A Hero, You Are

I can feel a knot forming in my guts, as if my small bowel was snaking, contorting around my colon like a worm eager to choke it.

    That feeling isn’t even caused by my death growing closer step by step. Well, that’s not exactly true. It’d be lying to pretend it isn’t partly because of it.

    But, as hands push me through the exit — a door carved into one of the monster’s giant teeth — I barely register the sound of the voices around.

“These were Pecce’s memories. These were hers… These fears, the weight forced on her shoulders. Ohh no.”

    My breath hitched.

“Her mother’s coldness. No, ohh no.”

    Voices echo all around, muted.

“And yet, her thoughts devoid of any resentment. She wasn’t naive, she was too sweet. No, no, no, ohh no!!”

    Horrified, while I’m led from the town’s outskirts to a platform arranged for my execution, I can no longer deny the truth.

“You may be an airhead, even you wouldn’t have done that if not for someone quite special.” Rosa’s words echo in my mind.

    Pecce didn’t pretend to be kind.

    When she buried me, it wasn’t for herself. She never does anything for herself. That foolish girl would never think of doing anything for herself rather than for others.

    I was wrong.

    She wasn’t like the others. She wasn’t like the people I was accustomed to.

    Before I can notice it, the guards lead me onto the platform. Shackles click around my ankles. Tight. My dress covered with dried blood, I face a crowd of curious townfolk. Too tight.

    I was very very wrong.

    My eyes skim through the crowd. Disdain. Detachment. Exhaustion. Fear. No amethyst eyes.

    Beyond the crowd, passersby who slow down, glance at me and don’t stay. Over here, children’s eyes no one bothers to hide any more. Over there, leant against a curved wall, a man dressed in rags observes me. For a brief moment, our gazes lock. Pity in his eyes. Hair messy. No amethyst eyes.

“Nobody will come for her. Nobody will come for me.”

“Peccelotte Di Amethyst.” A man’s voice utters, somewhere behind me. “As reported by the Militia, a stupendous emanation of magic has been found in the crystal forest to the east of the castle. The emanation having been proven to be yours, you were condemned for your abusive use of magic. Hence, to ensure the safety of the kingdom, you are hereby sentenced to death.”

    I don’t even turn around as the executioner begins to recite a spell all too familiar to him. He takes a step back, as if preparing for what will happen.

“Edegal omux defek exeiku feresh feresh parit…”

     I try to mouth a cry for help, but nothing comes out aside from a twisted sound. Groans. Wails.

    The crowd steps back in turn as the executioner keeps enunciating his spell. Each word makes my heart beat faster. Each word is closer to death. Closer to pain.

“Sofok ul edegal kuresh ul im kel…”

    I don’t want to die.

    Desperate, I try to step away. Metal clatters. But all I achieve is to stumble forward, trapped by my shackles.

    A thud.

“No, no… I’m innocent, please…”

    Landing on my knees, I struggle to keep my balance. I need to convince them to stop this madness.

    From the corner of my eye, I catch sight of the executioner. He stands a metre away, the magic words leaving his mouth without failing. Straight strands of raven black hair frame his face, the rest tied back. Silver eyes staring at me. Empty.

“Please. I can’t die yet. I couldn’t even tell her I am so-”

    Splash.

    The moment I reach my arm in the direction of the executioner, I see it burst. Empty void in his eyes.

    I didn’t even manage to turn around.

    Smudge.

    The last word has been uttered.

    Pieces of flesh scatter all around. No more unity. Blood splatters the platform, crimson specks stick to the executioner’s face. No longer one. Body is undone.

𖢻 𖢻 𖢻

    Horror filling to the tiniest part of her body, Peccelotte saw before her very eyes the boy who just saved her turn into a messy heap of meat.

    She opened her mouth. Sound didn’t escape at first, air blocked in the confines of her lungs.

    Until it could no more.

“LEZZAR!!!!”

    Screaming hurt.

    By the second, there remained less of him as the boy was being eaten by the quartzal. She had to do something. Anything. She wasn’t even thinking of protecting herself. Didn’t consider that she would be the creature’s next prey when it was done with Lezzar. All she wanted was to protect what still remained of him.

    Not screaming hurt too.

    Tears rolled down her cheeks as she tried to focus.

    Magic. The solution crossed her mind, blatant.

“Esvequial flesca addemi veli id em velid!!”

    At her command, a ray of light was summoned, shaping into an arrow. If the source of light caught the attention of the quartzal, the latter turning its eyes towards Peccelotte, beak dripping with blood… It was already too late.

    The arrow pierced its body. Part of the feathers shattered with a noise of broken glass. Brief, iridescent reflections shone as the light scattered more quartz. Until blood covered them.

    Then, a silence worse than chaos followed.

    There was nothing left to say. No one left to talk to.

    Numb, Peccelotte approached the remnants of what was once a boy. Despite her body urging her to step away, despite her body dictating her to gag, she knelt. She knelt before a piece of flesh.

“You saved me. If I still stand, it’s all thanks to you, Lezzar.” She hardly resisted averting her gaze.

    But she couldn’t. It wouldn’t be right. It was him, it wasn’t his fault if that was all that was left of him. She wanted to acknowledge Lezzar. Even though her tears blurring her vision didn’t help.

    A moment later, she was holding in her trembling hands a piece of flesh, standing to take it far enough from the quartzal’s corpse. There, in a pristine spot, she found the perfect place. Putting aside the piece of Lezzar, she began digging into the crystal sand.

    No matter how long it would take, no matter how much her body would protest, she would bury him properly.

    It was as Peccelotte carried the bloodied shreds one by one that she noticed. Even though the boy’s heart had been broken into pieces by the monster, as the darkness had partly receded, she had no doubts as to its nature.

“A mithril heart…”

    She pursed her lips. A feeling of dread gripped her own, still beating heart.

    The boy was part of the royal family. And, given his age, it was easy to guess what his real name was.

    Razzel Od Mithril.

    She had already suspected it earlier, but seeing the boy’s discomfort, she thought it was better to indulge him. Peccelotte didn’t want to bring him any sorrow. She had already been selfish enough when she approached him. Not for the warmth of a fire her magic would’ve allowed her to create as well. That was her lie. What she had truly craved after fleeing home was the warmth which chased loneliness away.

    But no matter his origin, it didn’t change a thing. To her, the boy was already a hero. His bloodline didn’t matter. The fact that his ancestor was a hero revered throughout the kingdom didn’t matter. Regardless, he was her hero.

    Once she managed to bury all she could find of Razzel’s corpse, Peccelotte’s eyes wandered around the crystal forest. It was the gem’s scattered shards which caught her attention.

“I’ll make him a proper grave.”

    In reality, she had never seen a grave before. It wasn’t something that could be found elsewhere than in old, dusty books. But it was something Peccelotte found deeply admirable. A place for someone to rest after their death. A place where they were supposed to remain whole, without anyone taking anything from them. A place where people they were precious to could come and show them a love they still had to offer. Even if life made them unable to share it directly.

    This was something Peccelotte wanted to be able to offer Razzel.

    And so, completing her hard work, she built him a tombstone made out of a heap of gem shards. Since he seemed to want to keep his name secret, she engraved “Lezzar” into one of the shards.

“If it weren’t for you, I would be dead by now.” She thought to herself. “But… I didn’t wish for this either.”

    As dawn began to chase the darkness away, the girl removed her sullied gloves. She reached out her hands before her, intertwining her fingers.

“You are my hero. I won’t forget you.”

    No matter how long it took her to complete her bloody ordeal, it wasn’t enough. There was still something she could do. Something she wanted to try.

    Closing her eyes, Peccelotte frowned, focused. Her hands still held in prayer, words finally came to her lips. Words in a tongue that wasn’t hers. Or, rather, it was hers alone.

    She wasn’t sure what she could ask for. She didn’t know what her magic could achieve, especially since her mother made her promise never to use it without Gordon’s directions.

    But for once, just for once, she would disobey.

    Emptying her mind, Peccelotte focused on her feelings.

    She let her heart speak.

“Orlom ed soleo durmant, orlom ideneo marelia rumkeot caravel. Orlom memoris mementio almesia id ek limist od!”

    The meaning was clear only to her, the words echoing in her mind.

    ‘May death no longer force you into solitude, may your journey continue without a body’s cage. May your memories remain etched in the eyes of the one who watches with their heart!’

    It was shortly after she uttered a spell far more potent than what she could have imagined that Peccelotte’s consciousness vanished, giving way to Razzel Od Mithril.

𖢻 𖢻 𖢻

    The moment I open my eyes, the first thing I catch sight of is the platform on the other side of the street. The one I stood on a moment ago. The one where now only remain scraps of flesh falling to the ground. And, among them, a heart of amethyst the executioner soon retrieves, veins giving way as he rips the precious stone away.