The Forsaken Hero

As broken as I was, not even sleep gave me peace. The dark nightmares that had tormented me for months attacked in force, refusing to allow my soul the rest it needed to recover. Never before had the familiar figures in the dream felt so lifelike, so real, that I often found myself unable to distinguish Soltair in my nightmares from the real one. A glowing slave crest pulsed deep within my darkened mind, ever-present no matter the nightmarish scene.

Gradually, the terrors faded and darkness encroached from all directions. Finding myself alone, I allowed myself to relax and slip into a deeper sleep. As my dream’s consciousness faded, a distant voice broke my solitude. It was dry and harsh, crackling like embers, the words searing into my soul.

"I’m coming for you."

I awoke sometime later, drenched in sweat and muscles weak with exhaustion. The bed jostled with erratic bumps, shaking the drowsiness from my body. Fortunately, I had enough strength to open my eyes, but found a rather confusing scene.

I was curled up on a bench, not a bed, with Soltair and Trithe sitting across from me. They were sleeping peacefully, her head resting on his shoulder, their hands laced together tightly. The walls were close around us, with two darkened windows on either side. Were we in a carriage?

I’d never actually ridden in a carriage before, but that would explain the close quarters and unsteady gait. Still, with my thoughts still muddled by my soul’s weakness, I had a hard time reconciling the baffling change in scenery. Had they decided to kick us out of the town? But then why give us a carriage?

The excruciating memories of the slave crest’s punishment slammed into me, driving away all other thoughts. The story came back in bits and pieces until I managed to jumble together what had happened. A drunk man assaulted me, and I pushed him away with a spell. He went through the wall, and there was blood everywhere.

I stared down at my hand, opening and closing my fingers slowly. The man’s broken body returned to my mind, dead beyond all doubt, yet I felt nothing. Even the anxious cringe I suffered every time I thought of the dead priests was gone. It wasn’t a revelation, but more of a realization, yet it still took me by surprise.

But why had Soltair activated the Slave Crest? Just touching on the subject sent a wave of phantom pains through my body, and I clutched the blanket tighter about me. His words, given so casually right before I lost consciousness, trickled in. Something about giving a good show?