The Hero

Chapter 2

The crowd began to disperse as the day carried on. The Champion remained on the podium, gazing at the crowd. He checked every man, woman, even child—but he never found who he was looking for. Dismay filled his heart, as well as sorrow. He turned around and faced the castle—his castle. He didn't know why, but he felt incomplete.

He just wanted a certain somebody to be there. To see this ceremony. To see him become king.

It was pointless. Shimmer would never come. She hadn't contacted him ever since the incident in the inn. If he knew that was a final farewell, he would've made the best of it. But he had no clue they had grown so distant.

With barely an audience, and a sky that was only hours away from becoming dark, the Champion trudged to his castle. The guards posted at the gate stood tall, straightened their bodies and legs, and looked directly ahead. The Champion paid no attention to them whatsoever, for his gaze remained trained on the floor. He felt... empty. Purposeless.

"Rid that disgusting vermin out of your mind!" Jewel hissed, wrapping a cold, amorphous arm around the Champion's neck. "It is time to forget. You must move on. There's no more—"

"Leave me in peace!" the Champion snapped, then shook off Jewel's arm. His focus remained forward, never leaving the floor below. He was overwhelmed by his racing heart, but nothing would calm it down.

"You'll never be in peace," Jewel murmured. When the Champion finally looked behind him, he saw nothing of his brother and tormentor; however, the words remained attached to his mind. He wished he could forget everything he wanted truly gone. Sadly, it was an impossible feat.

Halfway down the corridor, the Champion thrust his fist at the wall beside him and reeled it back. Smoke rose from the newly-created hole. He stared at it until continuing ahead, unsure of why he did such a thing. Servants and guards watched him with confused eyes. Nobody did as much as raise a single question.

Once he reached the throne room doors, he pulled them open and shut them behind him. His gaze wandered the seemingly-silent room. A figure—a knight nonetheless was leaning against his throne with bent arms. It wore red armor and maintained smaller and more feminine features. He had never seen such a knight in his life.

"Begone before I rid of you myself," the Champion demanded, and made his way toward the throne to sit upon it. All the while, the figure perked awake and stepped right into his path. It stood right in front of him, and he was forced to look down.

"I've come because I was wondering about something," the knight remarked, her voice naive but ambitious. The Champion had talked to plenty of her kind before—they always wished to exploit him for their own benefit.

"I don't care," he replied. When he tried to move past her, she blocked his path again. After another failed attempt, he gave up and impatiently waited for whatever nonsense she had in store.

"I'd like you to meet—"

"State your name," the Champion interrupted, so she scoffed.

"I'm Promidate." She waited for a reaction, but the Champion just stood there. "You know, one of the knights the former king chose? There were five, and you were one of them..."

Something clicked inside of the Champion. It was the name: Jarunx. Everything about the man had to be forgotten completely. Whatever he was affiliated with, whatever he created, it all had to disappear without a trace.

"What is your purpose being here?" he demanded, then tilted his helmet right at Promidate, who met his gaze for no more than a second.

"I'd... like you to meet a close friend of mine," she answered, stroking her arm rather timidly. She had come unarmed. There was nothing threatening about her—she looked like a girl who stole armor and came here as a fan. "We're big enthusiasts of your work, so we were hoping you would give us some insight—"