we going, and what did he mean by a new master? Were they going to sell me off to some faraway noble? Soltair had mentioned the possibility once, but I’d always assumed they’d just find a reason to execute me.

The thought of the Dusk Chambers crossed my mind, and I curled up tightly, shivering. It didn’t matter where I went, as long as it wasn’t there. My flesh had healed from the endless hours of torture, but they remained fresh in my mind, haunting me whenever my eyes closed.

We plunged into another building, this one adjacent to the great wall surrounding the Divine Throne. It seemed like a customs house of sorts, and was heavily guarded. The guards gripped their spears tightly, casting uneasy glances at the storm of magic and fire raging over the upper towers.

”Are we under attack, Hero?” their captain asked, his hand fidgeting upon the spear haft.

Soltair shook his head, casting a glance behind him. ”It’s complicated, but they should be there to sort it out soon. Is all prepared?”

”Y-yes,” the man said quickly, ”But it’s earlier than I was told. The last few wagons haven’t been loaded yet.”

”Circumstances have forced our hand, so leave without them. I trust you understand the importance of this mission? The fate of our world depends on it,” Soltair replied sternly.

”Yes, Hero. I shall ensure the caravan reaches there quickly and safely, even should a Gate itself break upon us. But are you certain so many guards are necessary? It’s just a slave caravan, after all.”

”You have your instructions,” Soltair said, fixing him a steady gaze, ”Do not stray from them. Here,” he said, handing them the ring. ”This one binds this demonkin. Give her a separate cage and ensure she survives the journey.”

Soltair loosened his grip, allowing me to slip to the ground. The stone was hard and unforgiving, and I groaned, curling up tighter, as he leaned down beside me.

”You were a good slave, a companion even,” he said, not unkindly, ”But I’m afraid our time together has come to an end. Putting aside your disappointing betrayals, Trithe can’t bear to be around you anymore, and I have to prioritize her. I’m sorry it had to end this way, but I will sacrifice anything, even a companion, to make her happy and keep Enusia safe. The church has arranged for you to live out your life in a nearby noble’s mansion, at least until the war ends. I’ll come for you then, and you can have another chance.”

His words seeped into my mind, viciously smothering the hope Korra’s return had rekindled. I remained motionless, staring at his boot beside my head. It was gray and worn, walked upon through the countless experiences we’d shared throughout the last year. How fitting, that it ended where we began, with him standing high above me. He found me alone, and now left me the same.

Without waiting for a response, he stalked away, releasing an eighth-level aura. The last time we’d been together, he’d been seventh, the same as me, but I couldn’t bring myself to care that he had broken through.

A pillar of light roared up around his sword, spiraling into the sky and piercing the thick clouds veiling the sky. As though that had been a signal, several other monstrous presences erupted from their lairs spread throughout the Divine Throne, rising toward the battle high in the sky. Powerful as the heroes were, even they wouldn’t be able to stand against the old, ninth-level monsters making their moves.

”Stand, filthblood,” the captain growled, kicking me sharply in the ribs.

I groaned and obeyed, rubbing my side and finally getting a look around. The building extended through the walls, with large, hangar-like doors on either side. Ten wagons lined up before the far side, made of solid wood with open, barred windows. The harsh light of the light crystals crept through the openings and reflected off the eyes of dozens of slaves, dressed in dirty rags and chained together. As the captain had said, half of the wagons were empty, with the unloaded slaves chained against the walls.

Two soldiers grabbed my arms and threw me into one of the empty wagons, locking it behind me. A year had passed since I found myself in a slave wagon, but the memory had yet to fade. The same, claustrophobic terror clutched at my heart and mind, threatening to overpower what little willpower I managed to hold on to. I curled into a ball, my tail wrapping around me, the beginnings of a sob rising in my throat. Before handing off the ring, Soltair had cut off my mana, leaving me without even that simple comfort.

The great doors of the slave house rolled open, and the wagon teams drove out. By the time I gathered enough strength to raise my head, we had left the walls far behind and were crossing through the streets of the city. The sudden storm had driven the festival celebrants to shelter, leaving the streets silent and deserted, filled only by the low rumble of the wheels and the marching soldiers. There were hundreds of those, all grim and silent, their souls no weaker than third level. It was a force equal to a small kingdom’s standing army, yet brought together to escort one, solitary slave. I wasn’t the only one, technically, but the other slaves seemed little more than a smokescreen at this point.

Rain sloshed through the windows, driven in by harsh blasts of wind. Water collected on the floor, splashing up and over me with every jolting rut and bounce. By the time we left the storm’s radius of twenty miles, I was soaked to the bone and freezing. The thin, gray slave dress held no warmth, clinging to my skin like a second skin of ice.

My heart sank as the city passed behind us, and we emerged onto the open road. There was no sign of Korra or the other heroes who had taken her side. But even worse than that, I recognized this road. It was the same one we had left six months ago, just Soltair, Trithe, and myself. There was nothing but a few scattered villages and small cities west of the Divine Throne. The mountains beyond those were all but impassable, especially to a caravan of this size. There was only one location we could possibly be heading toward, and it filled me with dread.

Hours after we left the city and storm behind, I was still shivering uncontrollably. It was winter now, and although they were milder here than the northern continent, my every breath formed faint wisps of condensation. My entire body ached with the cold, and through the bars of the wagons, it was clear the other slaves fared no better.

But despite the pain, I found comfort in the frigid fingers of the storm, for they were a final, fleeting reminder of Korra, the only one who had returned. If not for her, I would be lying in Alex’s arms, sobbing as he-

No, even thinking of it hurt too much. I tore my mind free of those dark what-ifs and uttered a silent prayer of gratitude for Korra. I wished I could tell her in person, but despite Soltair’s promise, I doubted I’d ever see her, or any of them again. It was something I’d prepared myself for, but tears still gathered in my eyes, slowly trickling down my cheeks. Korra...Thron...Elise. I wished more than anything to be with them, held in their warm, loving embrace.

Dinner came an hour after the sun dropped beneath the distant mountains on the horizon, consisting of a piece of hard bread and a small ladle of water. The oxen had their strength restored with Life Magic, and the wagons continued throughout the night. I tried to sleep, but trepidation kept me from anything more than fitful nightmares.

By this point, I was all but certain where we were going. There was only one major city in this direction, a place I had never truly been able to forget about. High Valley, home of Lord Byron, known colloquially as the Slave Lord.