The Forsaken Hero

As I slipped into sleep, I triggered a pulse of mana in my soul, reaching down to the Oracle of Eternity. When my eyes closed and my consciousness faded, I found myself in my soul space again. I’d expected some mental resistance, some instinctive hatred of the place after spending what felt like years locked within it, but instead, it felt like I was coming home. The stars glimmered brightly as though happy to see me, and I smiled faintly.

"I’m back," I said to no one in particular.

I didn’t know if this was the best idea, having a vision when I should have been fully resting, but I needed answers more than I needed sleep. Besides, my body could heal while I existed in the soul space.

This time, I found myself in complete control over my visions, and I willed an image of Fable. The ability instantly responded, and the threads of white light quickly formed a scene. The resulting vision was crisp and clear, nothing like the hazy glimpses I’d been catching while I slept.

But beyond that, as I drew on my mana, there was a faint burning pain in my soul. It stemmed from the singed fringes of my soul, feeling similar to the sun purge on my flesh, yet much sharper. As far as pain went, it was nothing compared to the sheer agony I’d suffered for years when my soul was shattered. In fact, I barely noticed it, and that was only because I’d had no pain for the past few months, giving me some sort of reference.

I held my breath as the scene materialized, placing me directly in a camp. I recognized the soldiers’ armor and flapping banners immediately: the Last Light Company. Their tents spread out for almost a mile in all directions, their numbers similar to when I’d last seen them. I felt some of the weight leave my shoulders at seeing they’d survived the war in Brithlite all but unscathed. My selfishness hadn’t cost too many of their lives.

As the vision sharpened, I focused on the campfire directly beneath me. A small group huddled around the flames, the atmosphere quiet and subdued. Relief washed over me as I recognized their faces. They were all there. They were all safe.

Korra and Gayron sat side-by-side, her head resting on his shoulder, their hands intertwined. Grace sat cross-legged beside them, her long, dark hair flowing in the gentle breeze. She spoke with animation, her hands gesturing as she described a battle she’d fought in a demon gate. Her frequent glances at the others revealed her attempt to lift their spirits or at least distract them from their worries.

Across the fire were Fable and Sari. The young foxkin curled on the wolf’s back, idly stroking his neck as I had done so many times before. Her tail swished as she listened to Grace’s story with rapt attention, her eyes shining, and gasps escaping her at all the right moments. But my wolf lay lethargic and limp, his head resting on his paws, his gaze distant and vacant. Even when Sari squealed at an exciting turn in the story, his ears barely flicked in annoyance.