The Forsaken Hero

”Luxxa... you’re alright?” I asked. I tried to sound concerned, but it was difficult to come off serious when I was squirming in someone’s lap.

Luke smiled faintly, squeezing me once more before his arm finally uncoiled. The second I was free, I scrambled to my feet, my face burning. I busied myself with my skirts, smoothing the wrinkled fabric with far more focus than it deserved, hoping the motion would hide the way my tail was still twitching.

A rare, small smile broke through Luxxa’s stoic expression. That she didn’t even mention the scene somehow made it worse.

”Yes, my Lady. The Star Guard is fine,” she said. ”Though it was a lot closer than I’d like to admit. That cannon blast tore the hull right off the Azure Wing. It scattered us across the city.”

I finally stopped fussing with my dress and looked up, the reality of her words cutting through my embarrassment.

”Gith and I ended up near the Whitemarsh Estate,” Luxxa continued. ”Jenna and Kahlen fell into the ash, a few miles from where the Lord of Ash reported your landing. We’ve spent the night regrouping.”

”And the others?”

”Gayron and Korra dragged themselves in a few hours ago. R’lissea, last I heard, has yet to wake. The justice hero and Lady Sunsinger returned with Aerion and Lady Lastlight shortly before dawn broke.”

With my worries quelled, I thanked her, and dismissed her. Luke left after a second, and I quickly changed clothing. Even if the dress was clean, there was something strange about wearing what I’d seen drenched in blood and ash just hours ago. I wanted to put the battle as far behind me as I could.

It crossed my mind to wear a Blacksand dress for Luke, but the mere thought made me blush, and I went the opposite direction, settling on a conservative Duskwood cut. It had a snug bosom, a long white skirt, and gold embroidery around the sleeves and neckline. Beautiful, yet by no means revealing. After giving my hair a quick brush, I joined Luke and my guard outside, and together, we went to the manor’s audience chamber.

The audience chamber was the largest room in the manor, but it felt small today, packed with elves of all classes and power levels. Their combined auras made the air swim with ambient mana, causing my soul to tingle. As they parted for us, giving us an aisle through the center, I drew close to Luke, gripping his arm with both hands.

Luke had no such qualms, striding with dignity and presence, letting just enough of his aura out to force their heads down and hands to their sword hilts. Where my tail twitched and curled, his was loose and relaxed, swaying confidently behind him.

Aerion, Selena, and a half-dozen other nobles I recognized from the Crimson Dawn stood at the front of the room on a raised dais overlooking the rest. The elf lord wore his typical uniform, with a single crimson thread woven around his cuffs. It was remarkably, perhaps deliberately, simple compared to ceremonial garb, dresses, and gilded ribbons of the other lords and ladies, putting him closer to the soldiers and guards than his status demanded. It also occurred to me that, somehow, this was the first time I’d actually seen Aerion wear the crimson thread before.

He gave us a warm smile, the hall hushing as he greeted us. ”My thanks for joining us, Apostle, and to you, Oracle. I hope my request didn’t inconvenience you.”

Luke stopped before him, proudly meeting his eye. ”I can’t say I’m pleased with being demanded somewhere at this hour, but Xiviyah insisted. So continue, Lord Aerion, with whatever ceremony you stand on.”

The distinct lack of title was deafening in the silence. Aerion’s smile tightened ever so slightly.

A wave to the side caught my attention, and I spied Elise standing beside Korra, dressed in a beautiful golden dress. She beckoned again, and I tugged Luke’s arm. He glanced down at me, then saw her, and led me over.

”You look beautiful,” I whispered, letting go of Luke just long enough to give her a hug.

”Thanks. You too. I’m glad to see you’re alright.”

”Shhh, it’s starting,” Korra hissed.

Aerion cleared his throat, raising his voice to address the assembled elves. ”My friends, my comrades, and my people. For over a millennium, our land has been ruled by the will of the Verdant Tribunal, the culmination of our people’s collective will, tradition, and experience. With their guidance, we have flourished, established our bloodlines, and built this kingdom. And all this in spite of the divine’s unrighteous oppression of our kind. And yet...”

He paused, surveying the room, seeming to catch everyone’s gaze at once and force it to the floor. ”We were not one. We were not strong. We were not free. For what rights did our people, the very commoners you have looked down on, have? What could they do when a Ellenwinter tax collector decided another tenth of their income was due, or a Splitbark merchant entered their local market and bought out their suppliers? Or when monsters ravaged their home, yet Whitemarsh Authorities refused to grant permits to hunt them? And all this because they had committed the unpardonable sin of being born with the wrong bloodline.

”A thousand years of tradition did naught but chain our people to ideas and relics of the past. They built a world where none could prosper, save they already prospered, and no seed could sprout save it had one standing ready to nurture and protect it. Elves of Sylvarus, that world is dead. I killed it with my own hand. You, bearers of the crimson thread and not, have survived that cleansing. Whether by fate, strength, or luck, it matters not. For at this time, as the smoke dissipates and the embers lose their luster, we stand together, survivors in the ash. Let the past die with the flames. Bury the grudges, oaths, and memories of yesterday and let the promises of tomorrow be your light. Stand with me, not as slaves, servants, or vassals, but as Sylvari. Stand, and build by your own strength and merit, a Sylvarus reborn.

His voice echoed, dwindling until the silence swallowed it. From bright-eyed soldiers donning crimson threads to ancient nobles dressed in fine silks, all bore the weight of his words.

A single elf, young and with mismatched eyes, stepped before the rest. His armor was dull and dented, the leather stained with blotches that hadn’t had time to fade.

”Is that...Esvitt?” Elise whispered. ”He’s the one who danced with R’lissea.”

Esvitt stood tall, his shoulders squared despite the weight of every eye in the chamber. The room held its breath, the silence stretching as the young elf stepped forward, his worn boots scuffing softly against the polished marble.

”My Lord Sunsinger,” he said, ”I am no noble, nor merchant. I am a commoner, born and raised in the shadow of the great houses, who has borne a sword for this kingdom since my eighteenth year.”

He paused, his mismatched eyes sweeping across the assembled elves before settling on Aerion. ”I fought beside you last night, when every house and power raised their banners against you. I stood fast when the very stars hurled themselves from the heavens against us, and the hand of the gods descended on our world. If you will accept one such as I, then I pledge my sword to your cause, though the gods themselves descend against us.”

A murmur rippled through the chamber, a wave of whispers cascading back. A woman stepped up next, wearing House Splitbark’s emblem on her sleeve, entwined with a Crimson thread. She glanced at me and smiled, and I remembered her face. Lady Newspring, who had given me the Nivaleas.

”I speak for many of my house who can’t be here this day,” she said, returning her gaze to Aerion. ”We stand with you, Lord Sunsinger. But I must ask, what of those who will not? What will you do with our friends and family who will seek to return to old ways?”

Aerion nodded as if he’d expected the question. The gathered nobles held their breath as he scrutinized them, apprehension in their faces.

”Nothing,” he finally said.

”Nothing, my Lord?” Lady Brightstream asked.

”Nothing. My enemies have proven themselves by surviving the night. If they continue to have strength and merit, they will easily rise to the heights they enjoyed but two days past. And if they do not, then...what need have we to concern ourselves with them? Does a dragon care if an ant loathes its presence?”

”But what if they gather strength, and armies, and influence to overthrow what you build?” she pressed.

Aerion’s grin was predatory. ”Such is the right of the strong. It is by that right I have risen, and, should fate decree, it is by that right I shall fall. For in that very protest, do they not prove me the victor? That only by strength can one rule? So, I say, let them come.”