The Forsaken Hero

The vision replayed through my mind: Korra’s blood, her scream, and her terrible, empty eyes. There was nothing I could do to save her. It was the same as before. I was as helpless as the day Lord Byron left Aurle dead in my arms.

But something had changed since that awful day so long ago, something Gathrin had reminded me of. I was no longer alone. I didn’t have to do everything myself.

I rose from Fable’s side, my body protesting with a hundred tiny aches. My hands continued to shake as I hastily dressed, feeling like I could, at any moment, break into tears again. The vision’s fulfillment was still weeks away, but every second felt like an eternity. There was no time to lose, not even to curl up with Fable for another minute’s sleep.

As I moved to leave the room, Fable rose and blocked the doorway.

"Fable, move," I said.

He remained still, an unyielding sentinel. I folded my arms and glared at him, tail flicking anxiously. "I don’t care if it’s dangerous outside. I have to save Korra."

He whined, ears slicked back, but didn’t move. I tried to get past him, but his massive bulk filled the doorway, a veritable wall of silver fur and muscle. I gave him a half-hearted push and practically bounced off. Some mountains were less solid.

"Haven," I called, retreating a few steps, still glaring at the wolf.

I waited, my gaze darting around expectantly, but the room remained dim.

"Haven, please come here. I promise I won’t leave," I said, sitting on the bed. Then added, with another look at Fable, "Not like I can anyway."

The spirit materialized, wearing a stern expression.