The Forsaken Hero
Chapter 81: Black and White

Chapter 81: Black and White

I should have slept late. My overexertion the previous night left me exhausted, with hardly a drop of mana when I drifted off in Soltair’s arms. Weakness gnawed at me, from the tips of my horns down to my toes. Even worse was the dull ache that emanated from the core of my soul, the constant reminder of the toll of abusing my mana.

Despite the inviting warmth of the soft cotton sheets, an insistent pull tugged me from their embrace, leading me downstairs into the inn’s dimly lit interior. The common room was abandoned, save for my two companions. The curtains were drawn and door locked, sending a small frown creeping across my lips. What was going on here?

Soltair’s gaze lifted to meet mine, his expression etched with a frown that echoed in the stern timbre of his voice. "Shouldn’t you be in bed?" I nodded and slid into a seat, having asked myself the same thing several times.

"How many are left?" I asked, massaging my temples. A slight headache muddled my thoughts, but I ignored the pain, focusing on the hordes of statues filling my memory. I could still save them.

He sighed and set his mug down, looking over the table at me. "I don’t think it’s a good idea to go back there today. Every minute we delay hunting that monster down another person might get hurt. We need you to support us against the Basilisk’s magic, but you can’t do that if you waste all your mana breaking the curses."

"Besides," Trithe cut in before I could protest, "They’ll be here when we get back. What are they going to do, walk away?"

"But, I-"

"Trust us." Soltair’s hand landed on my shoulder, prompting me to look up into his eyes. "Just stay here until we leave."

I squirmed, internally wrestling with my discomfort, but in the end, I couldn’t fight them any longer. "Alright." Not that I had a choice to begin with, when he worded it that way.

The mayor entered a few moments later, wordlessly bringing a tray of food. His eyelids drooped with dark circles and his feet dragged along the ground. He placed the tray on the table and mumbled, "Sorry about the wait, it was a long night. But, as promised, here’s the meal. Leave everything here when you’re done, and I’ll get around to cleaning up. Will you be returning after you slay the beast?"

"That depends," Soltair said slowly. "Should we?"

Silence stretched out, thickening the air as we awaited the mayor’s response. Finally, his words pierced the tension, a mix of formality and reluctance. "A Hero is always welcome in our town."

"Thank you. We have several other requests to fill, so we might move on if we find it early rather than later."

"I see. Just make sure you keep a tight reign on your filthblood. Can’t imagine why a Hero like you would drag something like that around, but you should know demons aren’t welcome here in Whiteriver Village."

"Noted."

I grew paler with every word, clenching the table so hard my knuckles grew white. Perhaps the mayor noticed the agitated swish of my tail, as he shot me a dark look before retreating.

When he was gone, Soltair’s comfort came with great sympathy. "Xiviyah-"

"But why?" I whispered.

"I know it’s hard, but people aren’t used to seeing demonkin, not here, or anywhere really. After you passed out, the entire town recoiled. No one’s been in the inn since."

I stared numbly at the mess of eggs and salted pork on the table, only blinking when Trithe’s fork dropped from her satisfied fingers. "Look, we wanted to spare you that, but I guess fate had other plans. He’d already told us all that before, but he must have wanted you to hear it."

"Trithe," Soltair said sharply, "That’s enough."

"We can’t protect her from everything. If the world doesn’t want her services, then why bother about it?"

A suffocating doubt tightened my throat, but I raised my chin defiantly. "No. I can help those people. I have to."

Soltair’s touch brushed my shoulder, eliciting an involuntary flinch as if his fingers traced the contours of my insecurities. "Xiviyah, we’re not coming back. I can’t risk starting anything. The mayor already agreed to keep your presence a secret so rumors won’t spread to the rest of the region, but it’s only a matter of time."

"But plenty of people already know about me from the festival. Shouldn’t there be lots of rumors about a demonkin hero already?" I asked.

"Most of the world is aware, but we’ll be traveling through small, backwater towns like this for some time."

Trithe’s nod held the weight of experience. As we turned to her, she folded her arms, voice heavy. "Take it from me. These places only view stuff in black and white. I wouldn’t doubt it if some of those people you healed last night would rather stay statues than stomach the idea of having you so much as lay a hand on them. My father has a few beastkin maids at his manor, and he wrote a year or so ago, during the beginning of the war against the Beast Kingdom, the people nearly stormed the gate. If he wasn’t such a beloved lord, I doubt they’d be alive right now."

Soltair blinked, shifting his gaze over to her. "You’re father’s a lord?"

"Yeah, in the northern part of the kingdom. What, didn’t I tell you that?"

"I always thought you were some farm girl somewhere and got lucky enough for your talents to be discovered."

She laughed, leaning over to punch his arm playfully. "What’s that supposed to mean? I’m a lady, through and through. How dare you imply I act like a peasant!"

For the two of them, this matter was settled, yet I’d hardly begun to understand the implications of my identity out here. As they bantered, I took advantage of the lapse in conversation and slipped away to a window, parting the curtains to peek outside. Villagers moved about the town square going about their daily lives. A few young men ran through the center, carrying large bushels over their shoulders. An elderly woman sitting on her porch stood up and yelled at them, apparently upset at the flurries of chaff streaming behind them.

An underlying tension marred the peaceful scene, evident in the taught muscles and hesitant glances of nearly everyone who walked before the inn. My gaze shifted to a burly figure stationed by the barn, his arms defiantly folded, a scowl etched into his features. His presence was an embodiment of the hostility I felt brewing around me. Guard duty had been reassigned.

"It’s fine, Xiviyah," Soltair called over. "Even if they don’t want to be healed, won’t the curse just be dispelled when the Basilisk is killed?"

"No. It won’t."

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