Chương 13: The Sweet Apple and the Successor

POV: The Hero, Evelisse Ardentia I found myself walking faster and faster, until I was all but running through the trees. What did I just do? What am I supposed to do now? His words wouldn't stop echoing.

"It's not like I chose this."

"Just someone trying to survive."

"Are you tired?"

"Do you actually want to be the Hero?" None of them were things a Dark Lord was supposed to say. I ran on, branches snapping underfoot, sending a cluster of rats scattering into the brush. A low branch caught at my ponytail and tore loose a few strands; I barely felt it. Twigs clawed at my sleeves. And then, almost without realizing it, I broke through the treeline into open grassland. I had run blind. This wasn't anywhere near where I had left Astra. I put two fingers to my lips and whistled.

My chest was heaving, my heart hammering, and I couldn't tell anymore whether it was the running, or everything that had just passed between me and the Dark Lord.

"It's Milo, by the way."

"… Milo." The name left my lips before I knew I was saying it. I glanced down at the sigil on my elbow. Blue now; only the faintest threads of purple left. I covered it with my other hand, as if I could hide it from myself. His face kept surfacing. The way he had stood back up so I wouldn't have to sit in the dirt. The way he had admitted, plainly, that he was tired. The way he had spread his arms and closed his eyes, baring himself to Mooncleaver without a trace of resistance. And then came the other images.

The ones of me, doing the things no Hero should ever do. Taking his hand in both of mine. That strange, unbidden warmth when he said my name. Me not even unsheathing my sword when I had every chance and every duty to end him. I had even warned him. Told him to flee before the Hero's party arrived tomorrow. I sank down onto the grass and folded my legs beneath me, skirt and all. There was no one out here to see anyway. Something was very wrong with me. Coming here alone had been wrong to begin with.

Speaking with him while the sigil flared purple, even more so. And at every turn, I had chosen my own feelings over the duty I had carried for three years. The worst part was how fast it had happened. Two days. That was all it had taken to make me into a mess. I still couldn't put a name to what I felt for him. But I knew that I didn't want him to die. Not him. Not when he was only—"Trying to survive," I whispered. As my pulse finally slowed, the cooler part of my mind began to stir.

What if it was all manipulation? What if every word had been staged to disarm me? What if this was some curse he had laid on me, and what if I let him live, let him grow strong, only for him to turn to slaughter once he no longer needed to hide it? If that happened, the blood would be on my hands. And yet. Somewhere beneath the doubt, quiet but certain, I felt that it wouldn't. That he wouldn't. I had no proof. Nothing but the look on his face when he closed his eyes and waited for the blade.

But for the first time in three years, I found myself trusting that feeling over the Church's orders. Heavy footfalls broke through the quiet; branches snapping, the ground itself seeming to shudder. A moment later the Cerberus emerged from the trees, a food basket swinging from one of its teeth. I was on my feet at once, hand flying to Mooncleaver's hilt. I braced for a strike. A blast. A roar, something.

Instead, the beast lowered one of its heads, let the basket settle gently onto the soil, gave a single low huff, and turned to bound back into the forest. It happened so fast that I was still standing there, white-knuckled on the hilt, long after it had gone. A few seconds passed. Nothing came. Slowly, I let my hand fall from the sword. I crossed to the basket and crouched over it. Inside were a few pieces of fruit, and a waterskin resting against the side. I recognized the basket.

It had been sitting near the spent firewood, back at the Dark Lord's hut. He had sent this out after me. On purpose. Had my stomach betrayed me at some point, while we spoke? Had he heard? I pulled out an apple and turned it over in my hand. The thought that it might be poisoned crossed my mind, but I trusted that it wasn't. I bit into it. It was, somehow, the sweetest apple I had ever tasted. A few moments later, Astra came galloping up. By then I had finished most of the fruit.

It seemed I had needed the nourishment more than I had realized. I slung the waterskin over my shoulder, nudged the basket toward the edge of the brush, and pulled myself up into the saddle. I casted another speed enchantment over her. I wanted to see how Lunareth was faring before the day was out. The village was still in ruins, but Chief Doran told me a representative from Astrea had arrived early that morning to survey the damage.

Reconstruction of the essential buildings would begin within two days; until then, the villagers were making do with tents with some living in the village hall. Milly had sent supplies to help, too. Though, the chief admitted, mostly water now, since Milly had a daily tribute to prepare for the Dark Lord. Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work! I didn't comment on that last part.

By the time I rode back through the gates of Astrea, evening had settled over the kingdom. I returned Astra to the stables, and on the walk home, my mind began to turn again. If the Dark Lord… Milo … moved his kingdom, then tomorrow the Church would find nothing waiting in Aniaros Forest. They would have to petition Lord Luminaryn for another revelation to locate him. That alone could take days. Days that Milo could spend growing stronger. But they would ask why he had moved. And the explanations were few.

Either he had sensed the danger coming and fled on his own, or someone had warned him. A Hero would not normally be the first suspect. But the High Priest already knew I had hesitated at Lunareth. He had every reason to look at me twice. And I had taken Astra out today, alone, with a flimsy excuse. There was no way to be certain it had gone unnoticed. Lord Luminaryn might already knew everything. I stopped walking. Perhaps I had done something I could not take back.

I didn't know what became of a Hero who sided with the Dark Lord. There had never been one — not in all the Church's history. But it would not be a stretch to imagine a public execution, or perhaps a private one. I had defied the Church on nothing but impulse. All for the sake of understanding a feeling I still couldn't understand, even now. My head had begun to ache, my thoughts tangling into knots. I closed my eyes, pressed my fingers to my temple, kneaded it a few times, and drew in a slow breath.

There was nothing to be done. Not tonight. I walked the rest of the way home, washed, changed into my sleepwear, and climbed into bed. I barely slept. Dawn arrived, and as I had been instructed the day before, I set out for the Church. Halfway there, I met Mel, who fell into step on my left, practically bouncing with energy. She had gotten a letter from the Church the previous noon, she said.

"Sounds like we've got real backup this time!" She craned her neck to look at me.

"Do you know who it'll be?"

"Somewhat. Though, I don't know his name." That was the truth. I knew nothing about this man. Only that he was supposedly the strongest candidate to inherit the title of Hero. The thought still sat wrong in me. Every time it surfaced, so did the other one, the one I couldn't shake: that I might not have much longer to live.

"Ooh, a he?" Mel's eyes lit up, and a grin spread across her face.

"Is this it? The moment our lonely Hero finally meets her long-awaited prince charming?"

"Cut it out, Mel." I shot her a flat look.

"You know I'm not interested in that sort of thing. And I doubt the Church's warriors have time for it either."

"Who knows?" She spun a half-step ahead of me, walking backward so she could waggle her eyebrows.

"Romance can bloom in the space of a single second, shattering everything you thought you believed. Oh, I can't wait to meet him!" I almost said something. If only she knew how close to the mark she had wandered, and how wrong the direction. Though, I was not sure if what I felt was romance at this point. I kept it to myself. By the time we reached the steps of the Grand Cathedral, the High Priest was already waiting. Beside him stood a man.

He was tall, and he held himself like someone who had never once doubted he belonged wherever he stood. Silver hair, swept back and catching the early light, framed a face that was, I think, by most people's standards, handsome; sharp jaw, easy confidence. He wore light armor, polished to a soft gleam, built for speed rather than brute defense. At his hip rested a slender rapier, its guard worked with fine silver filigree. His eyes found me the moment we approached, and the smile widened, just slightly.

Beside me, I heard Mel make a small, strangled sound. The man stepped forward and inclined his head.

"A pleasure to finally meet you, Hero Evelisse. I'm Ywain Valebryn." He offered his hand. I took it.

"Evelisse Ardentia. I look forward to fighting at your side, Ywain." Mel edged in beside me, nearly bouncing.

"And I'm Mel! The support mage!" Ywain turned the smile on her.

"Hello, Mel. We'll be counting on you." She nodded so hard I thought her head might come loose. The High Priest reminded us of the objective: to strike down the Dark Lord while he was still weak. The Mythical-Class beast and the demon would be the real obstacles, but Ywain, he explained, specialized in ice magic. He could slow them at the critical moments, buying us the opening we needed. And once the Dark Lord fell, his minions would unravel with him. We set out at once.

There were no parades this time, no banners. It seemed like the Church had grown too restless for ceremony. As we rode, Ywain suggested we ease into the journey rather than charge straight for Aniaros Forest — better, he said, to build some rapport first. Mel agreed before he finished the sentence. I took the lead while the two of them fell into easy conversation behind me. I couldn't help overhearing. Ywain spoke of losing his dad to a fire when he was four—a fire set, he said, by one of a Dark Lord's minions.

His mother was alive, but because his family was too poor to raise him after the fire, the Church had taken him in. He had thrown himself into his training, and in time discovered a rare aptitude for ice magic, which he had honed ever since. Mel responded to all of it with rather more enthusiasm than the conversation strictly required. I could even hear her sob during the minion attack part. She was smitten, I decided. Thoroughly. After a while, I felt him draw his horse up alongside mine.

"So. Hero Evelisse." A pause.

"May I call you Eve?" I thought for a heartbeat.

"…Evelisse is fine." I didn't know why I said it. I had let every member of my old party call me Eve — Karlo, Linda, Samuel, all of them — from the very first day. The name had never felt like something I needed to guard. It did now.

"Of course. My apologies. Evelisse, then." He took the correction smoothly, without a flicker.

"The High Priest tells me you've faced this Dark Lord before."

"That's right. Mel and I encountered him. But—" The truth rose up before I could stop it. The Cerberus overpowered us. The Dark Lord saved my life. I swallowed all of it.

"—but there was the Cerberus," I said instead, giving him the version I had given the High Priest.

"I drove it off, barely. Mel struck at the Dark Lord, and he retreated."

"So I'd heard." He nodded, appreciative.

"Impressive, accomplishing all that with only the two of you. It gives me confidence. I truly believe that this time, we'll defeat the Dark Lord and bring peace back to Lycora." I answered with a polite smile and nothing more.

"Still." His tone shifted, just slightly; lighter, almost careful.

"I'll confess, I'm a cautious man by nature. Don't mistake me; I have every faith in our victory. But should something… unforeseen arise," He let the word hang.

"Would you grant me your permission to wield the Mooncleaver?" I turned to look at him.

"You wish to wield the Mooncleaver?"

"No, no." He raised a hand, the picture of modesty.

"Not wish. I only mean, if it came to that. If drawing the blade were what secured our victory." Which meant: if I die. Or if you decide I'm not strong enough to finish it myself.

"The Mooncleaver chooses its own worthy wielder," I said evenly.

"I have no right to refuse a candidate it deems suitable."

"Wisely put." He dipped his head.

"Though I have no intention of putting that to the test. I trust you'll see this through flawlessly, Evelisse. And I'll do everything in my power to protect you. You needn't worry for a moment." The words lingered after he had spoken them. I'll do everything in my power to protect you. It was exactly the kind of thing I had once, secretly, ached to hear. Someone to share the weight. Someone to stand in front of me, for once. In fact, it was just three days ago that I had yearned for such a thing.

And yet I felt nothing. No relief. No warmth. No flicker of the gratitude I knew I was supposed to feel. The words simply passed through me and left no mark. and the only thing I felt was the quiet, troubling absence where the feeling should have been. I glanced sideways at him. He had already turned his gaze back to the road ahead, his expression sharpened to a fine point. I could see a faint smile curling at his lips. He looked like a man about to arrive at the moment he had waited for his entire life.