The Forsaken Hero-Chapter 716: Black Mist

The rest of the evening whirled by. Apparently, the emperor himself wanted to see us off in the morning, so Elise’s house was in an uproar. The two servants were busy cleaning the entire manor, while the guard polished his armor.

I slipped away with Fable, finding my room on my own. It wasn’t that Rosarie didn’t offer, but I felt bad pulling her away from her duties. And after how she reacted to me this morning, I couldn’t bear to force her to attend to me.

Fyren took the guest room next to mine, promising to be there if he felt anything strange. I thanked him and opened the door, stepping into my room. A small gasp escaped my lips.

I expected another servant room, but the quarters before me were a full suite with a living room, sleeping space, and a large bathroom. A tile bath was in the corner by a wall mirror, enchanted with mana to warm the water.

The bed was massive, with plush cushions and pure white sheets. A window overlooked the room, letting the red light of the evening bleed through the white curtains. A few large wardrobes sat empty, but we’re devoid of dust. A few streaks on the mantle of a fireplace showed it had been cleaned earlier in the day.

I peeked back into the hallway, but Fyren’s door was already closed. I had the sneaking suspicion his guest room was more like servants’ quarters.

Butterflies fluttered in my stomach as I shut the door and made my way to the bed. It sank beneath my weight, softer than it looked. I ran my hand over the sheets, letting out a long sigh. Fable padded over, tilting his head curiously. I smiled and rubbed his head between his horns.

"Sorry, it’s just...I’ve never had a room like this. It’s a little big. Do you think Fyren would switch?"

I lay back on the bed, spreading my arms wide and staring at the ceiling. It didn’t feel real. Any of it. Sometimes, I still felt trapped in one of the countless visions of the Day of Cinders. Any moment I would wake up and be forced to live through this hell again.

Fable whined, putting his paw on the bed.

"I know, it’s not all bad," I murmured. "But there’s Luke, he..."

I bit my lip. What was there to say? I’d been so naive to trust him, to trust Fate when she told me to have faith. What had once felt so warm and right now just felt empty and hollow. There would never be a time it wouldn’t, anymore. I was just like Elise; some wound would never heal.

I rolled off the bed and hugged Fable, sinking to my knees. "It’s not all bad," I whispered. "Right?"

Maybe I was letting my fears run ahead of me again. I had finally had a vision of a time beyond the war. Even if it wasn’t a future for me, at least someone would be able to continue on.

There was more good news beyond that. Elise had found a place to call home again, even if she insisted on leaving it now with R’lissea and me. It would be waiting for her when our mission was complete.

"The Lastlight Estate," I murmured, stroking Fable’s fur. "Lastlight. Last Light...final sun...sunset–"

I sat up sharply, catching Fable off guard. No, it couldn’t be. She couldn’t be her! That was an empress! Those runes were...the symbol of Lastlight.

A dull ache struck up between my horns, and I rubbed my eyes. Just what happened in the future? How could Elise...where would an empire like that come from? Elise: the gentle, playful, and deeply wounded soul. She couldn’t be an empress. She just couldn’t.

"Maybe you were right, Verity," I said, collapsing against Fable. "There really is so much more."

The thought stung, making my mind recoil. I thought I understood fate. It was dark and foggy. The future was an endless vista of shadow and pain. And yet...that wasn’t true. Verity had told me the purpose of the fate hero was to guide people to a brighter future. It was the same thing I felt when I chose to fight the lava dragons. They needed a star, and I was the only one to guide them. That need hadn’t lessened, nor was it just in the empire. Enusia needed a star, something to hope and believe in as it was torn between the hunger of the demons and the tyranny of the divine.

I would never have light or warmth again. Even if it was possible, I didn’t know if I could bring myself to trust someone again. But there was meaning in seeing someone I loved smile, like Elise. Seeing Sari all grown up in that vision had given me a feeling unlike anything I’d seen before, and I wanted more of it. It wouldn’t fill the void, but it was enough for me to move forward. I didn’t care what happened to me anymore, but I wanted to give everyone I cared for a chance to be happy and reach that future after the war. To that end, I had to trust Fate’s plan and secure Magic’s help.

With that settled in my mind, I changed into a nightdress, curled up with Fable, and fell asleep. Unsurprisingly, fate wrapped around me, pulling me into a vision of a small, rural village.

The first thing I noticed was the darkness. It was midday, but the sun was a tiny ball of pale light overhead. There were no clouds, but the entire village was wreathed by shadows. It clung to the ground like a heavy mist, wrinkling my nose with the scent of rot. The homes scattered across the village were dilapidated and broken down. Wood rotted, tiles chipped, and windows cracked and faded. Most of the homes had gardens, but the vegetation was black and twisted, almost skeletal.

A few haggard figures shambled through the mists, stumbling over debris and broken fences. Their skin was ashen, their faces sunken in. Few had anything in their eye sockets but a tainted darkness. Their clothes were tattered, and many bore sickly, bloodless wounds. What had once been a small girl trundled directly through my soul form, sending a shudder down my back and tail. One of her cheeks had rotted out, showing her swollen, black tongue waggling, muttering something. Despite my revulsion, I drifted closer, only to recoil. She was mumbling the word ’mommy’ over and over again.

A powerful shockwave swept through the village, flattening a dozen homes. The undead turned as one and began stumbling toward the epicenter. I shifted toward it, breaking out in the middle of a battle.

Battle might have been a strong word for the slaughter taking place. A squad of fifth-level soldiers was at the edge of the village. They moved like their dull, grimy armor carried the weight of mountains, their faces long and bleak. Their armor felt familiar, but the filth covered any sigils or trappings. The captain was an older man with graying hair and a sallow face.

The soldiers worked in tight coordination, systematically killing every undead as they encountered it. Every once in a while, the leader would use a powerful magical technique, drawing even more undead to their location.

"How many more, do you think?" A younger soldier asked from behind. He had a bloody bandage wrapped around his arm. It had slipped a little, showing the edge of his wound was black, his veins visible like angry roots under his skin.

The leader shrugged, casually beheading an undead more skeleton than zombie.

"Perhaps twenty, maybe thirty/. The village had about three hundred before the mists reached it. The report said about half managed to escape in time."

They fell into silence again. The only sound was the sickening crunch of their weapons and the shrieks of the dying undead. After a few minutes, the flow stopped. The leader used another magical technique, launching an arc of light into the side of a nearby cottage. The building exploded, but no new undead arrived.

"That’s all of them. Let’s take a breather and then report in," the gray-haired man said.

The group collapsed in a loose circle. The leader withdrew a pack from his spatial ring and started handing out rations to his men.

"Gods, I want to go home," a man with a yellow mustache said. He leaned against the ruins of the preciously destroyed cottage, massaging his eyes. "We killed the Circle already. Why are we still here? This isn’t even our war."

None of the other men had an answer. They just stared at the ground or silently chewed their dried meat, looking exhausted.

"Forty-seven," the leader said quietly, causing the others to lean toward him. "This is the forty-seventh village we’ve cleared. The entire Kingdom of Ornth...swallowed by this cursed mist."

"Is the Undead Hero really behind this? Whatever happened to saving the world?" one muttered.

The mustached man snorted. "Enslaving my family had little to do with fighting demons, yet the church did it anyway. I heard they were kicked out of Blacksand, so maybe they’ve given this continent up for dead."

"They didn’t have to burn it down on the way out," the first muttered. "Or maybe they should have. Better to be burned than turned into a monster. And I thought the heart crest was bad."

The soldiers grumbled a few more minutes, complaining about everything from elves’ lack of hospitality to how long the winter was. Eventually, the leader stood and ordered the rest to rise. They marched off into the black mist, vanishing from view.

The vision shifted, setting me on the edge of a demon horde. The surrounding area was filled with black rock, sand, and ancient hills. A river meandered through a shallow ravine. Sitting atop the cliffs, surrounded by fifth and sixth-level evolved demons, was a familiar tent. Standing outside it, looking at the setting sun, was Luke.