The Forsaken Hero

I spent a few more minutes studying Adaptive Resistance before focusing on the oppressive crystal enchantment. There were several effects in the magic, from strengthening humans to the mysterious curse effect, but the only one that mattered to me was the element that crippled my magic. It was a constant burden on my soul, siphoning mana as it recovered, as I cast spells, on from any active spells.

The problem was that the entire enchantment was a seventh-level effect, and thus, Adaptive Resistance was ineffective against it. But the power I felt in my ability wasn’t weaker than the enchantment, it was just... passive.

I frowned, rubbing my horn, my gaze fixed on the floor. The Eyes of Fate had been an active ability, but its effects became passive when it evolved into the Oracle of Eternity. That shift wasn’t due to the change itself, but rather my growing familiarity and skill. It always consumed a bit of mana, but I’d become so efficient that the drain was negligible, easily replenished by my passive recovery.

Through training, I’d developed an ’active’ state for the Oracle, lifting my perspective beyond the grip of fate, slowing time, and allowing me to see the stars of fate. With more practice, I’d compartmentalized these effects, able to see the stars without slowing time. My ability to see visions had followed a similar path, granting me a measure of control over triggering them and what I saw. With more practice, I might even attain full control, perhaps even choosing the specific future and time period I witnessed.

So why wouldn’t Adaptive Resistance follow the same pattern? After Soltair learned it could grow and overcome Curse Magic, I’d come to view it with trepidation. It was a passive ability that protected me from magic, and I’d left it at that, the weight of my memories and the unease halting any attempts at further exploration.

My fingers curled into the ruined scraps of my dress, cracking the blood-stained fabric. So much hung in the balance; I couldn’t afford to hold myself back anymore.

My tail twitched, begging to be stroked, but I kept my hands in my lap. What I was going to do would be hard enough without provoking my injuries.

”Here goes nothing,” I muttered, tightening my grip on Adaptive Resistance.

Trying to control the ability was like folding a blanket. It allowed me to sculpt it, but the moment I relaxed my attention, it collapsed and smoothed again as if nothing had happened. Every attempt, however, brought me more familiarity, giving me a little more of an idea of what I was doing.

The ache of my wound faded as I slipped into a state of pure concentration. Even the tremors wracking my body ceased–the darkness, the loneliness, the pain... all forgotten. Sweat beaded on my forehead, yet I’d never felt so alive. This was magic: raw, exhilarating, pushing me beyond my limits. A promise of change. A glimmer of hope.

One minute bled into the next. Adaptive Resistance was working too hard. I didn’t need it to shield my magic, or nullify the entire enchantment. It only had to protect my soul.

Manipulating with the ability was completely different than working with the Oracle of Eternity, and required a complete shift in my thinking. It wasn’t like putting on a pair of glasses, or willing something to happen, but suppressing and directing a normally unconscious instinct. It wasn’t something that could be forced, but persuaded.

After what felt like an eternity of effort, the starry light intensified. I gasped as the pressure crushing my soul dissipated, and the meager trickle of recovering mana surged into a raging river. Collapsing back onto the bed, I ignored the sting of my wounds and let the tears flow freely, soaking into the bloodstained sheets. My mind throbbed with exhaustion, my concentration stretched to its breaking point, and my body screamed in pain. And yet...

”I did it,” I whispered, a sob escaping my lips.

The starry light continued to radiate from my skin, pushing back the purplish haze that clung to me. It wouldn’t vanish completely, still affecting any mana that ventured beyond my soul, but at least now, recovery and soul casting was possible.

Struggling into a sitting position, I embraced the return of my mana. Power coursed through me, as sweet and seductive as it had been when I first awakened in the warehouse. Tears welled up again, but I wiped them away, leaving streaks in the dried crusts of blood on my hand.

”Come to me,” I whispered, summoning my staff.

The glassy haft materialized in my hand, the star glistening in the darkness. The violet light still streamed through the window, but the curse it carried was no longer ominous. Instead, it beckoned me forward, filling me with hope. Luke was out there, fighting. And now, I could too.

”Restoration.”

The gloom of the apartment vanished as four magic circles consumed all of my recovered mana. I closed my eyes as soft, green light washed over me, searching for the myriad wounds across my body. A terrible itch swept across my body as scrapes healed, cuts knit together, and fresh blood seeped through my veins. I stiffened, biting my lip, as the wound on my tail began to close, shedding scabs and bandages like a molting snake.

There was a pop in my ears, and the air filled with the sounds I’d only just been able to make out: distant screams, rumbling explosions, and the clang of steel. The green light of life magic flooded my vision a moment later, and the darkness retreated. Objects lost their blur, edges grew distinct, and even the clouds shifting in the sky gained form.

The green light faded, and I collapsed onto the bed, gasping for air. Across my body, dried blood cracked and flaked away, revealing smooth, unblemished skin. All that remained of my injuries was a slight stitch in my side where my ribs had broken and a dull ache tracing a thin, half-healed line down my tail. Healing fully would require more mana-mana I desperately needed for what lay ahead. This was enough. For now.

The sudden rise of sensory stimulation was overwhelming. Even the faint violet glow was dazzling, and every distant explosion caused me to jump. I stroked the curve of my tail, the soothing sensation a welcome distraction. Closing my eyes, I savored the feeling, planning to rest and recover, allowing my senses to adjust.

A shockwave ripped me from sleep, tousling my hair and sending my heart racing. I sat up with a squeak, clutching my tail, disoriented. Where was I? Why was I in so much pain?

Memory returned in fragments, and my grip on my tail tightened. I traced the thin, scarring line, a shiver running down my spine. I hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but... how long had it been?

Another shockwave shook the house, sending dust raining from the ceiling. I stumbled to my feet, gripping my staff. The ground rolled beneath me, I soul cast a spell.

”Earthen roots!”

Mana surged through my legs and into the ground, stabilizing me. The ground continued to shake, but with this spell, as long as I maintained contact with the ground, I wouldn’t lose my balance.

I reinforced my defenses with a series of low-level spells, shielding myself against anything a soldier below the fifth level was capable of. My mana reserves were still too low to confront stronger opponents, but hopefully, those elites were occupied with Luke. These weaker soldiers were barely qualified as cannon fodder; if anyone was still hunting me, it would be them.

I looked at my staff for a moment before raising and reaching out to Fable, but cut my mana immediately once it became clear the crystal enchantment still affected my summons. That ruled out going to Haven. I’d already decided against it, but it meant I couldn’t retreat if things went bad.

I took a step toward the door before pausing and glancing down at myself. Heat flooded my cheeks as I took in the tattered rags of my dress, and just how little they covered. I shrank back into the house and looking about and finding myself alone, I tugged the garment free. It practically disintegrated in my hands, but I stored it in my spatial ring. It had been one of my favorite dresses, and I’d be able to restore it with magic later.

Dozens of thin, red lines crisscrossed my skin, the lingering scars of deeper wounds. I ran a hand down my back, shivering as my fingers brushed the angry slit near my hip. That was where I’d been struck first and ripped from R’lissea’s arms.

I tapped my spatial ring and selected a familiar dress – a crimson, off-shoulder cut with a black ribbon sash. The sleeves were long, the skirt falling just above my knees, delicate flowers embroidered around the hems. The dress I’d worn the day I left the Divine Throne at Soltair’s side.

I fingered the hem, a blush still warming my cheeks. It was shorter than I remembered, the bodice a bit snug. Had I really changed since then? I was still small and slender, my breasts modest, but as I faced the doorway and the battle-torn city beyond, my heart remained calm. I’d faced countless trials since that fated day, and even if I hadn’t physically grown much, I was no longer that same girl. She wouldn’t have survived what I just endured, nor would she have the courage to take this next step.

”Courage?” I muttered, shaking my head wryly. Courage might be too strong of a word. If I were really brave, would my hands be shaking?

I tightened my grip on my staff and took a deep breath. My mana pulsed warm in my chest, just enough for a sixth-circle spell. Hopefully, by the time I needed it, there would be more. Much more.

”Wait for me, Luke,” I said, finally stepping outside the haven of the ruined home. ”I’m coming.”