The Forsaken Hero

The trial was being held in the Great Chapel, bathed in the light of the Shard of Omniscience. The eight gargantuan statues of the main gods of this world stood as sentinels, silently judging the proceedings. Their eyes seemed to bore into me, filled with condemnation. Even Fate’s visage felt cold and distant, so very different than the warm, loving woman who had held me close during the night.

But perhaps this statue was more accurate, anyway. Fate claimed gods never lied, but what had she done if not abandoned me? Our meeting gave every impression as a last farewell, the goddess’ tears being proof. She claimed to care for me, to sorrow at my pain, yet she had sent me to Enusia believing full well my life would end the moment I was taken from the cage in the warehouse.

Immersed in my own despondency, I scarcely noticed the gathered masses. The Pope and his Fathers sat on a raised dais overlooking the chapel, their backs to the shard. Inquisitors lined the massive room, their white robes stark and pure, acting as guards for the trial. Hundreds of priests, mages, and influential figures acted as witnesses, forming a sizeable crowd running from the dais to the doors. Judging by the bustle and noise beyond, they extended well into the hallway as well. I knelt before the dias, eyes downcast and tail curled defensively around my knees, surrounded by faces. Some were curious, even sympathetic, but the majority bore nothing but hostility in their gazes.

Elek, the arbiter, leaned against the Sun God’s statue, standing imposingly with his arms crossed. He was fully dressed for war, with his great sword strapped to his back, looking fully out of place amid the affluent finery of the draping silks and ruffles of the other attendees. Even the priests wore their finest, dressed as though they were attending a royal court as opposed to a criminal’s trial.

I hurriedly looked down as he noticed my gaze, his eyes burrowing into my soul, shivering at my vulnerability. Denied my mana through the Soul Binder, I was without the protective power of Adaptive Resistance and the Eyes of Fate, wholly exposed to anything I might be subjected to. That should have terrified me, but instead, I found myself empty and numb, caring little for what should befall me. If anything, I wished they would end this farce and do as they pleased. It wasn’t as though they intended to hold a fair, honest trial, anyway.

At long last, the Pope stood, raising a hand to quell the scattered whispers. "It is with heavy hearts," he began, "that we assemble here today, to witness and judge the deplorable behavior of one of the gods’ chosen heroes. But in this time of war, we will do what we must. Grand Inquisitor Korvin, you have been charged with this investigation. Please present your findings."

That was it. There was no preamble, no pleasantries, only a gravity and conciseness fitting the situation. Korvin, the one who deceived me into surrendering my soul, descended from the dais, moving before me and addressing the crowd. His presence filled the room, giving all a sense of his grand majesty and ninth-level power. His face and tone were solemn and official, in sharp contrast with the wily, vicious fanaticism of the man in my memories.

"I shall begin by ensuring the credibility of this trial," he said, holding up a ring. "Fate Hero, I hereby strip you of all previous commands and obligations by the slave crest, removing all potential possibilities that your words are not your own."

The slave crest flashed, acknowledging his command and leaving me as free as I’d been since receiving the crest in the first place. But that ended a moment later, as he said, "Speak only when spoken to, and reply on with yes or no unless specifically directed. In that case, answer any question fully and completely, providing only information that is relevant to the inquiry."