The Forsaken Hero

”Jenna, inform the others I’ll be slipping away,” I said, climbing onto Fable’s back. ”Remember, you have to keep that dragon here. If she manages to get back to Soltair, Luke will...you have to.”

”We won’t let you down,” she said, flashing me a thumbs-up and a smile. ”Good luck, my Lady.”

I patted Fable’s neck. ”Let’s do this.”

He barked and launched into the air, leaping over the battling Star Guard. Luxaria growled and made to lunge at us, but Jenna called a windstorm that blasted her out of our trajectory, and several of Gith’s arrows sprouted vines that entangled her wings, allowing Kahlen’s swords to knock her to the ground.

I wanted to trust that they’d be okay, that my Star Guard was powerful enough to hold off the dragon. It wouldn’t be long until the rest of the Fatesworn swept over their position, and Bethiv reinforced them.

”Fyren,” I called, hunching low over Fable’s shoulder to avoid the worst of the winds.

He responded in a stream of soulspeak, conveying Ronin and several remnants, including Jasrin, on a remote island on the edge of Haven. The hero was unconscious, with several loose lengths of glowing chains of magic binding his wrists and ankles. My chest tightened in response, and Fyren quickly assured me it was necessary, sensing my revulsion.

”The Hero is secure,” he said, shifting into language. ”You were right about the remnants. Turns out they had dozens of ways of restraining him. Haven itself has suppressed his power, as well.”

”Is that possible?”

”Yes. As it stands, I’d be surprised if he could externalize enough mana for a first-level art.”

”Then I need you.”

”I’ll answer the call.”

The city blurred beneath us as Fable accelerated, carried on his wings. Borealis appeared from somewhere in the sky, falling in beside me. He left a trail of stars in his wake that glittered in the pale, unwelcoming sunlight.

The true battlefield began at the roots of the walls, extending out across the foothills and shallow valleys. The numbers were endless, a sea of shifting flesh and shadows, churning in a violent struggle. Death screams, curses, and demonic roars filled the air, deafening amid explosions and the crackle of magic.

The armies weren’t even, and it wasn’t even close. Luke’s horde numbered in the millions, while the defenders were numbered in the tens, maybe hundreds of thousands. But the hordes had no strategy nor order, stampeding in reckless charges, intent only on slaughtering and consuming the foes directly before them. The human battle lines were strong and disciplined, composed of rotating companies that allowed their soldiers to retreat and rest while fresh troops took their place.

For every human that fell, a dozen demons perished with them. It shouldn’t have mattered; they were designed for those kinds of losses, but Soltair’s light kept them at bay. It corroded their armor and claws, weakened their arts, and tainted their battle spirits. Even lust for mana could be tempered by his power, it seemed. It gave the superior human forces the edge they needed to maintain their ground.

Occasional bursts of white-hot light lit the air like lightning, issuing from the crystalline mana cannons embedded in the trenches and forts protecting the city gates. Hulking demons crashed through friend and foe alike, aiming for the artillery, only to be shot down by arrows, spells, and spears. Viscera and gore were everywhere. Black ichor mixed with crimson blood oozes in congealed, putrid streams through the low parts of the land. It made my stomach curdle, and bile rise in my throat. I hated it. So much senseless death.

”There,” I said, pointing at a ridge overlooking the battle.

Fable landed lightly, lowering himself so I could slide off his back. I summoned my staff and walked to the edge, looked down, and quickly backed away again. Too high.

Gathering my bearings, I opened a gate to Haven, and Fyren emerged. He had his sword drawn, but relaxed when he found us above the battle, resting his hands on the cross guard.

”You’re sure?” he asked, having already guessed my intentions from our soul speak.

I nodded, shifting my grip on my staff, feeling the glassy haft. ”I am. Everyone else is fighting so hard. I have to do my best, too.”

”It’s going to be dangerous. Your aura is already drawing attention,” he said, gesturing out.

Starlight glistened in the valleys, visible as pinpricks of golden light across the battle. Demon and human knew what that meant and would undoubtedly be searching for the source.

I waved my staff, soul casting a seventh-circle spell. ”Ring of Sorcery.”

Golden light blossomed at my feet, carving a magic circle with me at its center. The runes and lines pulsed with every beat of my heart, carved a half-inch into the stone itself. When the circle was complete, I felt a surge of power flow through me, steadying the tremors in my soul and body. My aura stabilized, and as I drew on my mana, it responded eagerly to my call.

”Please, keep watch,” I said, ”This might take a while.”

”What are you going to do?”

I pointed with my staff at the blazing aura of light and dark surrounding Luke and Soltair. ”Even the odds. Soltair’s too powerful.”

But, even with my preparations made, I still hesitated. I still had over half of my mana remaining, and though my soul was still a little weak from abusing the Oracle of Eternity, I was far from my limits. R’lissea, Korra, Luke, and even my Guard had borne the burdens of this fight. I couldn’t disappoint them now.

Resolute in that thought, I raised my staff and began to cast. My goal was simple: Soltair’s light couldn’t be allowed to reach the battle. If I could disrupt it for even a few minutes, Luke’s horde could gain the momentum it needed.

But how to do that? I could call a remnant and entrust that they could handle it, or I could use a mana storm to try to disrupt it. Neither option felt particularly promising, and I didn’t have the strength to attempt something on this scale more than once. No, I had to go with something even simpler.

I began to weave an eighth-circle spell, falling back to the first one I’d ever learned: Shining Aegis. In the past, I’d used it to enclose entire armies and cities, hand-picking souls to extend its power to.

The Ring of Sorcery responded to my spell. Within its circle, runes became unnaturally stable and obedient, sliding into place with a meekness I’d never experienced before. I didn’t even need to spare any concentration to maintain the circles I’d finished crafting, letting them rest on their foundation without worry. Combined with the power of the Aetherial Prism, I felt like I was casting at twice my natural ability.

My spell grew quickly, with multiple circles rising one above the other. But as it gained power, the air shivered under its weight, and my aura reacted, brightening to catch the attention of those far below. I’d placed myself in the center of the conflict, and now, hundreds of eyes turned to me.

”Won’t be long now,” Fyren muttered, rubbing his chin. ”Once the mortal commanders catch wind of this, they’ll send a team. Then it will be our turn.”

Borealis cawed, perched on his shoulder. It was almost comical to see the beautiful, shimmering bird next to the hardened demon. Despite both being from the Devoted, I couldn’t remember a time they’d actually interacted. Seeing Fyren treat him so seriously brought a smile to my face, helping to ease the tension.

True to his word, the mortal forces were the first to react. A small group of specks of light cut across the battlefield, aiming for my position. I squinted to get a better look, and my heart sank.

They wore white cloaks and bore souls of the sixth and seventh levels. Inquisitors. Three of them.

”I thought we killed all these bastards,” Fyren muttered, hefting his sword in one hand.

Fable growled in agreement.

”There will always be more, up until we finally break the Divine Throne,” I murmured.

”Excuse me, Oracle. Fable, keep her company. Borealis, with me.”

He used his name. A small smile tugged at my lips. Another first.

The two of them flew from the ridge, intercepting the inquisitors a few hundred yards away. Before they realized he was among them, he’d already run one through the chest. Crimson blood spurted through the air as he tore it out through their side, nearly searing them in half. The inquisitor’s scream cut off short as they collapsed, their body disintegrating into ash before they hit the ground. The white flakes themselves dissolved in the wind, disappearing entirely.

The others retaliated fiercely, but Borealis hit a second later, summoning a literal snowstorm of glittering starlight that swept across the battle, dazzling inquisitor, soldier, and demon. Fyren moved like a ghost between gusts of wind and stars, swinging his oversized broadsword with the deftness of an elvish rapier.

While Fyren and Borealis defended us against the armies of the Divine, Fable took to the other side of the ridge, assuming his true form. His strength was depleted, but his aura alone was enough to discourage the demons who got curious or assumed me easy prey. Under normal circumstances, they never would have dared look at me, but with Luke occupied with Soltair, his control was light. Whatever evolved demons he had commanding in his place were focused on crushing through anyone wielding Divine Mana. They could hardly be bothered to care if one of those souls was on their side.

The minutes dragged by, and my power reached its peak. Pressure radiated from the spell in literal waves, visible as shimmering distortions in the air. At last, I lowered my staff and released my connection with the Aetherial Prism. The circles combined, flashing as they resolved.

”Shining Aegis!”