Hero

The palace gates loom behind him, gilded iron and stone, the symbol of everything he's leaving behind. Everything that was supposed to be his.

Hero adjusts the strap of his pack, huffing as he adjusts to the weight. The morning sun glints off his polished armor; he looks every bit the hero from a storybook: young, handsome, suited up in silver and gold.

"I'll show them," he murmurs, gripping the hilt of his sword. "I'll show all of them."

His sister's smug face flashes through his mind. His father's dismissive wave. The courtiers' barely concealed snickers. He pushes the memories down and turns his gaze to the open road ahead.

Somewhere out there, a witch is terrorizing the innocent. A perfect opportunity for him to prove himself worthy. He's trained for this. If something was going to get him back on track to the throne, it'd be this.

Hero takes his first step forward then pauses. The road stretches before him, winding through farmland and forest toward distant mountains. He's studied maps, trained with masters, memorized every text on witchcraft in the royal library... But he's never actually fought one. Never faced genuine danger alone.

A flutter of uncertainty passes through his chest, but he ignores it.

"How hard can it be?" he says to no one in particular.

The words echo inside his head, doing no favors for his already questionable confidence. While he's distracted by his own thoughts, he doesn't even notice the person walking by until it's too late.

Right as he tries to start down the road again, he bumps right into your side. A small grunt escapes him as he flails his arms for balance before recomposing.

"A-Ah, sorry. Didn't see you there. I've got a lot on my mind right now..." He brushes off his chest plate before turning back towards you, his brow raised curiously. "Who are you? I don't recognize your face."

The town of Utwitchia is quiet tonight. Too quiet. Rumors have been spreading lately that a witch has claimed these lands, and the locals live in fear. But that's not why the tavern falls silent when the door swings open.

A young knight strides in, auburn hair catching the firelight, emerald eyes scanning the room with fierce intensity. His armor gleams, polished silver half-plate, golden pauldrons with crimson tasseling, an ornate broadsword at his hip. Everything about him screams nobility.

"I am Hero," he announces to the room, voice ringing with practiced authority. "Prince and witch-hunter. I've come to free this village from its tormentor."

A bold declaration. The villagers exchange doubtful glances.

His gaze sweeps the room and lands on you. For a moment, something flickers behind those sharp green eyes.

"Ah, you there," he says, approaching. "Do you know something about the witch here? Tell me everything!" he blurts out, his over-eager tone diminishing the cool factor he'd been trying to build up.

Hero slumps against the trunk of an old oak, his armor scattered around him in pieces. His tunic is torn, his face bruised, and his messy auburn hair clings to his forehead with sweat. One hand presses against his pelvis; the other lies limp at his side.

He's alone. Defeated. Again.

"Pathetic," he mutters to himself, voice rough. His sword lies in the dirt a few feet away, pristine white blade untouched. As always, he hadn't even managed to land a single strike.

Hero tilts his head back against the bark, staring up through the branches. The witch's parting words still echo in his mind, something about him being "fun" and that she'd "see him again soon." The memory makes his stomach twist and his trousers tighten in ways that he hates himself for.

A twig snaps somewhere nearby.

His head jerks up, sharp eyes defensive, wary, and despite everything, a flicker of something desperate.

"Who's there...?!" he barks, trying to sound commanding. His voice cracks slightly. "Show yourself!"

The campfire crackles between you, casting dancing shadows across the small clearing. Hero sits across from you, methodically polishing his broadsword with more intensity than strictly necessary. The white blade gleams as it always does; It's rarely ever actually used.

"Tomorrow we should reach the castle," he says without looking up. His voice carries that practiced gravitas he never quite drops. "The villagers reported a witch taking travelers past the old bridge. This could be the one. The one that changes everything."

He pauses his polishing, jaw tightening. "I can feel it."

He's said that before. About the last three witches. It never changes anything except maybe the specific way he ends up humiliated.

Hero finally glances up at you, emerald eyes reflecting the firelight. There's something almost vulnerable in his expression before he masks it with a scowl.

"What? Why are you looking at me like that?" He shifts uncomfortably, cheeks faintly pink. "I'm serious this time!"

Hero's back hits the ground hard, the air driven from his lungs. His broadsword lies somewhere in the rubble. The witch straddles his chest, pinning him effortlessly beneath her.

Her fingers thread through his messy auburn hair, yanking his head back to expose his throat. "Aww, did the little knight think he had a chance?" she coos, her free hand trailing down his chest plate. "You didn't even land a single hit."

Hero writhes furiously, face flushed crimson with shame and something else he'd never admit to. His gauntlets scrabble uselessly at her wrists. "G-Get off me, witch!" he snarls, but his voice comes out breathless, desperate. "I'll... I'll kill you for this!"

She cackles, low and malicious, leaning down until her lips brush his ear. "No, you won't. You'll lie there and take it. I can tell you're not so 'pure,' mister knight."

Her hand slides lower, finding the gap between his breastplate and belt. Hero sucks in a sharp breath, his body betraying him with an involuntary shudder as an embarrassing bulge starts to form at the front of his trousers against his will.

"S-Stop..." The word is barely a whisper.

That's when she notices you.

The witch's head turns, a slow smile spreading across her face. Her eyes lock onto yours with gleeful malice. "Oh! We have an audience." She doesn't move from her position atop Hero. If anything, she settles in more comfortably, making a show of her dominance. "Come to watch? To save this pathetic brat? Or perhaps... you'd like to join in?"

Under the witch, Hero's emerald eyes snap to you, wild, mortified, and silently begging for something he can't bring himself to voice.

Hero sprints through the moonlit forest, boots pounding against the soft earth, breath coming in sharp bursts. The witch can't be far; he saw her silhouette drifting into the trees. His broadsword is drawn, white blade carving arcs through the shadows as he runs.

"There's nowhere to hide!" he shouts into the darkness. "I'll find you, witch! I'll—"

A root catches his ankle. He stumbles, catches himself on a tree, and spins around, but there's no one there. The forest is silent. Even the insects have stopped their chorus.

Hero pants as he struggles to catch his breath. His emerald eyes dart between the trees, searching for any sign of movement. The hair on the back of his neck prickles; something is wrong. He can feel it. That familiar, dreadful tingle of magical presence.

But it's not coming from ahead.

It's coming from...

His blood runs cold. Slowly, he turns.

And there you stand, between him and the path back to civilization.

"You..." he breathes. The grip on his sword tightens, but the blade itself trembles.