The Forsaken Hero
I closed my eyes and let out a shuddering breath. My fingers were numb and cold, my arm aching where the needle pierced the vein. Something clattered onto the pavement, and I looked down to see the needle. It had slipped out of my hand. Nothingness swirled around me, bringing the first sense of peace I'd felt in my short, miserable life. There was no one to miss me, and no one I would miss. There's always someone else to beat or rape. The regulars would move on quickly. I died. Only...wasn't death supposed to be dark? And since when did 'nothingness' have so many gods? Discord: https://discord.gg/PX3xqJdZMY
The Archives
I followed Thron to the library, laying my elbows on the counter as he sat down. As the old librarian settled in his chair, I realized it was the first time I'd seen him outside the library. Stories claimed that he loved knowledge more than his own family, leaving them behind in some faraway kingdom to care for the books at the Divine Throne.
Thron cleared his throat, cutting through my thoughts. I looked up curiously as he picked up a quill and began scratching on a piece of parchment. I found myself a little jealous of his neat, graceful script. I'd never had the opportunity to write much in my previous life, barely learning to read as it was, and didn't have much talent for the complex written languages of Enusia. After Awakening, my soul automatically translated any language, something common among all heroes, but that didn't extend to writing.