The Forsaken Hero
Chapter 515: Onset of Winter

Chapter 515: Onset of Winter

As we talked, Fyren led me on a gentle loop through the horde, giving me a much-needed chance to stretch my legs. Beyond the demons, who cowered at Fyren’s presence, I found the scenery breathtaking.

Mountains rose around us, smaller than the towering peaks of Heartland, but more imposing than the rolling hills of Brithlite. They were cloaked in thick pine forests dusted with frost, their peaks hidden by a veil of freshly falling snow. The sun peeked through the clouds, casting a pale light on the flurries dancing in the late autumn breeze.

I shivered as a snowflake landed on my nose, pulling my white cloak tighter around me.

"Is something the matter?" Fyren asked, his voice laced with concern. "You’re not cold, are you? Not with your magic."

I shivered again, tucking my tail between my legs. "It’s nothing," I murmured. "I, um... just don’t have the fondest memories of snow."

He snorted, releasing a burst of fire that evaporated the frost around him. "I suppose that makes two of us," he said with a wry grin. "Unfortunately, this part of Enusia is always in for a long, cold winter."

My eyes narrowed as I spotted a plume of smoke rising between the distant mountains. Realization dawned, and I gasped.

Fyren followed my gaze and replied nonchalantly, "Yes, another village. They’re scattered around these parts, like conveniently placed snacks for our forces."

"That’s horrible!" I exclaimed, unable to believe the callousness in his voice. "What about the innocent people?"

He didn’t respond; he simply met my gaze, his fiery eyes devoid of mercy. I quickly looked away, my lower lip trembling. There was no need for him to answer; I already knew the truth. Fyren might be kind to me, but he was far from human. I wasn’t among the kind-hearted soldiers of the Last Light Company anymore, effectively a prisoner within the demon army—well-treated and protected, perhaps, but a prisoner nonetheless.

"Where are we, Fyren?" I asked, finally managing to compose myself. "Do you know where my friends are, where Kahlen is?"

Fyren shook his head. "We’ve traveled south through several countries, stopping at each city that holds a Shard. I believe our destination is to confront the Church’s forces on the northern continent. With the fall of Brithlite, their forces are in disarray. The last bastion of their power is within the union of the elven lands and the Empire. Together, they’re five times larger than the armies we faced in Brithlite. Our only real advantage is that they’re down a hero."

"You mean R’lissea?" I asked.

He paused, then nodded. "Two heroes, then. I believe the Apostle of Fire slew the Justice Hero in the battle of Brithlite."

"Victor’s dead?" I staggered back, nearly tripping over my own tail.

The Justice Hero and I had never gotten along, from our first meeting in the Divine Throne to the moment he killed Orion. If not for my deep-seated fear and dislike of Alex and Soltair, he would have been the hero I liked least. Even so, hearing of his death after witnessing his immense power was startling.

But perhaps I was underestimating Gayron. He had arrived in our camp an overconfident fool, with just enough humility to acknowledge his shortcomings. Like most heroes, he had relied entirely on the overwhelming nature of his abilities. It was only after meeting Korra and sparring with me that he dedicated himself to improving his skills.

A new thought struck me. Perhaps he had refined his control over his cloning ability, replicating his physical appearance as well as his soul. That would explain why Victor believed he had killed him, and how Gayron might have survived the Justice Hero’s spear unharmed. If true, I had grossly underestimated his power.

"And to think Korra spars with him on equal footing," I mumbled, rubbing my horn. Had I been so focused on eradicating the Circle and freeing Elise that I had failed to notice the growth of my closest friends?

"Hmm?" Fyren rumbled.

I shook my head dismissively. "Grace is gone, too," I muttered. "She was with Korra in my vision."

"Interesting. To think the gods once had ten heroes, a force to rival any infernal army in history. We might actually have a chance at destroying them now."

Fyren’s chuckle sent a shiver down my spine. I hesitated before asking my next question, my tail twitching nervously. "Why do you keep saying ’we’? Have you decided to join Luke’s army?"

A deep-throated growl resonated in Fyren’s chest, making me flinch. It took me a moment to realize he was laughing.

"Of course not, little one," he said, amusement coloring his voice. "I merely assumed your goals were aligned with the Apostle of the Descent. Is it not the case that you wish to destroy this world?"

"What?" I reeled back, shocked. "Why would I... why would you think that?"

"I’m not blind, Xiviyah," Fyren said, his voice low and intense. "And I’ve heard from R’lissea and Elise the horrors of what they did to you. The curses, the torture, the things they stole from you. Even if you won’t share exactly what happened in High Valley, it’s easy enough to guess." Wisps of fiery aura escaped his form, igniting the air around him. "How could you not desire vengeance? How could you not want to see this world burn?"

I wanted to protest and reject the notion outright, but my words caught my throat. I had been hurt, and still hadn’t healed from many of the scars of my past, but to ally with the demon army? I had achieved what vengeance I desired against the circle, and I couldn’t bring myself to condemn the entire world for the actions of a few. For every Alverin, there was an Elise, and for every Alex, a Korra.

To kill indiscriminately would be to rob people of the choice to be kind and good, the exact same thing the gods were trying to do. I had done terrible things so far, and would continue to do what I had to, but no more than that. I couldn’t lose sight of myself, or I could end up with the darkness I’d left behind, the same fury that filled Luke.

"I..." I trailed off, shivering as the intensity of my emotions caused the conduit to Haven to shudder.

Darkness seeped from my soul, and I frantically clamped down on it, forcing away any thoughts or feelings that threatened my concentration. It was a brutal struggle, and within seconds, sweat beaded on my forehead. Gritting my teeth, I persevered until I stabilized the conduit once more.

"I-I’d rather not talk about it," I finished lamely, shivering as the remnants of the shadows’ chill clung to my bones.

His crimson eyes narrowed, but he didn’t press further. He was likely worried that pushing me too far would cause me to lose control again.

"Very well," Fyren conceded after a moment. "But there’s something else I need to tell you. It’s about the apostles."

"Oh?" a sweet, feminine voice interrupted. "You have a secret about us?"

Both Fyren and I stiffened. I recognized the speaker before I even turned to face her, a shiver crawling up my spine.

"Jessia," Fyren snarled. "After what you’ve done, you dare show yourself before me?"

The woman standing behind us was tall and beautiful, with long auburn hair and eyes as gray as a stormy sea. She was human, and though her soul was only third level, I couldn’t miss the telltale blur surrounding it, the subtle wavering that indicated it was being suppressed and hidden.

I flinched as her eyes met mine, a playful smirk curving her lips. Fable growled low in his throat as I pressed against his side, my heart pounding, my breath coming in ragged gasps. Without conscious thought, I instinctively cast my wards. It was unsettling enough that she had approached undetected, giving me no time to prepare myself to face her again. Perhaps it would be best if I started preemptively casting wards each day, just to be safe.

"Why shouldn’t I?" she asked, tilting her head with a mocking smile at Fyren. "It’s only natural for an Apostle to be among her forces, is it not? Or have you forgotten your station, demon?"

Fyren’s aura flared, barely contained, his eyes blazing with hatred. "Your status means nothing to me, Apostle," he growled. "I simply use your title because your name isn’t worth speaking."

"Ah, yes, one of the Devoted," she replied, her tone dripping with disdain. "I’ve heard of your kind, how little this war and my powers mean to you. It’s a pity Luke finds your forces useful. Some of the others don’t share his sentiment, you know."

"I don’t care for your games," Fyren retorted with a snort. "Find someone else to play with."

I frowned, confused, as they exchanged more veiled insults and threats. Most of it went over my head, likely referencing factions and power struggles within the demon horde. The majority of demons were barely more intelligent than animals, which made complex politics seem unlikely, if not outright impossible.

But that thought only made their actual existence more unsettling. If meaningful factions couldn’t exist on Enusia, it meant their ideologies and allegiances originated in the infernal realms and extended to the mortal world. There could be countless issues they were willing to fight over, and I would be completely oblivious.

Even a casual conversation with a demon could be dangerous, as an idle comment might trigger an unexpected reaction. Truly, immortal beings were difficult to interact with. What made it worse was that Fyren seemed deeply involved in these power struggles, from his strange position within the Devoted to the mysterious amulet he wore—the one that resembled the Arbiter’s charm. I still needed to ask him about that, though now didn’t seem like the right time.

My attention snapped back as Fyren’s aura flared again. Whatever Jessia had just said clearly angered him.