The Forsaken Hero-Chapter 960: The Ashes of War

"Lord of Ash," Zephyriss said, presenting the strange violet sword.

Fyren accepted it, the blade gleaming in the storm demon’s grip. He swished it through the air, letting out a low, appreciative whistle. As he examined the steel, I looked down at Luke’s sleeping face and idly traced his cheek. My thoughts were a mess. I still found it hard to believe the Arbiter was dead—and by Luke’s hand.

"All that destruction," I whispered. I looked out at the gray waste. "It’s all just ash."

"A small price for felling a ninth-level foe," Fyren said. "When you told us an Arbiter would arrive, I assumed it meant Sylvarus would disappear."

"Duskwood?"

He shook his head. "No, the entire kingdom. It is likely only because your friend is a ninth-level life mage that the destruction was contained. Her Arboreal World stabilized the rampaging mana; it was an extra resistance the blast had to fight through."

I nodded, though his words brought little comfort. Silence fell over us, broken only by the whistle of the wind and Fable’s heavy breaths.

At last, I sighed, my hand resting on Luke’s shoulder. "We should move. I’m just... so tired."

Fable rose. Behind me, R’lissea shifted with a slight groan, but she only rolled over, snuggling deeper into the wolf’s fur.

"Have your demons found the skyship?" I asked as we retraced our steps toward the rim of the crater.

"They have. Your friends are safe," Zephyriss assured me. "The ship is damaged beyond repair, but they limped back to the city before it went down."

My shoulders slumped. "And everyone?"

"Alive, Oracle. The hero, Victor, and your Life Mage all live."

I sagged against Fable’s back, the tension finally breaking. As we reached the rim, I looked over the scarred landscape. The world was bathed in a deep orange sunset, painting the swirling clouds in crimson and violet. For a moment, it looked as if the forest was back in flames, but it was only the light.

The weight in my lap shifted. Luke groaned and rolled over; I yelped, grabbing him before he could slide off Fable’s back. He was heavy, but I managed to shift him until his head rested in my lap. His eyes fluttered open, staring dazedly at me, before his lips cracked in a pained smile.

"Xiviyah...?" He reached up, his fingers rough against my cheek. Once he felt the warmth of my skin, the tension left his body.

"I’m here," I said, holding his hand against my face.

"Did... did we...?"

"We won, Luke. You killed him."

"Oh. Good." His hand fell, and his eyes drifted shut. He let out a long, heavy breath. "I had the worst dream. It’s all fuzzy... like being stabbed and then dipped in lava. But I heard your voice. Were you calling for me?"

My lip quivered, but I forced a breath. "I was scared."

"Heh, you don’t look it now," he said, opening his eyes again. A teasing smile touched his lips. "You don’t even seem worried. What if I hadn’t woken up?"

"Well..." I scratched my cheek, hoping I wasn’t flushing. "I’m usually the one collapsing. I figured if I always woke up, there was no way you wouldn’t."

"Fair enough," he chuckled, then winced. He went quiet for a moment. "It wasn’t what I expected."

"What wasn’t?"

"Killing him. When that light came from the sky, I just... moved. When my sword pierced his chest, it was..."

"Everything you hoped for?"

He shook his head, his gaze distant. "No. I just feel empty." He stared at his hand, then closed it into a fist. "It felt the same as when I killed my master all those years ago. The same, but... different."

He went quiet, his eyes shifting from the ash of the battlefield to my face. For a second, the coldness in his expression flickered.

"The hate is still there," he murmured, almost to himself. "I still want to watch them all burn. But when I was under... when I thought I was dying... I didn’t care about the Arbiter. I didn’t care about the gods." His thumb brushed against my cheek, a trace of soot smearing under my eye. "I just wanted to hear your voice again. I don’t understand it. Why does victory feel so hollow, when just... this... feels like enough?"

I had no answer. I wasn’t even sure I understood the question.

Before I could try to form one, he took a deep breath and sat up. His recovery was already well underway, something that irritated me to no end. Couldn’t he lie there a little longer?

"The sword," he said. "Where is it?"

"I believe you’re looking for this, Apostle," Fyren said, flying closer.

He reversed the violet blade, presenting the hilt. Luke stared at it for a long moment before taking it. Fable shivered as Luke’s fingers closed around the grip, a small pulse of mana rolling through the air. The crossguard resembled feathered wings centered on a violet gemstone.

"Even on the brink of death, he tried to stab me," Luke said softly. "But I took it; my own blade couldn’t pierce him. When I grabbed this, it burned... like I was holding the sun. But then..." He shrugged, lowering the weapon. "I don’t remember."

"I have never seen an Arbiter’s weapon corrupted," Fyren mused. "They are as much a part of them as the Staff of Fate is a part of you, Xiviyah. I can’t imagine how he’ll feel once he reforms within the divine realms."

"Good. They could use more suffering there."

Fyren’s lip curled. "Indeed."

The sword dissolved as Luke let go, disappearing into ribbons of curse mana that flowed into his soul.

"It really is like an artifact," I said.

As we neared the city, a faint pull tugged at my soul. I turned, looking out over the fields of ash. A light glowed in the dark a short distance away, like a star through the clouds.

"Come," I whispered.

A pulse emanated from the distance, flared once, and vanished. My own aura stirred in response. Stars gathered at my fingertips, swirling and condensing until they took a familiar form. My fingers closed around cool, smooth metal. As the light faded, I held the handle of the Aetherial Prism. Freed of its chains, it glowed with a soft warmth against the dusk.

"It came to you," Fyren said, his eyes narrowing.

"What is it?" Luke asked, twisting to look.

"It’s the artifact I used to..." I hesitated, looking away. "To fire the cannon."

Luke froze. "A cannon? Is that what struck him down?" He went rigid, his eyes scanning the miles of scorched earth. "Wait—you fired it? You did... this?"

I couldn’t meet his gaze. My fingers tightened around the lantern, the metal biting into my palm.

"Xiviyah..." He didn’t look at the ruin with horror; he looked at it with a dark, simmering frustration. He shook his head, his voice dropping to a low growl. "I should have fought harder. I should have been stronger. Then you wouldn’t have been forced to do this. You deserve more than this."

"I did what I had to," I said, the words feeling small against the vast silence of the crater.

"But you shouldn’t have had to," he snapped, clenching his fists so hard his knuckles popped. "You shouldn’t have to carry the weight of these souls. You shouldn’t be the one making these choices while I lie in the dirt. It shouldn’t be your sacrifice."

"It doesn’t matter," I said, betrayed by the quiver in my voice. "I can do it. I have to."

Luke reached out, his grip on my shoulder firm, pulling my focus back to him.

"One day, you won’t," he promised, his eyes burning with a cold, singular intensity. "I’m the one meant for darkness, Xiviyah. I promised you that, and yet...I’m going to get stronger."

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. I’d been trying so hard to avoid thinking of what firing that cannon had done, what I’d done, but his words clung to me, haunting. The small villages, the peaceful hamlets, the farms and towns–gone. Thousands dead in the blink of an eye, swallowed in the ash.

He held my gaze for a long moment before finally relenting. He pulled me into a clumsy hug, lifting me from Fable’s back and holding me close in front of him. The scent of ash and blood clung to him, but beneath it was Luke.

I buried my face in the crook of his neck. A single tear slipped down my cheek, drawing a line through the grime and blood. I clutched the back of his tattered armor, my fingers digging into the scorched leather.

Luke held me tight as we finally reached the wall of trees at the edge of the crater. It was like stepping into another world. Fires still burned, and pillars of smoke rose into the dusky sky, yet there was so much that was green and alive. Soldiers marked the first major street we came to, crimson threads tied about their spears. Haunted, pale-faced civilians scurried around them, looking around with terrified eyes, many smeared with dust and ash. No one dared stop us, though whether it was because they recognized me or the auras of four eighth-level beings, I knew not.

"Xiviyah?" R’lissea awakened as we reached the inner city, calling my name.

"I’m here," I said, letting go of Luke’s neck and reaching behind him, taking her hand. She was cold and shivering, but stilled at my touch, managing to open her eyes.

"What happened? The arbiter...his sword..." She shuddered, fear flashing through her eyes.

"He hurt you," I explained, my voice breaking. "But he’s gone. We won."

She seemed to accept that, sinking back into Fable’s fur and slipping back into sleep. Not a minute later, we arrived at the Lastlight Estate.