The Forsaken Hero
Chapter 413: Trust

Chapter 413: Trust

"Why won’t you just die?" Gayron roared, missing Korra again with another sixth-level magical technique.

The force of the attack created a crater in the tundra almost thirty feet deep, which rapidly pooled with melted snow. Korra slid between the demon’s legs, dipping into the crater just low enough to drag her hand through the steaming water. When she came out, the entire miny lake surged after her, beckoned on by her Water Mastery Ability.

She kicked off the ground, cracking the ice beneath her, and flew under Gayron’s guard. The massive tide of water trailing after her took on the shape of her mana, forming into a titanic water dragon twice the size of the demon.

That was a lot of mana. Too much for a sixth-level hero to muster. Had Korra...?

Gayron screamed as she struck his chest with the full weight of a seventh-level magical technique. The dragon crashed down on his head at the same time, puncturing his upper torso and arms with teeth the size of spears. His soul abruptly flared, pushing his aura to its maximum strength, and the world filled with fire and steam.

As I waited anxiously for the steam to clear, the ice spirit’s voice tickled my consciousness. "My lady, be careful. The time draws near."

The time draws near? At the gentle reminder, I shook my head, recalling that I was in the later stages of repairing my soul. I needed to focus on the spell, but how could I leave Korra and the Last Light Company alone? The demons were routed, but a seventh-level apostle was still on the battlefield. He couldn’t beat our entire army but was still strong enough to kill a few before escaping. What if ’a few’ included Korra?

"My lady," the spirit prompted again.

I half expected it to sever my connection with the gate as before, forcing me back to the core chamber. But it didn’t. It just waited, a warm blanket wrapped around my soul. Before, I’d been left behind, forced to trust the

My tail twitched as the steam began to clear, two silhouettes appearing in the billowing clouds. My chest tightened as my uncertainty rose, my mana calling for my attention. Gayron had struck at Korra in the last moment before her art landed. If she was hurt, I might be the only one able to help her in time. The soldiers would attack as soon as possible, but what if that was too late?

I couldn’t abandon Korra, not after everything she did for me. And yet...why were we even here? Why was she fighting an apostle in a gate in the middle of nowhere? Wasn’t it...for me?

If I failed to heal my soul, I would die. With how entangled the spirit and I were with the gate, it might very well collapse and kill everyone else inside. Even if I survived failing, the sunpurge would kill me if my soul wasn’t strengthened. And then what would point would there be to Korra’s sacrifice?

Slowly, my grip on the core tightened, my resolve wavering. I wasn’t here to protect Korra, but the other way around. She was giving everything to allow me this one chance to heal myself. She didn’t want to be safe. Korra wanted me to be healed.

It was like a dam broke in my mind, all of my fear, sorrow, and hope mingling together in a rush of emotion that brought tears to my eyes. "I’m sorry," I whispered, sparing one final glance for the hero and apostle locked in combat, their states still trapped between curtains of mist. And then I was gone, whisked back to the core room.

As I settled back into my physical senses, Fable nuzzled me with his cheek. His familiar warmth and scent washed through me, softening the fear that continued to gnaw at my heart. There were so many unknowns about the battle on the surface, like where the two armies came from and whether my friends and allies could subdue the apostle before he hurt anyone.

I took a deep breath, unconsciously synchronizing with the rise and fall of Fable’s chest. Slowly, gradually, my heart rate returned to normal, the dread and fear fading entirely. With Fable curled protectively around me and the spirit shielding my soul, I could ignore everything, even the distant rumbles of the battle above.

With my heart settled and resolve burning in my gut, I turned the five magic circles rotating around us. Gentle Song was an otherworldly spell, first shown to me by the Curse Demon Lord, then directly given by the Ally of Fate. In all of my study and practice for this moment, nothing could have prepared me for actually doing it. Until now, the spell had worked like most healing magic, repairing flesh and bone automatically, taking only mana from the caster. But now, as I moved on to the most intimate and personal depths of my soul, there was no pattern or module to draw from.

The Gate Core warmed in my hands as I took the reins of the spell directly. There was nothing for it but to start, and so I did. Mana blossomed from my soul, forming a thousand threads as fine as silk and as delicate as a spiderweb. The process was slow and laborious, but with each passing minute, the pain lessened as I wove torn and scarred shreds of my soul back together.

I lost track of time, surrounded by only the stars of fate and my own soul. As I’d noticed when first studying the nature of abilities, the soul had an intimate connection with fate itself, woven from the stars of fate just as a spell was woven from mana. Had I the Eyes of Fate, this task might have been impossible entirely, but the Oracle of Eternity was powerful enough to show me the finest details and innermost currents of mana in the soul.

But just because it was possible didn’t make it easy. Even with the endless, sustained flow of mana filtered through the ice spirit, I grew exhausted quickly. There were many places I had to guess, often incorrectly, stumbling through the process. Every mistake caused a spike of pain that drew on my already limited concentration and strength, wearing on me until my entire body quivered with exhaustion, with even my horns feeling impossibly heavy on my head.

After an indiscernible amount of time, something changed. It came suddenly, like a summer storm, a tide of mana welling up from the depths of my soul. I gasped as the warm, seductive power enhanced my efforts, giving me a strength I hadn’t felt for over a year—sixth level. I’d healed enough of my soul to recover to sixth level.

At the same time I was experiencing the rush of pure bliss, a similar transformation overtook Fable. His soul–bottlenecked at fifth for some time now–abruptly broke through. He shuddered as power coursed through him, his muscles hardened and condensed, his horns and claws grew longer and curved cruelly, and his silver coat glistened with myriad more stars. But more startling was his soul, which I could feel through the soul bond. It radiated power, breaking through his constraint momentarily, revealing a soul at the peak of the sixth level.

Despite myself, I gasped, overwhelmed by the sheer aura wrapped around me. Had Fable really grown so powerful that I had been holding him back? He had broken through the exact moment I had, which seemed to mean he was constrained by my soul. But he hadn’t just made it somewhere in the sixth level, as one might expect, but shot directly to the top, as close to the seventh level as he had been sixth. Did that mean he would break through again once I completed the spell and theoretically recovered to seventh? Just how had he grown so quickly?

The thought was a distraction, one that ended up biting me. I sucked in a sharp breath, tears springing to my eyes as I misdirected a thread of mana. The pinch was sharp and unrelenting, but the violent tear made it even worse, forcing me to stop everything and huddle against Fable, barely holding back a cry.

At last, the pain began to fade, and I resumed the work, fixing the tear my foolishness had caused. There was no room for this kind of distraction or hesitation, but even though I scolded myself, it was impossible to be perfect the entire time. It was too intricate and complex, not to mention my rapidly waning strength, but I managed the best I could.

Had I not withdrawn from the battlefield and failed to trust Korra, such a task would be impossible. I’d underestimated just how challenging it was, but fortunately, I’d made the right choice.

The journey to seventh-level passed as timelessly as the rest had, yet I held on with the power granted me by breaking through. Occasionally, I felt Fable shift behind me, or the ice spirit manipulated the gate and flood of infernal mana in some way. Still, I contained my curiosity and focused on the spell. Nothing else mattered right now. Or rather, everything else only mattered if I succeeded and would be in vain otherwise.

Just as I was beginning to give up hope I would ever be done, my body weak and unsteady, it happened. I finished repairing a particular current of my soul and looked for another, only to find nothing waiting for me. No rip, scar, or tear. Just a seamless, beautiful soul that shone with the beauty of a starlit vista.

Before I could register what was happening, the Astral Breath stopped moving, and the mana flow ceased. The six magic circles winked out one after another, leaving me sitting with my back to Fable, staring blankly at the Gate Core.

Was it...finished?