Published at 9th of September 2025 12:24 pm

Book 5: Chapter 5 Replacement [Part 2]

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It was most obnoxious. Truly, this world had decided to do away with the veneer of subtlety. In a fit of pique, I almost rejected the quest to thumb my nose at the powers that be. But something held me back—the cold, calculating part of me lured by the promise of its reward: more power. I will obey you if you will reward me, I thought. For now, at least.

In that moment, I felt like a trained dog as I mentally accepted the quest.

The universe, as if acknowledging my choice, displayed another message.

I had killed my friend. I had slain...

One thing I had learned from him was that the people of the North added to their names through their own acts, their names growing longer as others recognized their valorous deeds.

Enkidu's death notification read like a saga of old tales: Protector of this, Slayer of that, Something's Bane, Beacon of Hope, and Breaker of Iron Chains, among many others. The long list went on and on—a litany of the man's varied and great accomplishments. Things that I had been a part of were there, I was sure, but the tale his death told was that for much of his life, real or otherwise, I had little part to play. Except for one, the most important one, at least to me: Keeper of a Life Debt. Enkidu had always been true when this world had been nothing more than a basket full of lies and deceit.

Even if he was not real, he had been a great character. A man among men. He had, quite literally, stood straight and tall in the most dire of circumstances.

I read every word, burning each syllable into my heart and vowing to myself to give him the greatest funeral pyre. He would not go alone into the afterlife; of that I was sure.

"Imani, girl, are you sure he's all right?" the beggar asked, his voice edged with uncertainty.

"Shh... Harun," Imani chided softly. "He is communing with the Goddess." Her voice seemed distant, echoing from somewhere far away, calling me back to myself.

Harun... The name stirred something within me, a memory from another time and place.

"I have received a revelation," I declared. "You who hold so little faith in your heart, bear witness with your body and soul to the mercy of the Goddess."

"Here it comes..." Harun muttered under his breath.

"Harun, veteran of the Pale Wars," I said, letting each word resonate, more statement than question.

Imani shot him a proud yet slightly offended look. "See? The Goddess knows and provides all. Her Herald and Prophet will heal you as he healed me," she proclaimed, her pride evident.

"Broken by the cruelty and sins of war, yet you shall be made anew. I judge you worthy," I announced theatrically.

A paradoxical joy welled up within me—both intrinsic and separate from me. The song of Greater Heal, a melody my soul had sung countless times, leapt at the chance for redemption. It was its purpose.

Holy light enveloped me, a golden kyrie eleison, a miracle made manifest. The song broke free, tearing past the confines of my silent casting. The guards, once so cocksure, gazed in awe, realizing they stood in the presence of the divine.

There was a surge as it poured forth—a great tide that took something from me, channeling it into the broken man. Before our eyes, like the budding of spring, his leg regrew, his back straightened. The lines etched by hardship softened, the shadows of war around his eyes fading under the golden assault of healing energies.

It was a display of power, a restoration of balance within myself—a reassurance that I held both the power to deal death and to heal the very fabric of the world.

How it worked, I did not know. It was enough to know that it still did.

This spell was not about Harun. No, it was about proving to myself that I retained some control over my circumstances when gods threatened to take that away. This was my mujizah, my miracle presented to those who would deny it.

"Avaria's tits, I can walk! I have a bloody new leg!" Harun exclaimed, his smile stretching from ear to ear.

He cast aside his crutches, hopping and dancing like a youth in springtime. His joy was infectious; even the guards applauded the miracle, taken aback by the display. They had become reverent.

Imani got up from the floor, nodding to herself as if she had just witnessed nothing more than an everyday fact.

The feeling was short-lived. My friend had died, and with his passing, I had received his experience—a cold comfort in the face of such a loss. The song that once resonated within me began to fade, and with it, the promise of its hope. Yet, a small ember remained, glowing faintly in the darkness of my grief. Still hot, it strummed its fingers across the chords of my soul, the place where the spell resided, making me feel less hollow, if only by a fraction.

"Lord Herald, my name is Harun..." the former beggar began, falling to his knees in abject gratitude, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

"Harun was the man you were. No... you are Abdaladil now, Servant of Justice," I declared, my voice echoing with the fading notes of the song, each word carrying the weight of newfound purpose.

Quest Completed.

You have gained 1 Charisma.

You have learned Greater Heal (lvl.5)

You have gained 2000 experience.

A bitter laugh escaped my lips at the cruel irony of the notification, for a part of me knew that had this power come but a few hours earlier, I might have been able to save my friend. The part of me that was intrinsic to my being, yet separate. The thought pierced me like a rusty nail, and my emotions tumbled from the heights of anger into a new pit of sorrow.

There was worry in the eyes of the witnesses of the miracle, for my emotions were writ plain for all to see. There was a worry that their prophet was lost to the mad, for those touched by the gods often were. To them, I must have seemed as changeable as the weather. Their ways were as inscrutable as the Divines they worshipped. Or so I assumed.

“Tell me, my new servant, what were you when you were just Harun?” I asked, my voice tired and resigned.

“My Lord Herald,” he answered as he came to attention, spine ramrod straight. “Before, in a different life, I was a military man. As a general, strategy and tactics were my path.”

“You speak as if you were on the Path of Mana,” I replied, growing tired already of shallow boasts.

“My exploits could have only been called magical, forgive my bluntness, your holiness,” he declared proudly, an old pride bestirring itself in his voice.

I closed my eyes. “And to find yourself on the streets… as you were?” I questioned, opening my eyes and pointing to his dirty rags.

“I was famed throughout the Grieving Lands and beyond… until my first grave mistake.” The so-called former general’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you were all-knowing, your holiness…”

Imani’s fist answered this. “Do not test the Herald!” she chastised, punching his shoulder. He must have felt this, for he gave out an almost womanly cry. Her brother must have taught her a little of his limited skill.

“I have never said I am omniscient, Abdaladil. Only the Goddess is,” I rebuked with a thin-lipped smile. “And, those were Imani’s words, not mine."

He bowed slightly. “A habit from my old days as a soldier, I ask your forgiveness…”

“You will find forgiveness by serving as best you can here, for the Salahaem… Let us see the truth of your words. There are two Dragons without a suitable commander. Make yourself available to them,” I commanded. Damn, Providence forcing me to take up its scraps.

“You there!” I barked out at Farzan’s men, who immediately stopped gaping and stood to attention. “Bring this man to Calder and Damien. If he is as qualified as he is, I am sure they will welcome him.”

The Divines giveth… and the Divines taketh away.

“I will be in my rooms… I will be fasting and in contemplation. Have no one disturb me unless you wish to blue marble stained with crimson,” I ordered, my voice heavy with restrained sorrow.

The path of vengeance temporarily closed to me for the present, I needed time alone.

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