Joan idly twirled her fork in her hand. Maybe if she snapped it in half. Took out the strings first. No, even then it’d probably be too big. Maybe if she ground it up into slivers first. Nope, wouldn’t have the same effect.

“Joan? Is something wrong?” Vivian asked softly.

“Hm? No, it’s fine,” Joan lied. “Just trying to figure out the best way to force feed someone their lute.”

“Joan,” Vivian said, the scolding in her voice so strong Joan didn’t even have to look up to see the glare she was likely receiving.

“As the armies of the Demon Lord rose up to burn the land,” the bard sang, his fingers skillfully plucking the strings of the lute. “It looked as though there were none against them who would stand. But in our darkest hour, when all hope had begun to flee. It was in this moment, with the might of the gods, that the seven appeared for you and for me.”

“I’m joking,” Joan said with a small, weak smile. She wasn’t entirely joking, but oh she longed to be able to do it. That wasn’t anything like the fight had been. Yes, the Chosen’s battle against the army of obsidian trolls HAD been impressive. But the army hadn’t even moved to attack yet, in fact it had been building. There was no hope to lose. Very few even knew about that fight.

The final fight had been so much more impressive. But she supposed seven standing against an army of massive monsters was just more interesting to make songs about than the Chosen LITERALLY stopping the world-ending INFERNO GOD from rising and destroying them all. Even though they had a veritable army on their side as well that time.

Joan lightly spun her fork around a few more times before glancing down the table at the other two. Neia and Imp. The former an elf with some demon in her, the latter a full demon. Possibly one of the most damaged people she’d ever met and the first person she had, in many lifetimes, ‘saved’.

She didn’t dare cause any disturbance or violence with Imp out here and seeming to enjoy the music. It wasn’t often Neia could manage to coax Imp from her room and she’d have happily put up with a dozen bards if it meant the poor thing could smile. Just so long as he didn’t--

As if on cue the song ended and the next began. The rise of the Hero, guidance of the Chosen.

“Joan,” Vivian said softly.

“I’m not feeling well,” Joan said through gritted teeth. “May I be excused?”

“Of course,” Vivian said. “But you--”

Joan didn’t let her finish. As quietly as she could she got to her feet and made her way out of the hall, leaving them behind. She wouldn’t take Imp’s joy, but there were some songs she just couldn’t listen to.

Rather than going up to her room, instead she headed down out into the keep’s inner courtyard. She gained a few looks, but nobody said anything. They merely continued along their business. If the Chosen’s ‘daughter’ was out on her own, who were they to object?

Besides, most of them likely knew where she was going.

It didn’t take her long to once again feel the comforting weight of her practice blade in hand. Cutting at the dummy with practiced finesse and perfect strikes that warriors twice her age would have been envious of. At least, if they didn’t know she was in some ways many, many times older than any of them. Lifetimes older. She cut and slashed, the heavy sounds of the wooden blade echoing through the courtyard.

It wasn’t long before she felt eyes watching her. She ignored it for a while, but knew what was coming. She didn’t turn around, though. Not yet. She loved Vivian, truly she did. She had family, even if they were a family by choice rather than blood, and she wouldn’t give it away for anything in the world. But she didn’t want to hear about the Hero. All things considered, she felt she was handling it relatively well. She hadn’t let the bard hear her considering force feeding him his lute, that was progress. Well, maybe not progress. But it was passable.

Yet, Joan could feel her gaze and it was heavy. Slowly she lowered her sword and turned around. “I kn--” The words died in her throat when she saw who was staring at her.

Neia stared back at her, her head cocked to the side. “Mmmm? What was that?”

“What are you doing out here? What about Imp?” Joan asked, unable to keep the panic out of her voice. “She can’t--”

“She’s fine, it does her well to spend a little time around others without me to coddle her,” Neia said. “Don’t worry, little hero.”

Joan cringed when she heard that. “Please don’t call me that. It--”

“You saved the world, did you not?” Neia asked with a small smile.

“The Chosen saved the world,” Joan said.

“But you guided them,” Neia said. “Come now. Is that why you’re upset? Because the songs aren’t about Joan, they’re about the Hero? I’m sure a lot of bards would love to sing about you. The reborn Hero who --”

“I don’t deserve any songs!” Joan snapped before cringing and taking a slow, deep breath. “I don’t want any songs. I just… I want… I…”

“You want to be out there, fighting again?” Neia asked.

“…” Joan turned back towards the dummy and swung once again.

“You know, you don’t have any more ‘teachers’ to scare off,” Neia said. “I’m not sure what you hope to achieve by breaking more equipment.”

“It’s to vent my frustration,” Joan said.

“I guess it’s a good thing that it’s made for Hardwin then, isn’t it? Are you certain you’re not really his daughter?” Neia asked. “I can see a lot of him in you. Everyone can.”

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

“I wouldn’t know,” Joan said. “We’ve just been around each other a long time, is it really so strange we picked up some of each other’s habits?”

“I suppose not,” Neia said. “I imagine this must be quite difficult for you. Sitting here. Waiting. How long has it been now?”

“Almost a year,” Joan said before giving the dummy a hearty blow. “Almost a year and things still aren’t fixed.”

“They’re getting better,” Neia said. “Between the Chosen’s efforts, the war has at least entered an uneasy truce. Negotiations like this take time. You can’t expect everyone to throw down their arms in some hope for immediate peace. There’s a lot of people on both sides who’d like nothing more than to exterminate the other.”

“It’s stupid,” Joan said bitterly. “There’s no more need for this. The Hungry One is dead, there’s no Inferno God. There’s other things we still need to deal with and--”

“And instead you’re stuck here while everyone else works, right?” Neia said. “You know, most people would be satisfied just saving the world once.”

“I did save the world!” Joan said. “But that’s the problem! It doesn’t STAY saved! I rested, I recovered, I even put on weight! Look! I’m even a little taller now!” she said before turning around and standing by the dummy. “See? I actually come up to its chest.”

“And yet, how did the Chosen put it?”

“Don’t,” Joan said.

“Still just a mouse,” Neia said with a wicked grin. “You have a while to grow up, thousands of years old or not. They worry about you.”

“Do you worry about me?” Joan asked.

“Not for your sake,” Neia said with a shrug. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for you. I still don’t fully understand all of the details of what you are supposed to be, or how I fit into things. But you have offered me an opportunity to not fight for my life. For that I am eternally grateful. But I’ve seen people like you before. Elves like us are often quite patient, but even we can eventually snap like bowstrings if pulled too taut. You, dear child, are nearing that edge. It took you far longer than I believed it would, but it is happening.”

Joan slid her training blade back onto the rack with the others before walking over towards Neia. She crossed her arms and looked up at her. “Okay then, fine. What do you suggest I do?”

“No idea,” Neia said.

“Good to know you’re no better off than me in that regard,” Joan said with a sigh. “You know, Bauteut gives much better advice.”

“She’s probably better trained than I am,” Neia said.

“I just want to do something,” Joan said. “But I can’t stab negotiations or fight bad feelings. I can’t just kick old grudges and wars away.”

“I imagine when you’ve fought as long as you have, it must be incredibly difficult when you don’t have a battle to fight,” Neia said.

“It wouldn’t be so bad if I could work on the battles I need to fight,” Joan said. “But I’m enduring. I’m being patient. The only thing I’m beating is that stupid dummy.”

“You’re being very mature for someone who still needs a lot of growing to do,” Neia said with a smile.

“Tha —”

“You’re almost as broken as Imp, I think,” Neia said.

Joan went still for a few moments, her mouth falling open. Finally, she shook her head. “I’m nowhere near that bad.”

“Oh, but you are,” Neia said. “Just in entirely different ways. You handle it better, mind.” She reached out and stroked Joan’s cheek, making her cringe but she didn’t pull away. The elf just stared at her with a sad look in her eyes. “Sometimes I can even forget you’re still a child. A soul more aged and scarred than even the oldest of elves now. Perhaps even more than that… dead one. Lich. The wounds are healing, but the marks are there. Even I can’t help but worry what will happen should you ever finish all of your battles. When you have nothing more to push towards.”

Joan gave a shrug before reaching up and gripping the elf’s hand. “If I ever finish, if there’s ever nothing left for me to do? Then the world will be a much better place and everyone will be happy. So I don’t think you ever have to worry.”

“Most children wouldn’t place the safety and joy of the world on their shoulders, either,” Neia said.

“Eh, it’s not so bad,” Joan said dismissively. “It feels a lot lighter these days. I’ve gotten a lot better at delegating things. Speaking of delegating things, what do you plan to do about Imp?”

Neia cringed and pulled her hand back, free from her grip. “That’s… something I am still unsure of. She’s doing better, at least. But…”

“She’s in love with you, you know,” Joan said. “Even I can tell.”

“Yes,” Neia said with a soft sigh before shaking her head. “She is.”

“You don’t feel that way about her, though, do you?” Joan asked.

Neia gave a shrug. “She’s like a daughter to me. I want to protect her and comfort her. But that? I find it unlikely. Especially not when she’s like this. It would feel like giving her water from a poisoned well.”

“So what do you intend to do about it?” Joan asked.

“Keep doing what I have been doing,” Neia said. “Help her. Mooch off the generosity of a Chosen. Gather what wealth I can so once this Chosen dies I can live a comfortable, long life without having to return to the elves. Perhaps find someone else who can take care of Imp once I’m no longer needed. Alas, fixing someone is rarely as easy as just solving one problem and fixing a single broken experience. I may be helpless to do anything for her in the end.”

“For what it’s worth,” Joan said. “I think you’re doing a lot more for her than anyone ever has. I mean, she’s alone with Vivian and a bard. When I first met her she’d have likely panicked by now.”

“What can I say?” Neia said. “Music soothes the savaged demon. Perhaps--” Her words were cut off by three short sounds of a horn. She frowned. “Which does that mean again?”

“Unexpected arrival,” Joan said with a sigh. “If there’s a single long sound then that means danger. Likely a messenger or something. I’ll go see who it is, let Vivian know.”

“As you wish, oh Lady Dusklam,” Vivian said in a teasing voice before turning and heading into the keep.

Joan rolled her eyes and started to lightly jog towards the main gate. It was still open and the guards didn’t look very apprehensive, so she took her time. What were the chances of--

Joan’s eyes went wide when she saw who was riding the horse galloping towards them in the twilight. Ifrit, that strange girl with Francis, the wannabe hero. Worse, she could barely make him out as well, collapsed and laying over the saddle in front of Ifrit as she raced the horse desperately towards the keep.

The three creatures behind her looked like other horse riders at first glance. But oh, she had seen them before. In the twilight they seemed to almost fade in and out of existence at times, a seeming trick of the light. But she knew all too well what those were. She’d killed enough of them as the Hero. She held out her right hand and Guardian Nova materialized in her hand. “Ready yourselves!” Joan yelled.

“My lady?” one of the guards asked, glancing towards her. “It’s just--”

“Those three horse men aren’t human!” Joan yelled. “They’re shades! Get as many torches down here as you can! We need light and we need as much of it as we can now! Call out the alarm!”

For a moment there was silence and she worried they would ignore her. Then a single long note of the horn echoed through the air.