Hero Of Broken History

Avian's POV

The morning started with Leontis singing.

"BEHOLD! The Academy's cafeteria serves a substance they claim is food! The protagonist questions their definitions!"

Avian sat at their usual table, watching his theatrical friend perform breakfast commentary for an audience of exhausted students. Most ignored him. A few threw things. Leontis caught a bread roll mid-air and took a bite without breaking his monologue.

"The bread has the consistency of dwarvish armor! Perhaps it IS dwarvish armor!"

"Does he ever stop?" Canaline asked, dropping into the seat across from Avian. No invitation, no greeting, just the casual assumption that she belonged there.

"No," Kai answered, not looking up from the document he was reading. "It's actually impressive. I've seen him narrate his own unconsciousness."

"What are you reading?" she asked, then noticed the formatting. "Is that... a broadsheet? Who reads physical news anymore?"

"Someone shoved it under my door this morning." Kai held up the cheaply printed paper. "Published by someone called Truth's Witness. 'The Historical Truth.' Pretentious name for what looks like conspiracy theories."

Avian glanced at it, then froze.

The headline read: "The Commander Who Saved the East: Evidence of a Hidden Hero"

What the fuck?

"Let me see that."

Kai handed it over. Avian read quickly, his expression carefully neutral while internally every alarm was screaming.

Military dispatches recently discovered reveal repeated references to "Commander D." who achieved impossible victories through unorthodox tactics. These same dispatches, dated mere days apart, show a pattern of revision where "Commander D." becomes "Commander Vaerin" in later copies.

The Battle of Crimson Ford, celebrated as Saint Vaerin's greatest triumph, contains inconsistencies. Witness accounts describe techniques that match no known Imperial combat doctrine but align perfectly with pre-Empire martial arts...

The article continued with specifics. Archive reference numbers. Direct quotes from sources that shouldn't exist anymore. Details that only someone with access to restricted Church documents could know.

Or someone who was there.

"Interesting fiction," Avian said, handing it back.

"That's what I thought," Kai said. "But look at the sources cited. Those are real archive numbers. I checked."

"You checked?" Canaline raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Boredom. Also, professional curiosity." Kai folded the broadsheet. "Whoever wrote this either has incredible imagination or dangerous access."

"Or both," Avian muttered.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

The cafeteria doors opened. Three figures in white robes entered, moving with the fluid grace of predators. Church Shepherds. Students went quiet, but not silent—more curious than afraid. Most had never seen Shepherds in person.

They walked directly to Avian's table.

"Lord Veritas." The lead Shepherd's voice was pleasant, almost friendly. "Lady Cloveborn. Mr. Kai. And..." They paused at Leontis, who had stopped mid-song. "The theatrical one."

"The protagonist has a name!"

"I'm sure you do." The Shepherd turned back to Avian. "Might we have a word? Privately?"

It wasn't really a request.

Avian stood. "Of course."

They walked to a corner of the cafeteria, far enough for privacy but still visible. The Shepherd lowered their hood, revealing a surprisingly young face with old eyes.

"You've read this morning's creative writing?" They produced an identical broadsheet.

"Kai just showed me. Fascinating fiction."

"Indeed. The Church is curious about the source. Such detailed fiction requires either remarkable imagination or unfortunate access to restricted materials."

"I wouldn't know about that."

"No? The article mentions your family name. 'The Veritas family archives may hold truths the Church has forgotten.' Direct quote."

Avian shrugged. "My family's archives hold mostly accounting records and boring correspondence. Nothing about ancient commanders."

"Of course." The Shepherd studied him. "You know, it's interesting. The techniques described in this article—the forbidden pre-Empire martial arts—they sound similar to what you demonstrated in the arena. When you moved your father."

Ah. There it is.

"Lots of techniques look similar when you hit hard enough," Avian said mildly.

"True." The Shepherd smiled, and it was almost genuine. "We're not here to interrogate you, Lord Veritas. Simply to inform. The Church is investigating these publications. If you hear anything, see anything, learn anything..."

"I'll be sure to keep it to myself and mind my own business."

The Shepherd actually laughed. "I like you. Most nobles pretend to be helpful. You're honestly unhelpful."

"It's a gift."

"Keep cultivating it. It might keep you alive." They pulled their hood back up. "Oh, and Lord Veritas? If you happen to know who's publishing these articles, you might suggest they stop. The Church has a long memory and longer reach."

"I'll keep that in mind if I randomly encounter anonymous publishers."

The Shepherds left as smoothly as they'd arrived. Avian returned to his table where his friends were waiting.

"So?" Kai asked.

"They're hunting whoever wrote that article. Also, they think I fight like the mysterious Commander D."

"Do you?" Canaline asked.

"How would I know? I've never met someone who doesn't exist."

She studied him for a moment, then smiled. "You're a terrible liar."

"I'm an excellent liar."

"About things that don't matter, yes. But when something actually matters to you, your jaw tenses slightly." She stood. "I have to go. Father wants me to check our family archives. Apparently, the Cloveborn records from the Demon War period have become suddenly interesting to several parties."

After she left, Kai leaned in. "She's right. Your jaw did tense."

"Shut up."

"Who do you think wrote it?" Kai asked. "The article?"

Someone with access to Church archives. Someone who knows exactly what to look for. Someone who doesn't care about the consequences.

"No idea," Avian lied.

But he had suspicions. And if he was right, if Seren was behind this, then she was playing a game that would get her killed. The Church didn't tolerate truth when it contradicted their lies.

The question was: why now? What had changed?

And more importantly: how much did she actually know?

That afternoon, three more broadsheets appeared around the Academy. Each with more details, more evidence, more truth that should have stayed buried.

Someone was declaring war on five centuries of lies.

Fuck.