The Forsaken Hero

All hell broke loose as we fled the throne room. Chunks of rock and debris broke from the walls and ceiling, and the fissures in the floor widened. Entire rooms gave out behind us or fell through the ceiling, burying our level. Shouts and screams rang in the billowing clouds of dust. Cries for help, pain, and loss melded together, smothered only by the dreadful roar of cave-ins.

Elaine led the way, the emperor held in her arms. The sixth-level guards had since vanished into the spire, following her orders to save who they could. R’lissea and I followed after, clinging to Fable’s back for dear life. I squinted against the dust, hoping for a flicker of violet light in the gathering dust, but Luke and the other apostles had vanished.

"I’m sure they’re alright. They escaped when the floor cracked," R’lissea said.

I shook my head, tail curling. "But why did he leave me?" I mumbled, squeezing my eyes shut. He was supposed to be there when this happened, just like he promised. Or...had he actually promised anything? Was I confusing him with Soltair?

She hesitated, chewing on her lip. "He didn’t look well. He was pale, and his tail was trembling. Even before this happened. He looked scared, or maybe...sad."

"Scared?" I bit my lip. What could make someone like Luke afraid? Did he sense what I did? No, that didn’t make sense. He didn’t fear monsters.

The temperature started to rise as wisps of smoke curled amidst the dust and rubble. A faint orange glow rose within the deepest fissures, painting the crumbling keep with the colors of hell.

We burst out of the keep as fires erupted behind us, the ground rolling beneath our feet. Thick pillars of smoke trailed into the evening sky as towers cracked and tumbled, and the passages and tunnels carved within the spire collapsed. Brave soldiers stained with soot, blood, and dust emerged from the destruction, carrying servants, nobles, and children, dropping them off with their weaker companions before staggering back into the spire, looking for more survivors. Sometimes, they didn’t return.

"This way," Elaine said, moving vigorously toward the eastern wing of the courtyard.

As we approached the small, fortified keep, a surge of aura nearly threw me from Fable’s back. The keep exploded, sending chunks of obsidian the size of houses in all directions. They cratered the earth around us, releasing small shockwaves as they disintegrated from the force of impact. A twenty-foot section of rampart crashed on top of us, but Elaine cut toward it with her sword, releasing a blazing arc of mana toward it. The magical technique bisected the debris, sending the halves crashing on either side of our party.

A figure strode out of the ruined keep, his ninth-level aura blasting the smoke and dust away. Behind him, the members of the church’s embassy stumbled after him. Threads of mana encircled their necks, trailing to the mage’s hand like leashes. Undill was shaking, her face white. Except Father Ithris, who walked with complete composure, none of the others seemed any better.