How can I save the world if I'm no longer the hero?

Joan was correct. Francis was certainly putting the sword to better use than she ever had. She didn't know if he would continue to do that, but he spent the entire next morning practically squealing like a child who'd been given their first doll.

Also, he kept giving her the kind of looks reserved for the Chosen and, maybe, a small part of her was reveling in getting those idolizing looks again. It was pretty nice not having everybody who used to want to kill the Hero wanting to kill her.

Speaking of, she slowed down a little so she could walk besides Penthe. She'd even taken her advice and was wearing her armor as they traveled. While it was a bit heavier than she liked and hotter, it was surprisingly easy to walk in. "Hey, Penthe?"

"What?" Penthe asked, glancing to her.

"Can I ask you some questions?" Joan asked.

"You have done this many times," Penthe said. "My answer has not changed."

"Okay, fair," Joan said softly. "So, ummm… what is my sword? I mean… right. When I fought the Hungry God, I thought it destroyed it. But it's fine, it was never even damaged. But it said that a sword can't have dreams."

"A sword is a piece of material shaped into a tool for cutting things," Penthe said. "So no, they rarely have dreams unless they are enchanted in some manner that even I'm not familiar with. What the Hungry God destroyed then was likely just the sword in your dreams. In the Realm of Dreams, things like that often exist. I would not expect a weapon to be there on its own."

"But the Chosen's weapons came to save me," Joan said softly.

"The Chosen saved you," Penthe said. "Their weapons were merely the focus through which it was done. A Chosen's weapon is unique, it serves as the bridge between a Chosen and their gods."

"And what does that make the Star of the Hero?" Joan asked. "Is Guardian Nova… I mean…"

"Likely," Penthe said. "I can't say for certain, its method of being found it also… unexpected. The Chosen have a lot more power than even they realize. It may not have been the Star of the Hero, until it was chosen by Searle. There is power even in that and him making the choice to take it may have been what made it the Star."

"But I'm no longer the Hero, right?" Joan asked. "So, why would the Star of the Hero even exist?" She then glanced ahead towards the others. "And ummm… can it get… jealous?"

"The Star of the Hero was pivotal in the ritual to give the Champion's powers to the Hero," Penthe said. "While the Champion did have a weapon, his power was within him. He didn't connect directly to the gods, he just was. When we transferred the powers to a new person, to… to your soul, we did it by binding your soul with that of the Champion's weapon. It was the only way we could at the time. It became the Star of the Hero. If… that is it? If your Guardian Nova is actually the Star of the Hero? I cannot say I'm surprised. Even if the power of the Champion and Hero are gone, that bond is tied intrinsically to your very soul. As for it being jealous, I suppose. I don't believe it's alive, but the sword is certainly special. The magic inside it may be reacting to you. What makes you suspect it's jealous?"

"Well," Joan said before glancing back to Francis. He had the sword out again and was gushing about it to Ifrit… who just kept nodding along and she suspected was just humoring him at this point. "Whenever I tried to draw the demonic blade from its sheath, it got locked up. I couldn't find what was causing it and nobody but me ever seems to have that problem. Is it possible it was Guardian Nova doing that?"

A sound seemed to echo from Penthe's armor, one she couldn't fully identity. However, she suspected she might know what it was, but she tried to ignore it. She was pretty sure that Penthe just snorted. "It is certainly possible," Penthe said. "The magic of the Star of the Hero, even if it was little more than a burned out ember compared to the raging inferno it once was, was certainly capable of making a sword refuse to be unsheathed. That is quite a petty way for it to behave, however. I'm not saying it wouldn't. I've certainly met such petty creatures before, why not your sword?"

"So, ummm, if it's willing to do that, could it get me killed? I mean, if it gets jealous enough to--"

"No," Penthe said firmly, turning to look at her. "Even if the Star is jealous and refuses to let you use other weapons, it would never get you killed. It is a weapon created for the sole purpose of keeping you safe."

"Okay," Joan said quickly. She hadn't expected such a quick, almost violent reaction from her. "What was I like?"

"What do you mean?" Penthe asked.

"When… I mean, you were there? When I was chosen to replace the Champion? Arta? What was I like?" Joan asked.

Joan could hear the deep breath Penthe made then. "Dangerous thinking lies that way, Joan," Penthe said. "It may have been your soul, but you were not there. You were even less that girl than I was that Penthe."

"But—"

"You have echoes of who you were," Penthe said. "All people do. It echoes through your soul, reverberating through you in every way. But that doesn't make you the same person. It makes you a product of that same person. I have a lot of the memories of past Penthe's, but the further back I go, the less and less of them I can remember. The ritual was done so long ago that I can barely remember anything about who that Penthe was. Any more than I can remember what I had for breakfast exactly seven years ago on any given day. I remember bits and pieces of the important things, but nothing specific."

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

"So do you remember anything about me?" Joan asked. "Or, well, who I was then?"

"I remember… being annoyed at you," Penthe said.

"So, not much has changed then?" Joan asked in a teasing tone.

"I don't believe I approved of giving over the power of the Champion to one who wasn't made for it," Penthe said.

"Oh," Joan said softly, glancing away. "Do, uhhhhh. Do you still feel that way? I mean, I kind of… lost it. I guess I failed in the--"

"What I felt then doesn't matter," Penthe said. "You managed to defeat the Hungry God. You succeeded, any doubts I had turned out to be unfounded."

"I only barely won," Joan said sheepishly.

"Against a god such as that, how else could a victory be earned? It took countless lifetimes for us to defeat it the first time, and even we failed."

"You were there when it happened, right?" Joan asked softly. "What… was it like?"

Penthe took a slow, deep breath. "Are you sure you wish to hear? It is not a… pleasant story."

"I… think I saw it," Joan said softly. "So… I think I do."

"It was not a pleasant battle," Penthe said. "The world, our world, had been torn apart. In many ways, it was a husk. Countless souls lay trapped inside that monster's grasp. Lives that could not be reborn. With each victory, we managed to free some. Yet countless more would be grasped when next we rose to fight it. The Chosen… were first. Their world was dying. They turned to the gods, asking for their aid. And the gods gave it to them. Binding their powers to the souls of mortals, they became so much more. The Hungry One could not devour them, but that didn't mean it couldn't hurt them. With each life, more and more the Chosen were worn down. Their battles… crushing them. Finally, they began to collapse and lose the will to fight. They only desired rest… so the Three Sisters gave it to them."

"With you?" Joan asked.

"And the Champion," Penthe said. "I would not fight the battle, but instead I would watch and guide. The Champion would be my protector, my guardian. Our souls were to be tied together."

"Wait, so you and Arta are like a divine couple?" Joan asked.

Penthe turned to stare at her for a moment before shaking her head. "Think of it more as… akin to having a twin. At least, then. I would guide, he would lead, they would follow. The battles would no longer wear on their souls."

"Only on yours," Joan said softly.

"It was a price I was, and am, willing to bear," Penthe said firmly. "Although, I was, in many ways, the second attempt. When the Chosen remembered all, it wore on them more firmly than it seems to me. Perhaps it is because I was not meant to be fighting, or maybe it's because I am more… myself, than I am any prior Penthe."

"So that makes me the third version, then?" Joan asked. "Do you think that's why I became a boy when I was the Hero, and a girl when I'm… now?"

Penthe took a slow, deep breath before finally shrugging. "I wouldn't even begin to know the reason for that. But you may be whatever you feel like you need to be. However… it would not surprise me if it was less who you were, and more who you had seen the Champion as, that dictated the form you had."

"Wait, so you're saying I was a boy all those lifetimes because I wanted to be like the Champion? Really? That's it?" Joan asked before giving a low groan. "That sucks. I'm a way better girl. I'd have probably been a much better Hero, too."

"Who can say?" Penthe asked with a shrug. "It--"

"Joan!" Bauteut yelled. "Penthe! You're going to want to see this!"

Joan glanced ahead and saw that the others had stopped at the top of the hill. They weren't running in terror, at least, so it probably wouldn't be that bad. Wait, no, now that she thought that she was sure it was going to be awful.

She braced herself before lightly jogging up to join them and stared out over the hill before letting out a low gasp.

A town. Or, at least, the remains of one. There were dozens of buildings, though many of them had collapsed with age. It was built at the bottom of the hill, right on the water's edge. There was a pier, though it was in terrible condition.

But a single ship, still floating, was tethered there. While she couldn't make out what its flag was from this distance, it certainly looked like it was new. "Is that their ship?" Joan asked. "The people we were looking for? That's… quick."

"This was supposed to be part of the route they took," Francis said. "But I didn't think they'd have been so close."

"Joan, that," Penthe said, pointing towards the town center.

White and red sand had--

The wind shifted, coming from the town and a few moment's later the smell of the sea washed over them. But there was something else there. Something foul. Faded and hinted, but definitely there. Joan shook her head and looked again, peering as best she could through her helmet's eye slits.

She soon realized that wasn't white and red sand. There wasn't sand anywhere. Those were… well. Bodies might be a strong term. But bones. And if those were bones, that likely meant the red tint there was blood or something else.

"What happened there?" Bauteut asked softly.

"We should go back," Ifrit said softly.

"If that's their ship, then we have to check on it," Francis said. "We can't just turn around when we're almost done."

"So they came here?" Qakog asked. "Recently?"

"Not that long ago," Francis said. "It might not be there ship, though. I can't make out the flag. Maybe it--"

A scream tore through the air.

"JOAN!" Penthe yelled after her, but it was too late. She was already running down the hill towards the town, her sword appearing in her hand.