Joan couldn’t believe it. The prince had done it. She didn’t know how he had managed it so quickly, but he had. Bauteut had tried to get her to calm down, but she refused. She’d been through this so many times. Neia had always, despite everything she’d done, been treated poorly. She didn’t care what everyone said. Neia was not a traitor, a fake, a demon, a monster. She didn’t care what they claimed to ‘see’ when she was dragged into their court.

Neia was loving, kind, humble. Sure, she was known to enjoy a bit of excess at times, but who didn’t? When you lived amongst people who constantly whispered about you behind your back, what was wrong with enjoying going somewhere you were fawned over?

Nothing. Nothing at all.

She wouldn’t let Neia suffer this time. She wouldn’t ignore her or push her aside. Neia would know, this time, that someone had her back. All of those terrible rumors she’d heard and given any credence to would be shoved aside.

Joan glanced over to the prince, unable to keep the smile off her face even when he looked at her with mild amusement. Still, she couldn’t help but notice he was almost as excited as her. He’d moved his hands behind his back, but she could occasionally see the way they twitched. As well as the way he’d walk a little faster at times and have to stifle himself, or the way he was suppressing the full grin on his lips. Their escort didn’t seem to notice, but she’d seen this kind of look more than a few times.

Zorn was right, the prince had wanted to meet Neia. Not that she could blame him. Neia was absolutely breathtaking. She wondered what kind of silly notions he was getting in his head. Perhaps he was hoping when Neia was revealed as the Chosen she’d remember that he was the one who had brought Joan to her?

It was almost cute, to be honest. He’d hardly be the first person to have his heart swept up by Neia the Radiant, he certainly wouldn’t be the last. But it would never work. He was a prince, she would never find herself worthy of even considering such a thing. A prince would never proposition a Chosen, it wasn’t how it was done. In the end, neither would ever make a proper move on the other and even if Neia did end up fancying him, they’d both be trapped never able to start…

Actually, no. IF he was worthy of her? Maybe she’d try and give them a little nudge. If she thought Neia was interested. All of the Chosen were getting their happy endings this time. Politics and ancient evil gods be damned.

Joan let out a little excited squeak when they stopped outside of a locked door and it was slowly unlocked and opened. She frowned, however, when she realized they were going down another lavish hallway. “How deep is she?”

“We’re nearly there,” the guard said. “We have her locked away in our most secure cell.”

Joan gave a small nod, but struggled to suppress her annoyance. Of course. Even if Neia hadn’t fully awoken yet, she was quite powerful. If they truly believed her natural power came from a ‘demonic’ nature? They would have to imprison her deep. It didn’t help her mood at knowing her good friend was being bound so tightly.

Her annoyance only grew as they went deeper and deeper. Finally, however, he stopped outside of one last door. “You will only be allowed a few minutes,” he said before his eyes narrowed. “Both of you.”

“Yeah, I know,” Joan said, struggling to keep the annoyance out of her voice. She had half a mind to try and break Neia out from here. She wondered if she could take the guard. No, not now. Maybe if she could summon her sword, but did she really want to have to kill him and possibly the prince?

No. It might get them both killed, anyway. Once the Chosen arrived, well, Korgron could dismantle this prison herself if it came down to it.

The moment the last door opened she barely held herself back from running into the cell. The guard went in first. “Don’t move, you have guests.”

The prince let her go in next and she walked into the room. She couldn’t contain her excitement the moment she laid eyes on Neia. Her head down so her long green hair spilled over it. Her wrists were wrapped in wooden cuffs. Joan couldn’t take it anymore and she ran towards her friend.

“Neia!” Joan said, her voice filled with excitement.

“Wait!” the guard said, but she ignored him. She ran forward and readied to hug her friend.

Only to stop when she came closer and caught a look of Neia’s face. The woman was incredibly beautiful, but the confused, red eyes that stared back at her were most definitely not Neia’s. No.

Joan stared at the woman, her own confusion a match for the woman’s own. “Who are you?”

A sudden clatter from behind made her turn in time to see the guard crumble, the prince’s hand over his mouth, one hand holding a small handkerchief. He dropped the guard slowly to the ground, before he knelt. “Lady Neia, oh divine radiance. Your servant has come to free you from this cell.”

“Neia?” Joan asked, looking between the two of them. “But you’re not Neia. You’re not-- what? Who… who are you?” she asked before taking a step back. She glanced back to the prince once more and a horrific realization struck her.

He wasn’t crushing on Neia. He was charmed by, well, whoever this woman was. She turned back just in time to see the gesture from the elf’s hand and braced herself from whatever spell would--

------

Owain sat up, his body covered in a cold sweat. What? Where in the world was he? Why was he-- Wait, what?

Neia and Korgron were kneeling over him, their hands on his chest. “What?” Owain asked. “What are you doing?”

“You’re free?” Neia asked. “Hero?”

“Free?” Owain asked. “What was… what?” He looked around. They were in a tomb of-- no. They were in a temple. THE temple. What happened?

It all came flooding back to him. They’d been about to open the first gate, he’d used the key, but that had woken the final envoy. They had tried to fight it, but…

Except they were all here now. All of them. Hadn’t some of them stayed behind to hold it off?

“That was a powerful illusion,” Neia said softly. “We weren’t sure we’d be able to break you out of it. Do you remember anything?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so pale,” Korgron said.

Owain blinked a few times and looked down. The Star of the Hero was resting at his hip. All of the Chosen were here. Looking down at him expectantly. “I… was? Illusion?”

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“Easy, you’re okay now,” Neia said with a smile before standing up and then holding out her hand to him. “Let’s go save the world, right?”

“The Avatar of the Inferno God?” Owain asked. “Wasn’t it…”

“It hit hard enough, but we beat it. Hit you hard enough, I thought you were dead three times over,” Korgron said with a light chuckle. “It seems you’re pretty tough, for a human.”

“But I wasn’t… Searle?” Owain asked.

“What?” Searle asked, standing up a little straighter. As meek and delicate as ever. The useless little shield that they never--

No. Something wasn’t right. This wasn’t right. None of this was right. This wasn’t real. He’d fallen for--

She’d fallen for this before.

“Hero?” Neia asked. “Come on, we need to go. We have a world to save, don’t we?”

She had a world to save. But this wasn’t it. She couldn’t save this world. She’d tried. She’d failed. She?

Wait, when was she a she? She was the Hero. He was the Hero. He had to be the Hero. Everyone needed him to be the Hero. He…

He wasn’t himself.

“Hero? Are… are you crying?” Neia asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Owain?” Hardwin asked.

Owain couldn’t stop it, though. Because he knew what this was.

Joan knew what this was. She’d fallen for it so many times, so many lifetimes. It was a powerful illusion, she’d give it that. But it wasn’t powerful enough. When you knew what the illusion was, when you knew what you were seeing wasn’t real. When you knew where to poke it to see the falsehood in the reality. Breaking it, however, wasn’t easy. No, it was the hardest thing imaginable, even if she knew it wasn’t real.

She’d have to kill the Chosen.

Joan looked up at her friends. The people she cared about the most. The people she loved the most. It wasn’t real. None of it was real. They weren’t real.

But she had to cut them down. Using a body that had once been hers, a sword that was hers alone, she had to break this illusion. For them. For herself. More and more the illusion seemed more fake as she felt more of what happened leaking into her mind.

She had to kill her friends.

Please no.

Joan hugged her knees to her chest and shook her head. “Don’t. Please, please don’t. Please,” she pleaded. Wasn’t there some other way to break this spell?

“Owain?” Hardwin asked again. “Come on, there’s no time for this. What are you doing?”

“Don’t make me do it,” Joan said softly, pleading. It was fake. It was all fake.

But she couldn’t. There had to be another way. Some way to end this. To break this. Please. Anyway.

She heard a light giggle. So weak, so delicate. So soft. Almost mocking in its giggle. As if it was mocking her weakness. Mocking her--

No. No. It wasn’t.

Not her weakness.

It was laughing at her. For missing the obvious.

Her eyes went wide and, very slowly, she reached down to the sword at her hip, drawing it from its sheath.

“Owain? What are you doing?” Neia asked before quickly taking a step back.

The Star of the Hero. His sword. The sword that had found its way to him, even before he had been the Hero.

He let it fall to the ground. He then held up his left hand and, once more, he called it to him.

“Who is she?” a voice said, strange and distorted.

“You don’t know?” another voice said.

She reached out, urging the Star to come to her.

“Should I?”

“She seemed to know you. At least, she swore she did.”

“I’ve never seen her in my life.”

“Well, then she is at least a good scapegoat, my queen.”

Come to her. Please. She knew it was there.

“Why free me now?”

“The Chosen are coming. Once they arrive, surely they will realize what you are. I cannot allow you to be harmed.”

Please, Star, come to me.

“I see. You are a good servant, Prince Quincy. I will-- what’s that?”

“What?”

No. Not the Star. The Star was gone. Just like her, it had been cast anew. Not what it had been. No longer the sign of raw power. Just as she was no longer the Hero, it was no longer the Star.

It was her Guardian Nova.

A white hot line drove from the heavens, piercing Owain’s chest.

Killing her.

Freeing her.

------

Joan’s eyes opened and she had only a second to realize what was going on. She was kneeling in the cell. Guardian Nova, the reforged blade of the Star of the Hero in her hand. The blade drawn to her across lifetimes. Forever there, forever waiting for her to realize what it was. A shadow of its former self, just like her.

But a shadow of a weapon of the divine, even if it held only a fraction of the power it once held, was not anything to be trifled with. It hummed in her hand and she could feel the magic it had torn through to come to her side. Spells designed to keep it imprisoned. To make her unable to call it. Imprisoned by the elves much like she had been. In the end they too had been violently torn asunder.

She imagined it wouldn’t be long before the elves realized something was wrong and, sure enough, a moment later she heard a loud bell echoing through the hall.

“What did she do?” Quincy asked. “Joan? When did she get that sword?”

“We need to get out of here,” the fake Neia said before getting to her feet and rubbing her wrists.

Joan was on her feet a moment later, between the two of them. She held the blade out towards them, her eyes narrowed. “I don’t know who you are or why you claim to be Neia, but you’re not going anywhere. I don’t care who you are, but you’re not escaping this cell.”

“I am Neia,” the woman snapped, the anger filling her voice. “Stand aside, child!”

“Make me,” Joan said before pulling her blade back and then kicking the door closed behind herself. Unfortunately, she wasn’t rewarded with the sound of it locking. Dang it. She really had hoped it would have automatically locked when closed.

Quincy started to move forward and she readied to strike, pulling her blade back…

Only for the fake Neia’s eyes to widen and she reached out, clasping his arm. “Don’t. You’ll die.”

“But my lady, you’ll be trapped here,” Quincy said.

And Joan saw something in the woman’s eyes she hadn’t expected to see.

Fear. Regret. Worry. She looked between Quincy and Joan, then back to the sword. Then, very softly, she lowered her eyes and whispered some soft words. An incantation.

Quincy let out a startled cry, a hand moving towards his head and Joan’s eyes went wide. She was killing-- no. She wasn’t. He collapsed to the ground and gave a soft, confused groan. “Where… am… I?” he asked.

The fake Neia stared at her, tears in the corners of her eyes before, very slowly, she sat down. Rubbing her wrists which were rubbed red from the cuffs that had been on them.

Joan looked between the two of them, her confusion only growing. She’d broken the charm on the prince. She was giving up?

But why?

Who was she?

Where was Neia?