A hero among the Solarists

Nothing ever seemed to go Arthem’s way.

One could argue this was true ever since he had been born, really. His parents being just two regular people from the lowest branches of the Solarist families, he was always destined to become a forgotten soldier among many in the war against the Gods.

Forced to learn how to fight, how to kill, when he was younger than most kids would be when they learn how to read. Surrounded by children his age, yet with no friends. After all, they were already competing to climb the ranks, to better their position, following their parents’ whispers in their ears.

When his siblings had come into the world, he was told it was a good thing. Twins were auspicious, after all. They would become great warriors, maybe even Handlers if their parents played their cards right, and bring good fortune to their family.

He was outclassed by a pair of babies, merely by being born.

Still, for a while, Arthem was happy. Or, at least, he thought he had been. He believed in the Sun, he believed in their mission, he believed he was going to make a real difference in the lives of many.

From his bedroom window, he observed the children of the nearby village. At dusk, almost every day, they played in the fields. Arthem liked to imagine himself among them, stronger, smarter, better than them. And they would revere him as the hero that he was, the only one who could protect them from a danger they were blissfully unaware of.

When the first signs of Shadows appeared, Arthem was ecstatic. It was happening, finally. And it was happening during his lifetime. Many others hadn’t been so lucky, spending their whole lives suppressing straggling Sun cults instead. It was an important and necessary part of their mission, of course, but it wasn’t, you know, actively fighting the darkness and saving the entire world.

Arthem was, without a doubt, the best fighter of his generation, just in terms of pure skill. The praise from his instructors only furthered his own conviction. But he wanted to be more than a soldier. He tried to become a Handler, but was turned down with ridicule once they learnt of his last name.

This was the first blow to his zeal.

The second was some years later, the night Shadows attacked the nearby village.

He woke up in the middle of the night, shivering with cold. In an auspicious turn of fate, he had forgotten his window open. The bright light of the Moon shone directly on his face, and a chilly breeze swayed the curtains back and forth. He stood up to close it, but when looking through, he noticed something.

“The village looks so dark, even though the Moon shines so bright tonight”, he thought.

And then, he noticed the darkness moving. Among that darkness were people, running around, trying to escape its grasp. They disappeared, one by one, as if the night had swallowed them whole. This could only mean one thing.

“Shadows!”, he clamored, excited. He ran to wake his parents up, but they were nowhere to be found in the building.

Outside, a small group of people had congregated near the cliff his house stood atop on. They were looking at the village in silence when he joined them.

“Shadows!”, he repeated happily, and everyone turned their attention to him. His father nodded and beckoned him closer.

“I want to join the squad who will fight them”, he declared.

His father looked at him with confusion. “Why would we send anyone down there?”

Arthem’s mouth opened and closed a few times before answering, unsure of how to respond to such an outrageous notion. “Aren’t we training to fight the Shadows?”, he settled on.

He was met with a few giggles from the adults around him. “Arthem”, started his mother. “We have to find the Moon Priest and prevent the end of the world. The Shadows are nothing more than an obstacle in our sacred mission.”

“But, the people of the village…”, he tried to retort.

“This is a good thing, Arthem!”, his father tried to convince him, patting his shoulder. “The more Shadows there are, the easier it will be to find the Moon Priest. Such a powerful Handler won’t be able to hide for long. They might even show up in that village to purify the Shadows, and then, we will catch them.”

Arthem did not get it. Why would the Moon Priest, the evil force who would bring about the end of the world, come to that village and fight Shadows? He tried to argue, but his father stopped him.

“Enough, Arthem”, his father ordered, squeezing his shoulder until he felt pain. He finally noticed the looks of everyone around him, furrowed brows, concerned. Arthem stayed quiet, and watched the village disappear into the night.

After the Shadows were done with the village, they tried to attack them. A single Handler, accompanied by two warriors, disposed of all of them without even breaking a sweat.

For the next few weeks, every time Arthem looked out of his window, he could see the unnatural darkness emitted by the lumps he assumed were the former inhabitants of the village. Observing them for too long made his head hurt, but he forced himself to keep doing it. This punishment he inflicted on himself would not be enough to compensate for his inaction, but it was all he could come up with at the time. He had the power, and the obligation, to save them. He should have been their hero. One, by one, the shadows resting on the ground disappeared, leaving no trace of their existence behind.

Arthem wasn’t sure why he had told Helia this story. He had prepared some lies, meant to ease her into trusting him, but for some reason, once they had started talking, he had wanted to share the truth with her.

Her own childhood had been so similar, in theory, yet so different. She, too, had been burdened with an unfair responsibility, forced to uphold it for her entire life, all while hiding herself from everyone not in the know. But unlike him, Helia had been surrounded by love, and it had made her soft. 

Deep inside, Arthem had thought that maybe she would understand him, but he would never admit it to anyone, not even himself. After all, the Moon Priest was evil incarnate, the herald of the Moon, responsible for the death of everything.

And yet, all Arthem had seen was a sad, lonely girl, wielding a power she did not understand, nor deserve.

His rage bubbled inside of him. This had been the third, and last, blow to his beliefs.

The doubts had sprouted when he had first heard the reports about Helia Aer. A Master Handler who made a living as a traveling bard, fairly famous for her music. And yet, she also took on every Shadow she came across, seemingly not caring if it was paid work or not. What arrogance. As if that would be enough to compensate for what she had done to the world.

Arthem thought she must be a master manipulator and liar, to be able to convince everyone she was not a demon.

Like most people, he had had a rebellious phase as a teenager, questioning everything. He was invited to join a group that met in secret, who also had doubts, who wanted to change things. But he quickly understood that would get him nowhere else than an early grave. The Solarists let them be, as long as they did nothing other than vent their frustrations among themselves. Whenever one of them became too vocal, too dangerous, they were swiftly disposed of, in a manner no one questioned. 

So, instead, he pretended to reform. He became the perfect little devout soldier. He spoke the words his superiors wanted to hear, he followed orders with a bright smile, and he waited patiently for his chance.

The Solarists were rotten from within; he proclaimed to himself. They were too busy with internal politics, trying too hard to be the one giving out orders, that they had forgotten what their actual mission was. So much ambition, so much power, and yet, Arthem thought they went about everything wrong.

Why should they hide in the shadows, when they were the ones protecting everyone? They should all know, and be grateful. And if any unauthorized Sun worshiping popped up, well, they could deal with it just like they had done so far. It would probably be much, much more efficient if the punishment was publicly known, really.

His good behavior and skills were recognized, and rewarded. He got sent out into the world as an independent agent, to pretend to be a lone warrior, and survey any Master Handlers he came across. For someone of his birth, this was maybe the highest honor he could aspire to. Perhaps, if he made himself useful, he would even be allowed to become a Handler, his peers encouraged him. He smiled, he nodded, he pretended to agree and be grateful for such an incredible opportunity.

He followed Helia for a while, unbeknownst to her. He saw her singing during Full Moons, but to be fair, she sang so much when she thought she was alone. All the time. Still, Arthem had a hunch that she was the one, for some reason. 

When she set off for Alfor, he saw his chance to approach her directly, in a way that wouldn't make her suspicious. Arthem knew his superiors would not approve, so he didn't share his intentions with them. Not like he cared, anyway. He arrived shortly before her, and touched one of the shadowy victims already there.

In a way, Arthem placed his trust in Helia by doing this. He knew it would hurt, maybe not in his body, but in everything else that made him who he was. He knew there was a chance he would be consumed. And he knew his Soul would be gnawed at, sacrificing a portion of himself forever. The longer he was in the darkness, the more it would tear his Soul away.

He didn’t care, for his Soul was already tainted.

When he had been refused a promotion to become a Handler, Arthem had thought it extremely unfair. Technically, he could have called for a Spirit on his own, but that would have been insubordination, and he would have been executed for treason. After all, all Solarist Handlers were, by definition, Sun Priests, and only those authorized could become one.

One night, while suppressing yet another Sun cult, Arthem thought it was all useless. He kept being forced to take on meaningless missions. These people did not matter, their lives did not matter, and their deaths would not matter. His body kept doing the work, ignoring the pleas, the screams, the tears, whilst his mind wandered. He would never have the power he needed to achieve his ideals, political or otherwise. The light of the Moon looked down on him, taunting him. He felt a familiar burning rage. He wanted to scream; he wanted to destroy it all.

For once, he allowed himself to embrace the anger, holding it in his chest, letting it consume him. Pain, there was so much pain, his body was burning from within. He knew he could have stopped it, he should have stopped it, but he didn’t. He mustn’t. It was his, and his only, to feel and carry.

One more second, and he would die, a voice inside his head said. But he ignored it. He could feel the air around him cackling, expectant. He took it all in, and made it his own. After savoring the unbearable pain, he released it.

A tiny flame sprouted from his hand, and in exchange, a part of his Soul was burned, forever.

His determination was renewed. He didn’t need the Solarists, the Gods, or the Spirits. The Fire was within him, and he would use it.

This was something only he could do. Something he had been chosen to do.

His life was but a meager price to pay.

Of course, Helia rescued him in Alfor. From up close, he thought that she looked so… Small. She had saved everyone, and yet, instead of relishing in her victory, she kept hiding, and blushing. It was pathetic, really.

Her refusal to join the caravan had been very frustrating, but he could manage. He left the carriages to follow her once more, waiting for a chance to meet with her by manufactured coincidence once more. Instead, she saw her singing to the Full Moon, as usual. Only this time, the Moon Himself showed up as her audience.

It took all of Arthem’s restraint to not jump out and attack them, right then and there. But, before he could seriously consider it, it was over. He was gone.

This was his chance. He devised a plan, this time needing the approval of his superiors. Instead of an all out war, where many would surely perish at the hands of the Moon Priest, he would infiltrate the enemy and kill her when she had her guard down. This would also allow him to extract information from her, and the only price to eventually pay if things went south would be his own life. They really suspected nothing, the fools. So, he would save Helia from the Solarists accosting her, and she would have no choice but to trust him. Then, he would dispose of her and her Spirit and become the hero who saved the world. 

Afterwards, he would dispose of the rotten Solarists, too.

If only it had been that easy. He accompanied her for months, and not a single chance appeared. The Spirit was constantly looking over her, day and night. Even in Aruka, when they had been able to sleep in the safety of a house, that damn bird was always on guard. 

Not only that, but he also failed at learning anything. Over time, Arthem was forced to accept that Helia was not lying or manipulating anyone. She truly was not aware of what she was doing, and had no useful information. Somehow, her ignorance was a much bigger sin to Arthem than if she had known, if she had been doing it on purpose.

And she kept trying to help people, even if that put her at risk, being on the run. Her name was recognized far and wide, both as a performer and as a Handler, yet she seemed to hate it. The world regarded Helia as everything Arthem wanted to be, without her even trying, or even desiring it. A shining heroine that everyone loved and respected. How could she be so ungrateful?

At first, he had hated the Moon Priest, but gradually, he grew to also hate Helia, as a person.

He hated her pathetic lack of confidence, despite how powerful she was.

He hated her blushing face when he faked a smile at her.

He hated how soft she was with Ceres, who constantly mocked her.

He hated how she looked at him with those big, brown eyes, seeking his approval for whatever thing she would have been able to do on her own with both hands tied behind her back.

He hated the relief and happiness he had seen on her face when he had regained his consciousness after defeating the worm Shadow.

He hated her crying face when she had broken down seeing Aruka’s destruction.

He hated her stupid performance outfit, gently swaying in the breeze, before she had summoned the Moon.

He hated the hurt and despair in her eyes as she understood his betrayal, laying on the cold forest floor, dying.

Arthem hated Helia, and now, she was dead.

He made for the closest town, where he stole a horse. He needed it to save the world, the owners would understand.

Knowing deep in his heart what he had to do, he took off, galloping towards the rising Sun. Towards the hidden city of Xuriya.

He had a prophecy to read.