Book 8 Prologue

Owain couldn’t take it anymore. He just couldn’t. He was so tired of trying to be like his father. He wasn’t ready for this. He just wanted so desperately to hug his mother and cry. To let it all out. Everyone kept telling him he had to be strong, be brave. He had to be tough.

But Owain heard what they called him behind closed doors. Monster. Demon. How had he survived? His father was dead, yet he managed to live? Impossible. He was something terrible.

Was that what his mother saw? Was that why she never smiled? Why she seemed to almost hide from him? Why the moment he entered a room, she always tried to leave? Did she hate him?

He felt so alone. He just wanted it to end. He desperately wanted someone, anyone, to help him. Why did it all have to be his responsibility? How could they tell him he was a child, too young to worry about some things one moment, then the next expect him to serve as lord of the keep? How could they look at him as if he was a fool deserving of mockery one moment, then the next expect him to be the one to deal with anything that threatened their home? They were already talking about who he would become betrothed to, to follow his father’s legacy. Not even ten winters old yet and he felt like the whole weight of the world rested on his shoulders.

Where even was he?

For the first time in he didn’t know how long he realized he didn’t know where he was. He felt a strange pull, as if something was calling him. Telling him to come to it.

Owain had heard of such things. Monsters. Demons. Terrible creatures that lured you to them, only to kill you when you arrived. But, for once, he didn’t care. Let it call him. Let it end him. Maybe they’d earn some peace from his end. Maybe if he had died with his father, everything would have been better.

Except, it wasn’t a monster that seemed to call him. Soon his steps drew him to strange, ancient ruins. Unlike anything he had ever seen. There, sticking out of the ground, was an old rusty sword…

Calling to him.

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“My name is Hardwin,” the older man said, wiping the blood from the wolves off his sword. “Now who, pray tell, are you?”

Owain stared up at him for a few moments. How to tell him? Would the man even believe him? No, probably not. He finally shook his head and just turned to walk away. However, he only made it a few steps before a hand clasped down on his shoulder and tugged him back.

“I was talking to you,” Hardwin said, a scowl on his face. “Listen, son, these woods are dangerous. The Troll of Reflections is--”

“Dead,” Owain said.

“What?” Hardwin asked.

Owain motioned off towards where the troll’s corpse now lay, watching his soon to be dearest friend walk off through the woods.

Owain would look back on that time often. To imagine, the first time he’d meet his first friend, yet he had been so blind as to not even realize that he was one of the Chosen.

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“My name is Gil,” the armored figure said. “That doesn’t matter, though. All that matters is to get out of this tomb you’ll need to go through me.”

Owain clutched his sword, the fury rising in him. So many people were counting on them! They didn’t have time to waste on this man. They--

“Leave him to me,” Hardwin said before stepping forward.

“You?” Owain asked.

“You all go on ahead,” Hardwin said. “This shouldn’t take long.”

“You underestimate me,” Gil said.

“Possibly,” Hardwin said. “But people are counting on us.”

“Are you sure?” Owain asked.

“Of course,” Hardwin said before smirking. “You can pay me back later.”

“A mug and a pat on the back?” Owain asked before running forward. Gil attempted to block his way, but Hardwin was there a moment later, knocking him back.

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“YOU BASTARD!” Hardwin screamed, the tears flowing down his face. Again and again he drove his fists into the face of Onrol, smashing his skull against the stone. Thalgren started to step forward, but Owain reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, shaking his head.

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Even with Onrol’s face was nothing more than a splatter on the floor, Hardwin continued to rain down blows on him, the tears flowing like small rivers.

There would be no time to grieve soon. They knew that. They already had more places they were needed.

But for now, Owain couldn’t stop his friend from taking what little vengeance he could for the loss of his mother.

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Owain cocked an eye at the sight before him. “The Demon Lord is dead,” he said. “Aren’t you going to finish him?”

“No,” Hardwin said.

Gil sat on his knees, his armor cracked and damaged, his sword lodged in the wall. Panting. Trembling.

“I don’t know why you’re doing what you’re doing, Gil,” Hardwin said, before holding out his hand to him. “But every time our blades crossed I could feel it. I could see it. You don’t want this world to end any more than we do. Join us.”

Owain rolled his eyes, but kept walking. If Hardwin thought the general could help them, what did he care? In the end, this was the duty of the Hero. Besides, the Demon Lord was dead. What else mattered? What possible threat could remain in comparison to that?

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“I never would have thought you were into the… frail look,” Owain said, eyeing the strange woman from across the hall. So that was who Gil was, under that armor?

“I don’t know what it is about her,” Hardwin said. “Something about her just feels familiar. It always had. Now, though, more than ever.”

Owain nodded. “I guess. She might betray us in the end.”

“She won’t,” Hardwin said.

Owain nodded, but he still felt unsure. He’d touched her sword, once. It felt strange. Unclean. Wrong. Not to mention the looks she gave him sometimes. So filled with hate and sadness. He suspected she wanted to say something, but the words never came.

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“You can’t do this,” Gil said softly. “There has to be another way.”

“If there is another way, I’d love to hear it,” Owain said bitterly.

“Hardwin wouldn’t have wanted you to--”

“Hardwin is DEAD!” Owain yelled. “He died so we could… he died so I could… he’s dead. Just like Neia, just like Thalgren, just like Andreas.” He rested against his spear, struggling to hold the tears back. “They’re all dead. Because I messed up. They threw their lives away to buy time. Do you have a better solution? A better idea?”

“I… well…” Gil said, no longer looking at him.

“Well? Say it, then? Do you, or don’t you?” Owain asked. “Because unless you have anything of use to add, maybe you should just leave this to us.”

“You’re going to just, if you destroy the doors, then, you, you’ll just… you’ll…” Gil said, trailing off but never actually saying anything.

“What?” Owain asked. “Do you know something about them I don’t? Well?”

Gil stared at him for a few more moments before, finally, she just turned and left. He shook his head. Good riddance…

Though, whenever that happened, it was the last time he ever saw her. At least, outside of that armor.

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Owain was alone.

He didn’t know if it was his fault. He didn’t know if it was a foul fate or a punishment of the now banished gods. Perhaps a final curse of the Demon Lord.

But he was alone.

All the Chosen, save Searle, were gone. Now, judging by the letter left for him, there were none left. It was just him. Apparently he and Gil had slain Hardwin.

There were no gods, not that he believed the gods cared anymore.

There was no family.

All that was left was the whispers he heard. He was the Hero. He would fix everything. That was what they all believed. That he, somehow, could repair this. Could save them.

But he didn’t know how. He never had. He wondered if he ever would. He let the letter fall from his fingertips onto the floor.

By the gods he was so tired. He just wanted to sleep. He just wanted it to end. He hated them all so much. Almost as much as he hated himself.

But he was the Hero.

There was no rest.

There was no peace.

There was only the duty. Only he could be the Hero. If he didn’t do it, nobody else would rise up. Nobody else could. Even if he shattered, again and again, it didn’t matter. He had to do it.

He had to be strong. He had to be brave. He had to be unstoppable.

If not for his sake, then for those who had died for him. Who had trusted him.

For every soul he felt pushing in on him, every life lost.

Owain would fight. Perhaps, if the gods were kind, he would finally die.

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Joan nudged the food on her plate around, though she could only force so much of it down.

She felt so exhausted, she just wanted to sleep for a few more days. She’d been running, running, running for so long. Not just in this life, but in every life.

It was almost over.

Even Chase, who had only been with them a short bit, could feel it. The energy in the air was different, a sense of finality that wanted to overtake them all.

But they were almost to the end. She glanced towards the little blue spider that was resting besides her. Soon she’d go straight into the den that had horrified her for so long. At least it would be better than falling into it. If only a little bit.

By the gods she wished she didn’t have to do this.

But nobody else could.

But, oddly, that was okay. Because even if only she could do this, there was still so much that had to be done that she could trust them to do. Then, finally, she could sleep.