AN - So... This entire story features a combination of my own systems of magic as well as minor characters and magical systems from Harry Potter, Lorien Legacies, The Alchemyst, Sanderson's Cosmere, Rithmatist, PJO, and many more. Many characters and locations are different. Some terms have been changed and others invented. It intertwines all my ideas into one consolidated OC universe. Good luck! and Happy Reading~
Lev Rashe, the former Hero of Blades, sat mumbing, wondering, thinking, meditating. He sat alone on the shore of an abandoned beach. His face was turned towards the sea. Not a hint of civilization washed against the shore. Just him. His gleaming sword. The clothes on his back… simplicity.
"Lev?" A voice called.
It was a gentle voice. One who knew the many tribulations he'd gone through. The fear he constantly recalled. Reminding him that the many fears he once held no longer mattered. And yet, it did the opposite.
Suddenly, Lev was no longer on his aimless beach. No longer alone. He was in a desecrated capital of demons. Fires burned. Steel clashed. Corpses of strangers and the occasional friend littered the streets. A woman, the owner of the voice, stood over him, clearly wounded by countless cuts, shaking fervently in an effort to counter a dozen curses of corrupted magics, called his name. Or rather screamed it. Above it all, a giant demonic mirage loomed, with a dozen comets launching hopeless bursts of light. Heroes they were called. The term was meaningless. They were all just pawns.
"Lev?"
Apatheia's shadow hovered over the seated Lev. He looked up to find her dressed, as always, in her glowing armor, the sword-spear with two shining crystals imbedded in the hilt strapped behind her back. The Hero of Truth stood gallantly above his poor figure. Not a wound nor scar was present. No fires burned. No dead bodies lied around him. All was quiet.
"I made lunch." Apatheia said while demonstrating the tray in her arms.
She seemed happy. Nothing was wrong. Nobody was dead. It was pity, not pain that lingered in her voice… and yet that hurt all the same. It took a moment before Lev spoke up again.
"Lost in thought."
A flash of worry failed to hide itself upon Apatheia's face.
"Here," she said, holding up a bowl.
Lev accepted it as Apatheia sat down next to him.
"Well, Twelve messaged me yesterday." Apatheia said gently, "Something of a New Order."
"Twelve?"
The image of a seemingly-young half-demon girl appeared. Amethyst-eyed, dark haired. And hiding an endless supply mischief. Then she was there again, a longsword wreathed in hellstone's aura swinging at her defenseless figure. And the Voidwalker, suddenly appearing, from the Elsewhere, blocking the blow. The very man who'd denied Twelve's right to live a hundred years prior. A final apology for his prejudiced actions. Irony at its finest truth. Irony at its worst time. And there Lev sat, trapped in an Obsidian prison, unable to act, as one his friends died before him.
"Lev! Lev!
Apatheia's frantic voice woke Lev from his stupor. He was lying on his back, sweat covering every inch of his shaking body. The bowl of food Apatheia had painstakingly crafted was tipped over.
"Sorry," he soundlessly muttered, more lost in frustration than apologetic.
It was nice knowing that Twelve lived. They were twenty-one in number when the war started. Now, how many remained? Ten? Twenty? Why did they sacrifice themselves in the first place? If a New Order was truly in creation, what was Lev doing? He knew Apatheia would not leave without him, and he vowed to never hold her back.
"Are you alright?" Apatheia continued, hopelessness clouding in like rain clouds, oblivious to the inner revelations in process.
He was doing nothing. So many of his friends had already died for him, and yet he sat, pointlessly, counting his sorrows. Lev mentally made a final decision. People have given their lives for him. Must he continue to bear the very pains they'd died to clear? No. No longer. He looked down at the Arkium blade at his side. How many months had it been since he'd swung it?
Lev laughed.
"Am I alright?"
Without warning, Lev sprang to his feet. Apatheia looked up in confusion and surprise, and a sudden glimmer of hope. A new life seemed to glow within him.
"I'm in need of an adventure."
A nostalgic feeling of the old Lev flowed between them. No more of the broken man, lost in past traumas. No more of the pointless watching of endless waves. It was about time they stopped their meaningless isolation.
The Hero of Blades was once again reborn.