Joan stared at the ceiling and wondered if other heroes had ever had to deal with this. Excitement for a few hours, then days of boredom.

No, boredom might have been better. This was just mind numbing. Worse than that, her wrist itched. She nudged at the cuffs on her wrist, but they refused to move and allow her the relief. Too smooth to scratch the itch, but too tight and restrictive to allow her to scratch it. She hated this.

You’d think stopping the fake Neia from escaping would have earned her a little leniency, but apparently not. No, now they had her cuffed and imprisoned alone. Nobody to talk to, nobody to scheme with. Just alone with her thoughts. Thoughts she didn’t want to have.

Once again she found herself trying to make sense of what happened. In the moment she had been so certain that the sword was the Star. Her Star. Guardian Nova, the reborn Star of the Hero. But how much sense did that really make? It was just a sword that Searle had grabbed for her. How could it possibly be THAT sword? The Star was gone, wasn’t it?

Or was it not the Star at all, perhaps her binding with it had made it the Star and that was all there was to it? Or maybe she was overthinking it. One thing she knew was that Guardian Nova certainly wasn’t a normal weapon anymore. It had power that she wasn’t entirely sure she could handle fully. More than that, it was somewhat alive, somewhat aware. Somewhat kind of a jerk considering it seemed to be laughing at her sometimes. But when she had considered it as being the Star it had felt so right in her hand, a part of her. An extension of her body.

Or maybe it was all her imagination and she was overthinking things because she did that sometimes. She supposed when you were locked in a prison with nothing but your thoughts, it was easy to overthink everything.

The alternative was considering who that ‘Neia’ was. She definitely was NOT Neia. Joan knew Neia. Adored Neia. That was NOT Neia. So why did everyone act like she was Neia? Sometimes she wondered if it was another situation like Isla, someone who had seemingly been wiped from existence.

But that didn’t really seem right. If that was true, Neia wouldn’t have been called Neia. Would she? Joan didn’t think Neia was a familial name of some sort. Was it possible that the current head of the keep was Neia?

Was it possible that this fake Neia was just that, a fake? A decoy? Was the real Neia out there somewhere, hiding? Had things truly gotten so bad here that she had to hide while a fake took her place?

That didn’t settle with her either. After all, of all the things Corin called her, fake wasn’t on that list. Demonic, evil, a traitor, yes. But she’d never been called a fake, nor was her lineage called into question.

Which made another nagging thought crawl its way undesired into her mind.

What if what many had said about Neia was true?

As the Hero she’d spent so much time trying to help Neia prove that she was the legitimate heir, that she was a worthy successor. That she wasn’t a demon, neither the descendant of one nor that she had become one.

But what if it was possible that she wasn’t the real Neia at all? What if this woman was the true Neia and Neia had been someone else entirely? What if the reason she had been so willing to push aside any of their attempts to help was because she had known that proving it was impossible?

What if she was just another Chosen that needed her? What if Joan had been too focused on her own problems, her own troubles, her own failures, that she had missed the most important part of who Neia was?

Joan tried to shove those thoughts aside each time they rose to the surface, but each time more proof came with it. Memories that seemed to fit now. The only thing that didn’t fit was how could she have possibly been so blind? So uncaring of someone who was supposedly so close to her? How could she have been so useless to someone who needed her most?

Was this why Neia had always been the one to turn on her if Searle wasn’t there? Was this just yet another way she had failed?

She pulled her hands up to her chest and gave a soft little whimper. “I’m terrible, aren’t I?” she asked softly. “I was never meant to be the Hero. How could someone like me have ever been the Hero? How could anyone ever trust me to save them?” she asked. Why had the gods chosen her? Made her?

But maybe that was the crux of the problem. What if she had been the mistake? As strange as it was to know that Neia might have been a fake, what if she was a mistake? She held up her hands and eyed the cuffs over them.

Her body as the Hero hadn’t felt right. It had been so many lifetimes since she’d had it, but it had felt wrong. Disheartening. Like it hadn’t really fit her. It had been so much the same and yet, at the same time, entirely wrong from what she should have had. She couldn’t place why, but it was. Worse, it was something that she had felt even as the Hero. She’d just never had anything else to compare it to, to imagine herself being. She’d hardly had any chance to be anything but the Hero, so why would she think about the fact her body felt wrong? The world had needed a Hero.

Didn’t it still? Her body now was so much more delicate in comparison. It felt like she was comparing the metal of a properly forged sword to the wood of a half rotten piece of driftwood.

Yet the driftwood felt better, felt more ‘right’ to her. What if it was? What if she wasn’t the Hero at all, she had somehow forced herself to be? She’d always assumed she was. After all, she’d fought and died and fought and died. She’d had the power, didn’t that make her the Hero? Yet she’d made so many mistakes, did a hero make mistakes like she did? Could a hero seek vengeance, ignore the hurting of their friends, feel oddly strange in their own skin, be weak and vulnerable?

Joan scrunched up in her cot and wished she could have something, anything else to distract her with right about now. How long had she been left here? Hours? Days? Well, likely days considering they kept bringing her food. If it had only been a few hours She was pretty she they’d need to roll her out of here by the time she was let out.

She hoped where ever Neia was, she was at least happier than her. Eat, sleep and wait were not something she’d wish on anybody.

------

Joan’s eyes shot up and it took her a moment to realize why.

The ground had been shaking and she’d heard an explosion of some kind. Or at least she thought she did. An attack? A siege? It sounded like a siege. Except it was just the one. She waited for a while, but nothing else--

Another explosion made the whole room shake. What in the world was going on?

She sat up and got to her feet before stretching out a bit. It wasn’t consistently exploding, so maybe not an attack. An earthquake of some sort? She looked around at her cell. It didn’t show any signs of collapse, but she couldn’t help but worry that it might eventually. Wouldn’t that be fun, having her prison collapse in around her.

Joan tried not to think about that, instead she began pacing back and forth, hoping whatever was going on wasn’t a huge threat. Maybe, if she was lucky, they’d even tell her what it was later.

Doubtful. Assuming she lived through this then--

A third explosion made her jump. That one definitely sounded louder. Something was going on. Something bad. She needed to--

She heard scratching at her door moments before it opened and a pair of guards all but ran in. “What’s go-- eek!” Joan didn’t even get a chance to ask her question before she was grabbed by her arms and dragged out from the cell. “Ow! Ow! What are you doing?” she asked. Pain shot through her arms as she was hauled through the halls of the keep, the awkward angle she was being pulled by making the cuffs dig in. “At least uncuff me! What is going on? Are we under attack?”

Judging by the pale look on the guard’s face, whatever was attacking them was pretty bad. But that didn’t explain why they were dragging her up to face it.

Oh no.

She felt horror run through her when she realized what kind of monster could create that kind of fear. Was it one of the envoys? No. No, it wasn’t possible. The second couldn’t be here already. Could it? If they thought she could face it, they were insane. “What’s going on? What’s out there? What--”

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

Another explosion tore through the air, making her jump. They were definitely getting closer. “Stop it!” Joan shrieked, trying to pull away.

“Come on!” the guard said, his voice as panicked as her own. “She’s going to demolish the whole keep at this rate.”

“She? Who? What--”

Then Joan heard a voice. A very familiar, very angry, very, very violent voice.

“Seven. Six. Five. Four,” Korgron’s voice echoed down the halls.

KORGRON?!

“KORGRON!” Joan screamed.

Korgron was here? Was she fighting something? Were they trying to get her out before whatever came through destroyed the prisons? Except the counting stopped and a few moments later Joan was dragged into the main hall.

Or, honestly, what remained of it. Which wasn’t much.

Korgron was standing in the center of it, stone, crystal and wood shattered around her. Her right hand was little more than a singed, darkened mass. The end of her tail was actually missing, bandaged heavily.

The roof of the hall was gone. Some of it collapsed, but for the most part it was gone. As was a good chunk of the floor. Her left hand was held up, over which a burning purple orb of magic was hovering.

The elves, at least those who remained in the chamber, were staring at her with a mix of terror and revulsion. Mostly terror.

It took her a few moments to realize that Searle was in the room as well. His shield out, but he looked confused and uncertain. Half his face was bandaged as well, his left arm wrapped entirely in bandages.

“Korgron?” Joan called out.

“Joan!” Korgron said, turning to face her before flashing a small smile. “There. See? I knew you could get her.”

“Y-you can’t do this,” Corin’s voice came out and it took Joan a moment to realize where the woman was. Hiding behind a destroyed chair which had likely once been her throne. The normally stunning elf was a mess, her long blue hair singed and her body covered in ash and dirt. “The Chosen aren’t--”

“The Chosen are protectors of this world,” Korgron said, her eyes narrowed on the woman. “If you have an objection, take it up with the gods. If you decide to try and stop us from performing our duty again, I will be happy to send you to meet them. Are we clear?”

“I… I… you…” Corin said.

“And the rest of them?” Korgron asked.

“They’re on the way, please,” one of the guards said.

“I never gave that order!” Corin said, though her voice sounded quite a bit more meek than it was likely intended.

“Then perhaps whoever did should be in charge,” Korgron said before turning and walking to Joan. “You, on the othe-- what’s that on your hands?”

“Ummm, cuffs,” Joan said sheepishly. “It’s a long story.”

Korgron let out a lot growl and Joan could see the way her left hand twitched.

“It’s my own fault,” Joan said quickly. “Don’t blame them. Please.”

Korgron froze before giving a very soft sigh and nodding. “As you wish.” She then snapped her fingers and the cuffs fell to the ground in pieces. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

“No,” Joan said before letting out a startled yelp when she was all but picked up in a hug. “I’m fine! Elves take pretty good care of their prisoners! I’m fine!”

“Good, good,” Korgron said softly, giving her a tight hug before, once more, letting her go. “And the others?”

“They’re on the way,” the guard who brought her called out.

“Enough of this!” Corin yelled. “You cannot come in here and just force your way! There are channels! You are not--”

“You are not in charge here,” Korgron said. “You had days to make the right decision. You chose poorly. You are still choosing poorly.”

“I’m not scared of you!” Corin said, though Joan found that hard to believe. She adored Korgron but even she was scared of her a little bit right now.

“I’m not the one you should be scared of,” Korgron said before she turned and started walking back towards the woman.

“Korgron,” Searle said, his voice raspy and hindered.

“I won’t kill her,” Korgron said. “But fine, Corin, was it? You want to know why a ‘lowly demonic whore’ can tell you what to do? Why I can come in here and just take custody of those you deem ‘dangerous’?”

Joan stared at Korgron, her eyes wide with horror. She could only remember a few times when Korgron had been this angry and it never boded well. She gave a pleading look to Searle, but she doubted he even noticed her. His eyes were entirely on the furious demon.

“You… you have no authority here,” Corin said softly, but it wasn’t long before she was backed up against one of the few walls that still stood.

Korgron towered over the woman, but she didn’t touch her. “This is the duty of the Chosen. But very well, if you desire an explanation? Here.”

Joan put a hand over her mouth, barely suppressing a scream when Korgron’s left hand suddenly shot up and grabbed Corin around the throat. She went entirely still and, for a moment, Joan thought she was dead. Searle was already moving forward, his shield raised.

But then Korgron let the woman go and Corin fell to the ground, her own eyes wide with horror. “What, what was that? How did it… what?” she asked, her entire body shaking.

“That is the duty of the Chosen. That is why you don’t interfere. That is why when the Chosen comes here and asks nicely, you do what they ask,” Korgron said, her voice filled with only barely restrained rage. “Because otherwise I’ll get involved again. Know that the only reason you aren’t dead is because of Searle’s request. If it was up to me, this entire keep and every single last one of you who decided to block him would be nothing more than a smoking crater. Are we clear?”

Corin gave a small, numb nod.

Joan just stared, looking between the two. She knew what Korgron did. Forcefully dragging Corin into the Dream Realm like that couldn’t have been pleasant. But what she showed Corin must have been truly horrific if Corin was just looking up with that look.

“Joan!” Bauteut’s voice called out moments before Joan was grabbed from behind in a hug, making her yelp.

Thankfully, Joan managed to catch her balance before she could fall over and caught herself. She then looked up. “What? What’d I do? Sorry? What?”

“You scared us! What happened? Where have you been? They wouldn’t tell us what…” Bauteut’s words trailed off when she caught sight of Korgron. “Wow. You look horrible.”

“I know,” Korgron said.

“Like really bad,” Bauteut said.

“I am aware,” Korgron snapped back. “Now isn’t the time, Bucket.”

“Don’t even start with that, Corked,” Bauteut said. “What did you do? Wait, Searle? What happened to you?”

“Its been a long few weeks,” Searle said with a soft sigh. “We can explain soon.”

“Wait, weeks?” Joan asked. “We lost that much time? You’ve been this hurt this long?”

“Joan,” Korgron said. “There is a lot to talk about. But we’re still waiting on one more.”

“Huh?” Joan asked. She glanced back and Zorn was standing there, his arms crossed and looking quite nervous to be here. That was everyone, wasn’t it?

Oh no.

The fake Neia.

Joan was about to object and tell her, but then paused. Whoever that woman was, she could very well be the only resource they had to find the real Neia. It wasn’t like the woman would just pop up in front of them. “Okay,” Joan said softly. “Where are the others? Andreas? Thalgren? Hardwin? They’re not…” She trailed off, unable to say the words for fear it might make them, somehow, become reality.

Korgron gave a small nod. “They’re alive. Hardwin took the prince and is returning him home. Thalgren and Andreas are recuperating. Searle is… well…”

“I’m fine,” Searle said, his voice as thin and raspy as could be.

“You don’t sound fine,” Joan said.

“I—”

“Should have been resting,” Korgron said, the anger radiating off her voice. “Not arguing with idiots over minor details. Ah, speaking of. Now we’re all here, let’s go.”

Joan glanced back again and saw Neia, the elf staring at them with a look of confusion. However, when Korgron reached towards the cuffs on her wrists Joan quickly spoke up. “Leave them.”

“What?” Korgron said. “Isn’t she--”

“There’s a lot I need to tell you as well,” Joan said. “Err, our things. Did you get those?”

“Most of them,” Korgron said. “All except your sword. They, apparently, couldn’t touch it.”

“Yeah, that’s not surprising,” Joan said with a soft sigh. She held out her left hand and, after a moment, the sword appeared in her hand. It still felt right in her hand, at least. “It has been a really, really long week. Couple of weeks? Oh, I do not like this.”

“I don’t like how any of that sounds,” Bauteut said.

“You’re going to hate all of it. Are you going to let me go?” Joan asked.

“Unlikely,” Bauteut said.

Joan just rolled her eyes. Oh, there was going to be a lot to discuss.