The Forsaken Hero

The vision wavered like static, and when it stabilized again, the scene had shifted. The graceful decks of the skyship were gone, and in their place, a soaring chapel. A shard of omniscience glittered in the center, guarded by an entire battalion of soldiers. They watched the entrances intently, bodies stiff and rigid. Their souls blazed bright, the weakest among them the third-level.

A ninth-level mage slouched against the wall behind the shard, head leaning back against the stone. She had long, graying hair, her brow creased with a few, aged wrinkles. Her eyes were bright, glowing with the same purple light that infused the crystal enchantment. She held a staff loosely in her grip, a gnarled wood haft tipped with an icon of a small book made of silver, the pages spread. Tiny, intricate runes had been carved into the visible pages. They glowed faintly with purple light, giving off the faint pressure of an eighth-level magic item.

The woman suppressed a yawn with the back of her hand. Her eyes met mine, and she straightened, lips twitching into a small smile. My throat tightened, and I took a hesitant step back.

"About time," she murmured, "I was starting to think they actually had killed you."

I looked around, but none of the other soldiers were paying her any attention, or had even noticed she was speaking.

"Don’t be shy, oracle. I’ve been waiting for so long. Wouldn’t it be rude to ignore me?"

I took a nervous breath, my tail flicking back and forth. "W-who are you?"

"Ah, better. My name is Nithalee, one of the few humble worshipers of the God of Magic."

"Magic!" I took a step back, clutching my skirt. "I-I don’t have his shard!"

She raised an eyebrow. "Shard? Who said anything about a shard?"

"W-why am I here?" I stammered, staring at the ground. "What do you want?"