Fatebound Journey

Élrick knelt by the riverside, the cool water running over his hands, refreshing yet sharp in the mountain air. He lifted a handful to his mouth and drank greedily—nothing quite matched mountain water. Of that, he was certain.

Yet of his whereabouts, he was uncertain. He had never seen this place before in all his travels. He once thought he had uncovered all the world’s secrets, yet secluded spots like this suggested otherwise.

He had not even had time to learn where he was after waking in the small room at the inn. Weak and weary, he had collapsed while attempting to leave, crashing through the hallway door. The innkeeper rushed to help him back to bed, but within an hour, word of his awakening had spread through the village.

The memory of that stumble made him grimace. How feeble had he become? He used to ford rivers and storm fortresses with ease. Now every step he took threatened to topple him over. Each breath he drew was a reminder of his frailty.

Soon after he awoke in the inn, crowds cluttered the corridors and packs of people pressed past one another to get a peek at him. It was nothing unusual. The Hero always stirred such attention. Yet, Élrick had not anticipated being recognized in such a remote village as this.

However, in his fragile and weary state, he had no wish to contend with a crowd, and prepared himself to sneak out the window of his little room to avoid it.

As sure as the innkeep had told him, a glance under the bed revealed his belongings. All was accounted for, except the passage sphere. His full suit of armor was present, though looking upon it pained Élrick.

Where the suit had once been a brilliant bright blue, it was now scuffed and coated in dirt. The right pauldron was smashed, the helmet scratched and pockmarked, and the leggings so dented they barely fit. The magical core in his chest plate was dull and drained; it desperately needed a grandmaster smith’s attention. Still, without the armor, he would surely have died when…

When…? Try as he might, Élrick could not recall what had happened to him. The memory eluded him and made his head hurt to consider.

Shaking off the frustration, he kept moving through the pines of the forest. No trail or road marked the way, and he lacked familiarity with the environs to find his bearings.

He moved to a nearby ridge and grabbed hold of a tree. The cold, rough bark made him pause to pull on his gloves before hauling himself up the steep slope. The thick canopy overhead blocked out any glimpse of the horizon, trapping him in a sea of green.

Gritting his teeth, he pushed onward, hoping that with every step, the ridge would offer a clear view. If he could just break through the treeline, he might finally see the valleys below and identify where he was.

His breath came in ragged gasps, each step a struggle against his fragile frame, but he had not been climbing long. His rest had drained his stamina more than he anticipated. The innkeeper had told him he had been sleeping for months, which Élrick found unsettling. Usually when the injured sleep for so long, it is because they will never awaken.

Gripping a twisted root, he hauled himself upward, the thin mountain air burning his lungs. Perhaps it was only the altitude that was wearing on him—he was unaccustomed to such heights.

His tongue felt dry, and the thought of rolling back down to the river, with its crisp, refreshing water, crossed his mind. But he could not turn back now.

“Let’s not delude ourselves,” he muttered. “Old Culainn would be belly laughing at me now.” The thought brought a faint smile to his lips, despite everything.

The crest was just ahead—he needed only to persevere a little longer. Summoning his remaining strength, he pushed onward, hand over hand, until at last he hoisted himself over the edge.

Once on top of the ridge, he lay there for several moments, taking in labored breaths of air. Despite feeling the absence of his companions, it was liberating not to need to hide his struggle. Years of leadership had taught him the value of maintaining a stalwart front for the sake of the group. But out here, alone, he could let his defenses down.

After a long while, he rose to his feet and took in his surroundings. Thick boughs of pine needles obscured the light of the sun. He would need to ascend higher to find a vantage point. Here, the earth inclined gradually upwards, making for a much less arduous ascent. Taking a few more breaths, he resumed his pace, and within minutes he was gazing out upon the world he knew so well.

He had seen it from mountain peaks a few times before, yet it never ceased to captivate him. The awe he felt wasn’t diminished even after marveling at it from above while riding his airborne steed. Élrick wondered where she was now. He had been forced to leave her behind when he…

Élrick pushed those thoughts aside and focused on his surroundings. To the north, just beyond the Murmurwood, he spied the familiar walled city of Prosperest. Yet, scattered across the surrounding countryside, were several settlements he did not remember seeing before.

He struggled to recall things to memory: assaulting the Dread King’s castle, rejoining his companions—that much came easily. But the notion of entire hamlets escaping his recollection unsettled him.

A dull ache pulsed in his head. Perhaps he was merely misremembering. It had been some time since he had passed through the Prosperest region. Even though he had gazed at the vast world below while riding toward Corruptican’s Keep, it would have been easy to overlook such settlements.

He cast his gaze upwards. Of course, the Hourveil’s magicks ensured that the Dread King’s floating fortress was not visible. That Corruptican had not yet lowered the veil meant he had not yet begun his final plan. “Goddess be praised,” he whispered under shallow breath.

Élrick needed to rest. At this rate, he would have to sneak back into the village and return to the inn. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he began his descent back down the slope. It was not far, he assured himself—yet every step felt painfully long.

A slow hike down the slope, back through the pines, returned him to the edge of the ridge and, as he neared it, his boot caught an upturned root, causing him to tumble over and land face first in the dirt.

He sighed. He would need to proceed carefully, he thought, as a chill wind blew across him, threatening to whisk him off the edge.

***

The chilly wind kissed Tabitha’s cheeks before she opened the front door of their small stone cottage, tucked by the bend in the road. She tiptoed into the kitchen, knowing her parents would be eating and expecting her to sit down.

It would be difficult to avoid a conversation with them if she wanted to grab a bite. But she was too hungry to care. She wanted to search for the Starborn Knight, but she could not do so on an empty stomach.

On the kitchen counter was a plate of roast potatoes, cheese, and a loaf of bread. She took a bite of cheese, stuffed the bread into her pocket, and turned to leave, before she heard her mother call out, “Tabitha?”

Rats. She had almost gotten away. She poked her head into the eating nook. “Yes, I’m here!”

Her mother eyed her. “What happened to your trousers?” she asked sternly. Tabitha’s mother never failed to notice a rent in a blouse or a stain on someone’s pants.

Tabitha shuffled awkwardly in place. “Oh, just had a slip. You’ll have to fix them later. Gotta run!” She spun on her heel and darted for the door.

“Leave? But you just got home! Where are you going at this hour?” Her mother chided, stopping her in her tracks.

Her father rose from the table. Tall and broad of shoulder, he struck an imposing figure, but his tone was gentle and deliberate. “Does this have anything to do with the crowd I saw gathering at the inn today?” he asked.

Tabitha turned back around. “What? Of course not. I’m just going out to pick more Menderose leaves!”

Her mother clicked her tongue. “Haven’t you done enough? Children shouldn’t be out climbing mountains and gathering herbs, anyway! It’s too dangerous, and it’s high time we put a stop to this business.”

“Well, you know how it is this time of year! Lotsa sick people!” She chuckled, hoping to bring some levity.

Her father sighed. “You’re just like your grandmother—ever since that stranger showed up, you’re running off, chasing after something, or cramming your nose in some book.”

Tabitha hesitated, her hand on the doorframe. She was surprised that Father would cast aspersions on Gramma. She fought to keep her voice from trembling. “She always talked about the Starborn Knight. She’d see him one day. ‘I can feel it in mah bones,’ she’d say.” She locked eyes with him. “What if this is it, Father? What if it’s really him?”

Her father sighed, setting his fork down. “Mother always had her head in the clouds, obsessing over those stories. And look what that got her. She was a wonderful woman, but misguided. She never met any knights or went on any adventures. Tabitha, you’re a true daughter of Spyndelcrash—you should focus on what’s real and right in front of you. There’s always a need for skilled hands in the clothing trade. Whether at the looms, needlework, or even dyeing. There’s more security in that than chasing fantasies.”

Tabitha’s throat tightened, her fingers curling around the edge of the doorframe. She held her father’s gaze, feeling the weight of his words settle in her chest like a stone. She swallowed and fought the urge to glance away. Her parents knew well enough—she had no love for their craft. “But what if Gramma was close? What if this is the time?” she said.

He looked at her for a long moment, then shook his head. “If that man is truly the knight of prophecy, he’ll have bigger things to concern himself with than some village girl chasing after a legend. Leave it for the elders to figure out.”

Tabitha’s chest tightened with frustration, but she knew there was no convincing him. “I’ll be careful. I promise,” she said, edging slowly to the door.

Tabitha gripped the door frame, her knuckles whitening, as her mother started speaking. But her voice was drowned by the thudding of Tabitha’s heart. She hesitated—just for a breath—then bolted through the kitchen. Her footsteps echoed behind her as the brisk evening air hit her face.

If her parents said anything more, she could not hear it from the street. Gramma’s beloved stories were not just idle fantasies—they were her passion. And now, Tabitha could not shake the feeling that this might be her chance to see them come true.

The village was quieter now, the last glimmer of sunlight casting long shadows along the streets. As she passed under the archway marking the town’s border, she could not help but consider what it would mean for the village if the prophecy were coming to pass.

The Starborn Knight… Gramma’s voice echoed through her mind as the wind rustled tree branches overhead. Everyone had learned of it as children, yet none expected to see its fulfillment in their lifetimes. How would they carry on if it came to fruition? What stories would they teach their children in the future?

Would there even be a future to worry about? The coming of the Starborn Knight was said to reveal Spyndelcrash Peak’s true purpose. But it was also said to herald a time of great disruption and desolation.

What if this stranger’s coming signalled the end of all things? Tabitha finally allowed the chilling fears that had been gripping the rest of the townspeople to take hold of her.

Shaking off her unease, she quickened her pace, determined to keep her focus. A short way outside the village, she stepped off the path and into the bushes. Anyone seeking to disappear without a trace would try to stay off the roads—or at least, that is what Tabitha would do.

She shuffled around the foliage, pushing back branches and keeping her eyes peeled, looking for any footprints. Tabitha wondered why none of the village men had searched out here yet.

Maybe the men did not truly want to find the Knight. Lots of folk believed in the prophecy and that the coming of the Knight would precede calamitous events. Perhaps they felt if the Knight ran off and did not return, then nothing bad would happen to them.

Tabitha thought that if a prophecy was destined to come true, then it would—nothing could stop it. But many people did not think so logically.

Lost in thought, Tabitha trudged along the narrow, overgrown path, pushing back branches that scraped her arms. The air grew cooler as she moved deeper into the pines, the canopy of trees above swallowing the last light of day.

A soft rustle in the bushes made her freeze—just a mountain hare, she told herself. She crouched low, her hands brushing the undergrowth. That’s when she saw it: a faint outline, barely visible beneath the broad fronds of a Summit Spadeleaf. A boot print.

Holding her breath, she slowly stood and began following the trail, her eyes scanning the ground for the next print, then the next. They led deeper into the trees, away from the village.

“Aha! This might just lead to our Knight!” she said.

***

Élrick placed his helmet on the ground next to him. The bark of the tree he leaned against dug into the back of his head, but he did not wish to move. It had taken more effort than he cared to admit getting back down the slope.

Three-quarters of the way down, he missed a hand hold and took a tumble, banging his head against a boulder at the foot of the slope—though one could not tell it from the damage that had already been dealt to his helmet.

He had already decided he would need to swallow his pride and return to the village. There was no way he could make the hike down to Prosperest in this state. He might be conscious, but he was far from recovered. He would rest for only a few moments more, then begin the journey back—if he could remember the way.

His head began to spin, making it difficult to think. He had overexerted himself more than he had realized. Thoughts of the horizon’s view crossed his mind; visions of Prosperest’s familiar shape brought him some relief. Yet something about it seemed… wrong.

He could not quite place what it was. It was different. Bigger, perhaps? Not all the buildings were the same. Had the world progressed so much without him? Had the innkeeper lied about how long he had slept?

If only he had insisted harder that he and his companions seek the blessing of Samanthis together. By now they would be back in Gauloria, celebrating the Dread King’s defeat at a grand banquet, as heroes. Instead, Corruptican was free, and Élrick was stranded atop this mountain, feeling as though he were dying.

He tried to push those thoughts from his mind. Now was not the time to dwell on what might have been. He could almost hear Culainn’s gruff voice urging him on, “Get on wiv’ it, lad.”

The memory of their childhood adventures around Culainn’s home in Burrurian flashed vividly in his mind. It was the young brute who taught him the earnest simplicity of “aye” and “lad”—words that had become second nature to Élrick.

His father had never approved of such speech. “Mon fils, I will not permit the heir to the throne to engage in the babble of a Burrsman. It is beneath you,” his father had insisted. But Élrick had ignored those reprimands.

Now, reflecting on how his extensive travels had altered his speech, he could almost see his father’s grimace, a silent testament to their unresolved differences. He worried he might never return to his family again.

He realized he had been half asleep when a sudden rustle in the leaves nearby jolted him awake. Whipping his head around, he opened his eyes and reached for his sword. But it was nothing—just the wind, or perhaps his frayed nerves. He exhaled and relaxed but could not shake the paranoid fear that someone was nearby, watching him.

“Culainn? Argu—” He stopped himself.

Of course not. I’m in the mountains. And they’re… His allowed the thought to die unfinished.

He looked for the sun’s position, trying to judge how long he had dozed. But it was hard to find among these tall pines.

He had no energy to chase ghosts. There was no one in these mountains save for the villagers nearby, and he was sure that his tracks were well enough concealed to evade their prying eyes.

A twig snapped—close by. This time, it was not the wind. He swiftly drew his sword, but it was too late. The source of the sound stood directly in front of him—a girl wearing clothing of brown and green fabric. Not at all the sort of protective gear one would wear out in the wild. These mountain folk were of a different breed.

She wielded no weapon, but Élrick did not assume she was harmless. Still, there was little sense in regarding her with overt suspicion. “I presume you are no mountain nymph come to cast me off your peak?” he chuckled wearily, resting his hand on the helmet next to him.

The girl approached him slowly, mouth slightly agape, before stopping in front of him. Placing her hands on her hips, her lips curled slightly upwards as she said, “There’s no such thing as mountain nymphs—least not ‘round here.”

“Ah, just the sort of thing a mountain nymph would say.” She must have been about the same age Élrick was when he first left home on his adventure with Culainn.

The girl ignored his remark, instead walking toward him. The smirk faded from her face as she offered a slight bow. “I’ve been climbing to the top of the mountain, gathering herbs for you for months. It has been an honor, of course, but…” Her voice wavered as she struggled to maintain her composure. “But how you choose to rest—sneaking off to nap out here—well, this is how you repay me?” Her expression hardened into one of mock outrage.

Élrick paused; he did not know this girl. Had she been his caregiver while he was sleeping? She could be lying to endear herself to the Hero.

“Why would such a young child be tasked with mountain climbing?” He wondered if this was standard practice for the villagers.

“I’m the best suited for it.” She puffed out her chest.

Élrick let out another chuckle. “Is that so…” He felt his eyes droop. How he longed for the soft satin sheets of his bed in Gauloria.

A familiar bitter flavor touched his tongue. Opening his eyes again, he saw the girl kneeling at his side, pressing something to his lips.

“There you go, napping again. If you’d just stayed in your bed, you wouldn’t be out here near death. Here, take this—it’ll help.” She was feeding him the ground pulp of a dried leaf.

Élrick attempted to resist. He was not in the habit of accepting strange herbs from strange women. The taste of this one, though familiar, did not match any he knew. He turned his head aside and tried to stand.

The girl grabbed hold of his head and pulled it back. Weak as he was, he could not resist even that. “Now, now,” she said. “It’s Menderose leaf. It’s usually fast-acting, but you were near death when they found you. That’s why it took so long for you to get better. Even with the healers feeding you Menderose regularly, you were a hard case.”

Of course. This girl might know more about his injury. He turned to face her, accepted the herb, and asked, “Does anyone know what happened?”

“You fell.” The girl looked up. “Around two moons back, I suppose. Made a thunderous sound when you crashed. Woke up the whole town. People went out to investigate right away.”

Élrick felt the air grow thinner. His thoughts grew cloudy, but he pushed through the fog. “Can you take me there—to where they found me?”

She stood and held out her hand. “If you’re able,” she said. “I know you’re beat, but you should start feeling better soon. And it isn’t too far from here.”

He reached for her but hesitated, instead placing both hands firmly on the ground to push himself up. Taking her hand could have caused them both to fall. He placed his battered helm back upon his head.

“I did not give thanks for your aid in treating me during my recovery—and just now. You have my gratitude…” He searched for her name, not sure if she had given it to him. He was half-asleep when she arrived, but now he felt his energy returning.

“Tabitha,” she smiled. “Come on. The crash site is this way.”

They set off slowly, Élrick taking care not to stumble, though he felt himself growing steadier with each step. The dense trees thinned out as they walked, and the ground gradually sloped upwards.

“What need does such a remote town have for an inn, anyway?” Élrick asked as they ascended.

Tabitha raised an eyebrow. “What does any town need one for? It’s for housing the sick, mostly. Since it’s just next door, late-night tavern-goers stay there if they don’t want to make the walk back home. During festival season, it sees lots of parties.”

“Doesn’t seem enough to sustain a business,” Élrick remarked.

Tabitha chuckled. “It’s not a business. Just a place people use when they need it.”

“Not at all the typical inn,” Élrick mused.

She grinned. “No, I guess not.”

They continued their ascent. The trees thinned out even more and the ground sloped sharply upward.

“I hope you aren’t taking me for a climb,” Élrick said, chewing the last bit of leaf. He had his fill of scaling mountains for the day.

“No, of course not.” Tabitha laughed. She moved ahead briskly, weaving between plants and pines alike, glancing back occasionally to check on Élrick. “Nobody was out here when you landed. But plenty have come out to see the crater you left afterward.”

“A crater?” Élrick asked, disbelief creeping into his voice. He placed a hand on his dented chest plate. “And I survived,” he marveled.

Tabitha nodded. “Barely, but you did. That’s why folk are calling you the Starborn Knight. You fit the story in every detail. Who else could survive such a thing?”

Élrick frowned. His memory was still clouded. He remembered falling, but not landing. But he remembered nothing about a Starborn Knight. “I’ve never heard such a title before—” he cut himself short as the trees parted and the woods fell away behind them.

“Here it is,” she said. “The crash site.”

The crater before them rested at the edge of a mountain slope. Élrick surveyed the damage—upturned earth, broken stone, and a deep crater marking where he had landed. Hunks of twisted metal lay at the edges of the point of impact, but it did not resemble his armor.

He walked over to pick up a piece of the metal. Before he could close his fist around it, the warped metal lifted off the ground and floated toward his hand. Élrick grasped it and held it up, looking it over. It was iron.

The wall… The cold mountain wind whipped against his face as images of that night surged through his mind. Closing his eyes, he recalled flashes of light followed by darkness. The faces of his companions—those who betrayed him—swirled around him like specters.

Their betrayal was born from his own miscalculation; he had misunderstood the true power of the goddess’ blessing and paid dearly for it. He remembered being swallowed by the darkness of the stormy sky as he rode the metal wall downward, believing it would be his end. Yet here he stood, alive.

He opened his eyes and watched as the chunk of metal fell from his hand, the residual magic that bonded it to his glove dissipating.

He looked up the steep slope of the mountainside. There was a jagged scar in the earth stretching halfway up, barely within his vision. A swath of vegetation had been flattened upward along the slope, where he could just make out faint marks of impact made upon the rocky surface.

He gradually recalled hazy memories of awakening mid-flight to see a mountainside rushing toward him. The rocky spire had been far too close, and he had been far too weak to do anything to prevent the crash. So he had simply closed his eyes and said a prayer. He believed that to be his final memory before awakening in the inn.

Élrick felt the fog in his mind begin to clear and the pain that had resided behind his eyes disappear. He remembered it all now: he had lost consciousness on the wall and crashed into the mountainside. He then slid down the slope until he landed at the bottom, creating the pit before them.

“It’s not possible for a mortal to survive such a thing. Anyone could see that.” Tabitha was staring at him in awe. “When they brought you back, you looked dead, for sure. But you weren’t.”

“I have my armor to thank for that.” He banged his fist against his battered breastplate. The dim light of the core flickered briefly. Tabitha eyed it suspiciously, perhaps only now realizing that it was lit at all, but she said nothing. “And a bit of magic to slow my descent. Though I can say that if it weren’t for the people of your village and your dutiful herb picking, my precautions might have been for naught. I surely wouldn’t have lived long, lying out here for months on end.”

The girl placed her hand on the pouch at her side and said, “I suppose.”

“Speaking of my armor, it needs repairing. I must descend this mountain soon and seek someone who can do so.” The thought of it remaining in this broken state any longer than it already had made Élrick ill.

Tabitha stuck out her tongue with a mischievous chuckle. “You can’t go anywhere. On your own, you came out here and nearly collapsed. You need rest. Menderose leaves will do you a lot of good, but taking it slowly will do you even better.”

“I cannot afford to take things slowly. I have a great many things to do.” Élrick thought of the Dread King. The enchanted Hourveil surrounding his castle made it difficult to estimate time, but Élrick knew things passed more quickly down here than they did there.

To Corruptican and Élrick’s old friends, the months of recovery that he had undergone might have only been a couple of hours—unless the Dread King had altered the Hourveil’s function, something that Élrick believed that old beast entirely capable of doing.

“But you can’t leave! What about the prophecy? Do you know how many people in my town have lived and died wondering if we’d see this day? We’re told as children that once the Starborn Knight comes, a great calamity will soon follow and only he can muster the power needed to put it to rest.”

Her cheerful demeanor fell and gave way to frustration. “You can’t just plop down here then roll on away, leaving us vulnerable to whatever danger comes creeping! The monsters have been getting braver of late as it is, building their nests closer and closer to the village outskirts.”

That prophecy again. Élrick’s fingers tapped absently against the hilt of his sword. These people, their stories… They were foreign to him. His brow furrowed, lips tightening as he wondered whether this so-called calamity had any truth to it—or if it was simply the wild fears of mountain folk. An increase in monster hostility could certainly be a sign of the Dread King’s doing.

“Young Tabitha, the duty I am tasked with undertaking is protecting everyone from calamity such as you speak of. But I cannot do so alone and certainly not from atop this mountain. I must seek out new… companions. If things are to get as dangerous as you say, then here…”

He reached into his spare scabbard and drew out a small blade with a gleaming, coppery sheen. “I see you are unarmed. You really should not be, especially if you make a habit of roaming about these woods on your own when, as you say, the monsters are growing bolder.”

She reached out hesitantly and took the blade, her eyes pleading before she dropped her gaze. “At least come back once more. Come to the church and speak with the priest there. Find out if you truly are the Starborn Knight. There are those in the village who choose to believe you aren’t. The priest can tell you if you are.”

“I will walk you back to your village, of course. But I cannot stay. I must press on.” He looked again to the crater. He had to get to a Guild chapter as soon as possible. His armor, though of legendary make, would not serve him much longer in this state.

“But if you are the Starborn Knight, then you must take the artifact. The elders have been guarding it for centuries just for you, don’t you understand?” Her voice was steady and filled with conviction. “This is fate, not some silly fancy of mine!”

“Artifact? What artifact?”

“The Knight’s artifact? I don’t know what it looks like; I’ve never seen it. Only village elders are allowed to. But you’ve got to at least try. Come on, we’ll go straight there and if you’re the Knight, they’ll give it to you and then you can go, I guess. Though you’ll be leaving us for whatever tragedy the fates have in store.”

Élrick had been all over the world and amassed every artifact from every dungeon and hidden corner of civilization he thought possible. But he had never been here. Was it possible there was one thing left? One final piece that might, one day, be of aid to him in ridding the world of darkness?

He had to move on and attempt to rebuild—he knew that—but he could not afford to overlook a crucial element to success, especially not when he had blundered so heavily by misunderstanding the true application of the Blessing of Samanthis.

He sighed. “Very well, I will accompany you on this one thing.” He turned away from the crater. “Let us set out now. It grows late, and the sun shall set soon. I will go with you to this church and then be on my way.”

Tabitha practically jumped and clapped her hands. “Oh, this is great! I can’t believe I convinced the Starborn Knight to return to the village! It’s like watching history write itself before my very eyes!”

Élrick ignored her glee. It resembled too much of that hero worship he was accustomed to from the common folk. This made him realize she had not once called him by his actual name or even ‘Hero’. It had always been the Knight. Word of his exploits must have not reached this mountaintop.

He took a few strides forward. “But promise me, you will use that sword if the time comes. You seem the ambitious sort. Ambition cannot be leashed—that I understand. So if you are determined to be out adventuring amongst the hills, at least do so armed.”

Tabitha nodded. “Right, got it!” She turned and ran a few paces ahead of him. “C’mon, let’s go! Stop wasting time!”

Élrick followed Tabitha into the humble sanctuary, pulling back the hood of the cloak that covered his face. Tabitha had fashioned it quickly out of some discarded sacks they found near the entrance to the village. He was impressed by her ability to swiftly craft cloth out of such scant fabric, but he had not been convinced it would conceal his identity from the rest of the villagers. She proved him wrong, however, when she led him directly to the church without incident, just as the sun dipped below the mountain.

As they walked around the foyer wall into the inner shrine, the wooden beams of a platform overhead creaked, the outlines of barrels and supplies barely visible in the dim light.

The faint scent of incense wafted under Élrick’s nose and the flickering candlelight threw long shadows across a crude wooden statue that stood at the back of the chamber. Though old, worn, and carved by the hands of journeymen, he could not mistake the familiar likeness of the Goddess Samanthis. He stopped in his tracks and looked at Tabitha.

“You too worship the goddess?” he asked.

“Of course,” she stated. “Well, I mean, not everyone is faithful. But what else would the church be for?”

Élrick could not recall the last time he encountered a people who revered Samanthis as his homeland, Gauloria, did.

“Many have forgotten the old ways, young one,” came a thick, sagely voice. An old man in yellow robes stepped out from behind the statue. “Down below, the people worship other gods. It’s rare than any outside of our people even recognize the goddess’ name these days. A part of the fiend’s grand design, no doubt.”

Élrick’s gaze was fixed upon the wooden statue. He had not seen a depiction of her face since he received the blessing. “Aye, ‘tis been that way for some time, I fear,” he said.

The old priest approached Élrick, his gaze intense and unnerving. “But you’ve walked with her all your life,” he said, his voice thick with curiosity, like that of a scholar making a discovery. “And now you come seeking absolution for… Failure?”

Élrick regarded him coolly, but did not acknowledge his insight. “The girl spoke of an artifact.”

“And this interests you?” the priest said.

“I have a great challenge set before me.” Élrick removed the cloak that covered his armor. “Surely you know of me. Your town has been alight with rumor ever since I awoke today, and no doubt you are aware of my reputation besides.”

“I know the people believe you to be the Knight of prophecy, but of anything else, I have no knowledge.” The priest said, stepping closer to Élrick. He scrutinized him, eyes narrowing. “Yes… Now that you mention it, the armor you wear bears some similarity to a hero from history. But he has been gone for decades now. And you are too young to be he.”

The Hourveil. Élrick felt foolish. The strange settlements he saw out on the horizon were not anomalies of failing memory. They had simply not been there before he set foot in Corruptican’s Keep.

Something about the Hourveil had warped Élrick’s relation to time. He couldn’t tell whether this distortion occurred when he used the passage sphere to leap from the floating island or if time on Earth had progressed faster than expected compared to the castle.

An attempt to convince this man that he was Élrick the Hero would likely be a waste of time. Instead, he remained silent.

“H-history? What’s all this about? He’s the Starborn Knight, Father,” Tabitha said, her eyes growing wide with anticipation. “Show him the test. Let him take the artifact. It’s his after all!”

The priest looked to the girl and smiled. “Now, now. If he wishes to undergo the test, then he certainly may. But the artifact is not his until it’s determined that he’s passed.” He looked back to Élrick. “So, you wish to be tested?”

The candles lining the walls flickered, and the wind howled outside. Night had already fallen upon the mount.

Élrick nodded and planted his feet firmly. “I did not plan to undergo a test, but I do not fear it.”

The elder man chuckled. “Oh ho, it isn’t that sort of test. You needn’t prove yourself against any cadre of monsters or fetch some valued bauble from a cave. No, simply come over here.”

He walked over to the podium and produced a small, ornate box from the cubby hole underneath. He opened it and inside was a crystalline shard that pulsed with a faint light. “Then place your hand upon this.”

Élrick complied, feeling the cool touch of the shard, and for a moment, nothing happened. The boards of the old church creaked in the wind. Tabitha cleared her throat. Somewhere in the village, a bell rang, and he could hear the voices of men outside. He was beginning to think the test a farce, but then the shard flickered and surged with light briefly before fading back to its original glow. Élrick removed his hand.

The priest’s brow furrowed. “Peculiar.”

“What does it mean, Father Vigil?” Tabitha asked.

The priest snapped the lid of the box shut and smiled faintly at both of them. “I’m afraid the result is inconclusive. Or perhaps negative. It recognizes something within you, but… you are not the Starborn Knight.”

“What!?” Tabitha said. “But he literally fell from the sky. And lived! If he isn’t the Knight, then no one ever will be!” She appeared close to tears.

“The shard does not lie,” the priest said, almost as though he himself were disappointed. Élrick had to admit he was as well, slightly. He wanted the artifact.

However, there was little use in wasting more of everyone’s time. “I understand. I’m sorry I am not the one your village has long sought. Though, I must ask—this artifact, if it is not mine, what does it do?”

The priest smiled again, a touch of mystery in his eyes as he placed the box back under the podium. Folding his hands together in front of him, he said, “The mysteries of the prophecy are many and that is one of them. Why do you think we are so hopeful—so eager for its fruition? Even those who have guarded it for ages don’t fully comprehend it’s power.” The priest bowed, “You are welcome to attempt the trial again at any time,” he said, smiling.

“You have my gratitude,” Élrick said. “But I fear I have remained here too long already. It may be that my adversary and your fiend are one and the same, but I have plans to make.”

The priest bowed gracefully. “That is, of course, your prerogative. I wish you the best in your endeavors.”

Élrick nodded solemnly. The air in the chapel grew heavier, and a clamor arose outdoors. The wind howled louder, followed by a sharp crack that echoed through the chapel door.

Before anyone could react, the doors to the sanctuary flew open. The smell of blood and smoke blew in and made his eyes water. A man barreled into the chamber, a spear lodged in his shoulder and his tunic soaked with blood.

“Monsters! Hordes of ‘em!” he shouted, eyes wild and frenzied with fear. With his good arm, the man waved them towards the door. “They’re carrying people off into the sky. You’ve gotta get to safet—” but his words were cut short as he collapsed to the ground.

Behind him stood a gloomling, wielding the sword that had finished the man. Another of the creatures soon joined it, baring its fangs in a twisted, unnatural grin, drool dripping from its maw as it eyed them.

The gloomlings cackled while creeping closer. Their large, glowing eyes shimmered and their dark skin almost looked to be made of living shadows. “Give usss the ssshard,” one of the creatures said sibilantly. It pointed at Élrick, “And sssurrender the sssavior!”