Run

Luther scoffed, twirling the corrupted divine blade between his fingers. The yellow energy coursed through it, responding to his touch like an extension of himself.

"I never asked to be a hero," he said, his voice low. "I never asked to be summoned to this world. If protecting her tavern means leaving, then fine. We'll leave."

Vess studied him with penetrating eyes. "You still don't get it, do you? What you've done goes beyond just angering a few self-righteous heroes. You've created something fundamentally... wrong." She gestured to the sword. "Divine artifacts are meant to channel divine energy. What you've done is like forcing water to burn."

"Yet here it is, burning just fine," he replied, watching the yellow energy dance along the blade.

"For now," Vess muttered. "But for how long? And at what cost?"

Luther stood, sheathing the transformed weapon. The pendant Maq had given him pulsed against his chest, somehow stabilizing the connection between his crude mana pathways and the corrupted sword.

"I need to talk to Luna," he said finally.

He found her in the cellar, pulling items from hidden compartments in the walls—potions, scrolls, weapons—and packing them efficiently into travel bags.

"I didn't ask for any of this," he said from the doorway.

"No one ever asks for their life to be turned upside down," she replied without looking up. "But most people don't deliberately make things worse."

"I'm not running from them forever," he warned. "Sooner or later, I fight."

She finally looked at him, her expression softening slightly. "I know. But it should be on our terms, not theirs. Not when you can barely control that thing." She nodded toward the sword at his hip.

"It feels right," he admitted. "Like it's part of me now."

"That's what worries me." She handed him a bag. "Make yourself useful. We leave at dawn."

As he helped her pack, he noticed small tokens hidden throughout the tavern—subtle markers bearing the symbol of Ariadne. Luna had been hiding her faith in plain sight all along.

"Why didn't you tell me you were actively working for Ariadne?" he asked quietly.

"Would it have mattered?" She secured a bundle of herbs. "You made it clear you want nothing to do with gods or goddesses."

"It might have mattered," he conceded.

By morning, they had packed what they could carry. Luna stood in the empty tavern's main room, her hand resting on the worn bar counter.

"My great-grandmother built this place," she said softly. "Said she wanted a place where people could find refuge regardless of which deity they followed."

Luther shifted uncomfortably. "I'm sorry."

"No, you're not," she said, but without malice. "Not really. But you will be."

She turned to face him. "You think you're changing the rules, forging your own path. But there are forces in this world that have existed for millennia. They don't change easily, and they don't forgive those who try to change them."

"Then maybe it's time someone did," he replied.

A soft glow appeared in the corner of the room. Vess emerged from the kitchen, her expression grim.

"They're coming," she announced. "I can sense divine energy approaching. A lot of it."

Luna cursed. "We're out of time." She grabbed her pack. "There's a tunnel beneath the pantry. It leads to the river."

As they hurried to the kitchen, the tavern's front door exploded inward in a blast of blue light. Luther spun, instinctively drawing his corrupted sword. Yellow energy surged along the blade, responding to his anger.

"Go!" he shouted to Luna and Vess. "I'll hold them off!"

Luna grabbed his arm. "This is exactly what they want! Don't be a fool!"

Before he could respond, a figure stepped through the shattered doorway. It was the blue-eyed hero from the temple, her divine power radiating around her like a corona.

"The rejected one," she said calmly. "And his corrupted prize."

Luther pushed Luna behind him. "You want me? Here I am."

The hero smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "So eager to die. But death isn't what Nelara wishes for you." She extended her hand. "The sword, freely given, and perhaps there's a place for you yet among the chosen."

He laughed. "Not interested in your goddess's leftovers."

"It's not an offer," she replied, her smile fading. "It's the only path that doesn't end with this entire building reduced to ash—with you in it."

The yellow glow beneath Luther's skin intensified, his crude mana responding to his rage. The sword vibrated in his hand, eager for release.

"Luther, don't," Luna whispered. "There's a time to fight and a time to retreat. Live to fight another day."

He hesitated, feeling the overwhelming divine power radiating from the hero before him. His mana, crude and newly formed, felt pathetically weak in comparison.

But something deep inside him refused to yield. The same stubborn will that forced open his mana pathways now pushed him forward.

"One day," he said to the hero, "your goddess will regret sending you after me."

He raised the sword and channeled everything he had into it. Yellow energy exploded outward, far more powerful than he expected. The hero's eyes widened in surprise as the blast struck her divine shield.

For a breathless moment, the energies clashed—crude, yellow mana against refined divine power. The air between them warped and crackled.

Then the pendant at Luther's chest pulsed once, blindingly bright. The hero was thrown backward through the doorway, her shield shattered.

Luther staggered, drained by the effort. Blood trickled from his nose, his crude pathways burning from the strain.

"Now we leave," Luna said firmly, pulling him toward the kitchen.

Outside, shouts of alarm rose as more heroes arrived. They had seconds at most.

Luther allowed himself to be dragged away, his mind reeling from what just happened. The pendant, the sword, his mana—something about the combination had created power beyond what he should have been capable of.

As they disappeared into the tunnel beneath the pantry, Luna glanced at him with newfound wariness.

"What?" he asked, wiping blood from his face.

"You shouldn't have been able to do that," she said. "No untrained mana user should be able to overpower a divine champion."

"Maybe I'm just special," he quipped, though the effort left him shaking.

Vess, leading them through the dark tunnel, called back over her shoulder. "Or maybe someone is pulling strings we can't see yet."

The tunnel ended at the river's edge, where a small boat waited. As they climbed aboard, Luther looked back toward the tavern. Flames had begun to rise from its roof.

Luna followed his gaze, her face hardening as she watched her family legacy burn.

"Still think you're not running?" she asked bitterly.

He had no answer for that. Instead, he clutched the corrupted sword, feeling it pulse in rhythm with his heart. Whatever he'd started, there was no turning back now.

As they drifted downstream in the pre-dawn light, away from the burning tavern and the heroes who would hunt them, Luther made a silent promise to himself: next time, he wouldn't run.

Next time, he'd be ready.

The pendant against his chest hummed softly, as if in agreement.