The Forsaken Hero

I spent the next morning looking for Soltair, visiting all his usual haunts. The slave crest’s bond acted like a compass, pointing me in his general direction, but even navigating the halls was a grueling task. After one look at the crowds, I returned to my chamber and found an old cloak, covered in patches and more gray than white, and wrapped it around me. Despite the early hours, the day was already saturated with the summer’s heat. Sweat had already started to gather on my forehead when I pulled the hood up, ensuring it covered my horns. I could deal with the inconvenience as long as it prevented any misunderstandings.

When I reached the ground level, a scene of bustling commotion greeted me, causing me to stop in surprise. The air shook with a cacophony of voices and the stench of travelers after a long journey. Priests, slaves, and outsiders filled the Divine Throne in preparation for the Summer Festival just days away. The complex served as a hub for the world wide celebration, ensuring even the inner corridors were filled. I was immediately grateful for the cloak as most of the mass seemed from out of town, scurrying around like rats before an exterminator. It wouldn’t take much for someone to notice my demonic features and start a panic.

Within seconds, I found myself pushed roughly into the wall and let out a frustrated sigh. My soul was still weak, adding an additional burden, but even on my best day navigating the central corridors would be impossible. It got to the point where I seriously considered magic an option, but ultimately decided against it. Provoking anyone wasn’t in my best interest right now.

As I scanned for an opportunity to slip back into the flow, a young man on the other side of the corridor caught my eye. His rich purple robes, trimmed with scarlet and gold, stood out amongst the sea of white and gray, but it was his face that I recognized. I groaned as my tail stiffened, and quickly sank back down. At the last second, he looked my way, and I could only pray he hadn’t seen me. An encounter with the second prince was the last thing I wanted. What was he even doing here? Shouldn’t he be at the Royal Palace, preparing for the festival?

A tremendous force slammed into my side, hurling me off balance. I tumbled through the crowd, colliding with bodies along the way, before finally landing with a jolt on the ground. Pain rippled through my body, especially in my ribs, although they didn’t seem broken. I shuddered, feeling a spike of fire penetrate my being as the impact aggravated my soul’s injuries.

Gathering my wits, I looked up just in time to see a hulking, eight-foot-tall bearkin bounce off the wall, sending several other people flying as well. I rubbed my side, shaking my head in irritated curiosity. What in the world could have made someone like him stumble?

"D-d-d-demon!"

I looked up, alarmed by the sudden cry only to find my cloak displaced by the commotion. A middle-aged man with gray in his sideburns pointed a shaking finger at me, eyes bulging as he backpedaled. He knocked into a few others, who turned to see what his shouting was for.

I shoved my tail behind me and whipped the hood back up, but it was too late. Cries of "demonkin," and "filthblood," filled the hall and a wide circle opened up around me. Amongst the sea of panic, a group of weathered adventurers swiftly drew their weapons, forming a loose ring around me. Their faces were young, but seasoned, flickering with caution and ready for action.