The Echo of a False Hero

Elias woke up once more. This time, he was chained to a bed. He began to scream as pain wracked his body, his eyes darting around the dimly lit room. It resembled a prison chamber, with a singular bed and a heavy door sealing him inside.

His wrists were bound above him as he looked up, panic threatening to take hold. But then, he forced himself to calm down, to remember why he was here.

Rook was killed by that arrow.

He didn't know who had done it, but he had to assume it was someone from Ashborn. Rook had often spoken about them—religious zealots who believed the people of Ashborn were the chosen ones, and that their Voidwalkers were the best in the land.

This, of course, was true.

Strangely enough, their Voidwalkers were known for never losing control—something unheard of. They claimed it was due to their "sacred practice," but the details were shrouded in mystery. The Ashborn clan had once held immense power, standing close to the royal family and the church, yet they had been exiled to the kingdom's outskirts, near the borders. The reason for their exile had been lost to time, as history was difficult to preserve in an era like this...

Or at least, that's what Rook had told him.

Rook.

It had only been a few months, yet it still hurt like hell to think about him. To see someone like that—someone who wanted to destroy the Void—reduced to the very thing he despised. To be stripped of all memory, all identity.

It was terrifying.

And to think Elias could be swatted away like a fly by something like that…

But now, it only strengthened his resolve.

He needed to remember what he had lost.

He needed to find out what this sigil was.

He was going to become a Voidwalker.

Something was wrong.

His thoughts were rushing out, flowing like an uncontrollable stream. Every recent memory surfaced at once, flashing before his eyes. It felt like his mind was not his own.

As if something was inside him, clawing through his thoughts.

Elias felt trapped in his own head.

Sweat poured down his face as his sigil burned, pulsing violently—pushing whatever was inside him out.

Then, he heard a thud.

His green eyes snapped toward the shadowy corner of the room.

Two figures stood there—both women, likely in their mid-twenties. One had collapsed to the floor, breathing heavily, while the other helped her up.

The second woman stepped forward, emerging from the darkness.

She was striking, with an aura that demanded respect.

Ashen-blonde hair, tied in a loose braid. Amber eyes, sharp and luminous, glowing faintly in the dim light like embers before a fire—the unmistakable mark of her Ashborn heritage.

Scars littered her arms and back, similar to Elias' own. But while his were from lacerations, hers were burn marks.

Her attire was made of leathers, embroidered with holy Ashborn sigils in silver thread. And on her back—a bow and a quiver.

The Ashborn symbol was stitched onto her chest—a lone, withered tree standing on a field of ash. It looked weak, withered, yet its roots were strong.

She locked eyes with Elias, her gaze cold and unreadable.

"Are you a hero?"

Elias' eyes widened.

This could be a test.

If he said something that didn't align with what she wanted, he might be killed.

"I don't know. I've been suffering from memory loss for the past four years."

The woman glanced back at the other figure, still shrouded in shadow. The second woman made a subtle gesture—one Elias barely caught.

She could detect lies.

No, it was something more than that. She had looked inside his mind.

The first woman turned back to him.

"I am Kaela, Matriarch of the Ashborn Clan, humble servant of Ashern."

Her voice was even, measured.

"I will overlook the fact that you called our family 'zealots,' as you are merely confused due to your amnesia. However, I will warn you—call us heretics or zealots again, and your head will be put on a pike for all to see."

Elias maintained a calm expression.

It seemed his earlier suspicion was correct—his thoughts had been read.

"I understand."

For now, he needed to suppress his thoughts. It was too dangerous to think freely around that Voidwalker in the shadows.

Kaela's apathetic gaze flickered, revealing something sharper beneath the surface.

"We of the Ashborn Clan believe we are the chosen ones."

Her voice carried passion now, a stark contrast to her previous indifference.

"Our Voidwalkers are the strongest in the kingdom. We take pride in the fact that not a single one of our own has succumbed to corruption. We humbly believe it is our duty, as servants of Ashern, to work alongside heroes to eradicate the Void—a blasphemy against the cradle of Ashern."

Elias nodded.

Don't think. Just nod. Agree.

"We knew of Rook."

Kaela's voice hardened.

"He believed we denied him entry because we were prejudiced. He was wrong. We, as Ashern's servants, believe all people are equal. However—"

Her eyes darkened.

"Those who take Voidshards outside of the heroes and our family are sinners. They are weak-willed, drawn by temptation, and always meet an inevitable end. Do you understand what I am saying?"

Elias clenched his fist.

"Yes. You believe Rook was doomed the moment he took that Voidshard fragment."

Memories of Rook's hellflames resurfaced. The searing pain of his flames still burned, even though they had long been extinguished.

Kaela watched him carefully before speaking again.

"We will give you a choice."

"Since you have not inherited a shard yet, we will take you in. You will live in Ashborn—but separate from us. Do you have any skills?"

Elias hesitated, before replying, "I can blacksmith."

Kaela nodded.

"Then you will work as a blacksmith. You will be watched, but you will not be imprisoned. When your memories return, if you prove to be a hero, you may help us win this war."

"War...?"

Kaela's expression didn't change.

"Yes. We are at war with the church and the royal family. The rifts near us open frequently, granting us many Voidshards."

Elias' fist clenched tighter.

"Did... Rook have a Voidshard?"

"No."

Kaela's voice was firm.

"Half-baked Voidborne like that do not possess shards. If left alone for a few more days, he might have developed one. But his hellflames were too dangerous. I dispatched him immediately."

She cupped her hands together in prayer.

"May Ashern purify his soul in the holy flame."

Elias only nodded, suppressing his thoughts.

Kaela turned, exiting the room without another word. The woman in the shadows followed, disappearing behind her.

The door creaked shut.

Then, silence.

Elias exhaled.

He needed to get stronger. He needed to remember. And above all—he needed a Voidshard.