Aeriliya’s hands became tighter as she continued to read. She had heard the stories pouring from the holy city state. But it was wartime back then, and legends were formed daily. And considering that the nations of the world fought alongside the chosen emissaries of the gods, whose feats were already farfetched enough, legend and myth became ever harder to distinguish. So, talk of a thirteenth hero, while she could remember hearing them, Aeriliya also recalled dismissing them offhandedly. Naturally, questions were asked, and nothing was ever confirmed but neither was it denied.
‘Or rather, was it more that the High Priests and the Heroes never called any attention to it’, she tried to recall, ‘It wasn’t that they never denied it, but rather that they just never publicized it. Not even necessarily suppressing it. That would raise too many questions.’
The more she reviewed her own memories at the time, the less it seemed she could say she definitely knew.
‘There was talk of another hero at that time’, Aeriliya tried to piece together, ‘But the religion never spoke of it. As if they weren’t aware of it? No, these testimonies deny that very notion.’
It wasn’t that the religion had denied the existence of a thirteenth hero, but rather that they acted as though it had never happened. And naturally, based on their reaction, people would simply assume that it was nothing more than hearsay and it would fade into the oblivion of yesterday’s gossip.
‘But what would such a thing accomplish’, she wondered as she reread the verdict of the Pontifex, ‘A hero with no Patron… Well, that would certainly cause a stir in the public. Not something you’d want during wartime’, she lightly bit her knuckle, ‘But if they decided to train him as any other hero, then why was he never selected?’
She flipped to the next page only to find that she was already on the last page of the record.
“That’s it?”, she wondered aloud as she flipped back through what she had read, and indeed, she hadn’t skipped over any pages. She set the book on the table with a perplexed and frustrated expression. Cupping her chin, she knew that there was a fleet’s worth of books on any other hero. The top level of the very library she was sitting in was proof of that. And in such an unusual case, every detail should’ve been noted.
“How could they be so negligent?”, she wondered. Looking back at the stack, there were more than a few files, banded together in a small bundle, but they were all almost flat from how little paper was inside each. Opening the first one, the top of the page read ‘Progress report of Unknown Hero, Edwin Thatch: Licentia sect.’ There were less than ten pages inside. Activating her Eyes of Discernment, she skimmed through the content noting that it all could be summed up as disappointing. There were hardly any notes aside from that Thatch showed no talent for any of their magic.
Final report: The Unknown Hero shows no aptitude or synchronization with either the Freedom god’s magic or teachings. He understands the principles that guide us, but also lacks ability or appreciation for any form of art. It is unlikely his Patron is Licentia.
Aeriliya flipped the paper over and looked closely. There was no sign that either through magic or any other means that any information had been hidden, redacted or erased. The summation of a hero’s training came down to not even half a page’s worth of ink that essentially boiled down to saying the man was useless.
She opened and quickly read through the second file: Final report: The Unknown Hero shows no aptitude or synchronization with either the Agriculture god’s magic or teaching. Knowledge of the workings or life of a planter or animal caretaker is minimal at best. It is unlikely his Patron is Meto.’
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
Flipping through the third file: Final report: The Unknown Hero shows no aptitude or synchronization with either the Desire goddess’ magic or teaching. Seems to have a general idea in determining people’s nature, but has little understanding of why people want things. Takes a very minimalistic view on life. Understands money well enough, but barely. It is unlikely his Patron is Volo.
Aeriliya skipped a few pages before coming to the halfway point, where there appeared to be more than a half dozen sentences. When the enigmatic Thatch was under the tutelage of the War god, Cassidia’s priests.
(Twelve years ago)
Edwin was adjusting to his new life, adjusting being the only word he could think of since he still had no memory of his former. Seeing people called elf, dwarf and seeing people get drawn around in carriages by large quadruped lizards known as Megalania or land dragons for short. Magic existed and there were any number of bleedovers, but could be generally grouped into twelve categories, and it was practiced by over half the people in the world.
Most of the day, he was left to his own devices. They placed him in a more than modest house outside the city proper. It had three stories and full facilities but was largely abandoned. Evidently it was meant to be a gift for a priest of the Nature magic sect, but as someone who lived in the wilds, they didn’t use it. Even if he didn’t remember his old life, he knew he wasn’t meant to be inactive. He had no need to sneak out of his room any time he wanted, but being quite literally in a new world with no frame of reference for the geography was ill advised.
So, he had been spending time running around the woods in the morning before everyone began their day. Unfortunately, priests have an entirely different definition of early than most people. At times reserved for crickets and farmers would be annoyed, the denizens of the city were waking up.
Edwin could only process his frustrations through making sweat run down his forehead while he did pushups on his fingertips. He was in a rotation of sorts. Everyday, or rather every evening, he was taken from the mansion he was staying in. Evidently, all the other heroes were staying inside a mansion that was actually inside the city state. But they trained at different times of the day, from what he had been told. From his point of view, it seemed almost like everyone around him was either fearful or almost ashamed of his very existence.
Everywhere he went, there was always one of the priests or their peons watching him. They never looked as though they were looking at a person, but rather a volcano that hard started smoking. But then there were the others, they weren’t so much fearful as they were reverent. They weren’t any more friendly, but they always made sure to show Edwin some form of respect such as bowing.
He would be taken to one of the temples for a few days each week and according to Ilphas, who was assigned to drop in occasionally and make note of his progress, they’d test him. Over the past few nights he’d been traveling to the temple of the Agriculture god, Meto. Edwin was fairly certain that that had to be some kind of joke, but if it was, they were putting too much effort into it. He knew about planting, watering and harvesting, but he didn’t feel any connection to any of the teachings, and none of the supposed magic artifacts that suspiciously looked like plows and scythes reacted to him.
As if that hadn’t been the story of every other temple he’d been in. It had been nearly a month since he appeared in the Summoning Temple, and in that time, he had been tested in five other temples before the Agriculture one.
There was Licentia, the god of freedom, art, music, and expression. It wasn’t just Thatch’s lack of a talent in anything remotely artistic that gave them pause. Rather it was that the young man didn’t seem to have the right disposition for their sect. His movements were never rigid, but his body always moved with purpose and discipline. Edwin admitted he found the various pieces of art nice to look at and listen to, but he had no real interest in any of it. Plus with how the people training him looked like they wanted to cry when he attempted anything artlike, he got the feeling he wouldn’t be missed.
Then there was the followers of Volo, the god of desire, money, love, sex and leisure. Right away, Edwin’s nearly robotic personality already made it difficult to form relationships within the temple. Between the rusty headed man’s klutzy attempts at defining anything he truly wanted aside from basic needs and his rather brusque personality, the followers of Volo couldn’t find much to teach him in the art of romance or seduction. His analytical skills made him rather adept at gambling, but due to his winnings being from calculation rather than luck, he wasn’t as in tune as believed.
