"Five hundred years ago, darkness fell upon our land."
"The Abyssal King tore through the entirety of all realms, unleashing horrors beyond mortal comprehension. Cities burned. Nations fell. Humanity stood on the edge of annihilation."
"But in our darkest hour, four heroes arose." The Duke raised his hand, and behind him, a great mosaic unfurled from the mansion's facade.
Woven in threads of gold and silver, four figures stood triumphant against a writhing mass of darkness.
"The Four Saints of Salvation."
The crowd drew a collective breath. I found myself stepping forward without meaning to.
FWAH!
I recognized them. Even stylized, even filtered through five centuries of artistic interpretation, I knew those faces.
"Saint Reina the mage, whose holy light could pierce any darkness." Duke Paul gestured to the first figure, a woman wreathed in golden flames.
Reina... She'd hated that name, always insisted we call her by her nickname. 'Reina' made her sound like someone's grandmother.
"Saint Marcus the Unbreaking, a giant's blade who never faltered, whose courage never wavered."
The second a giant in knights armor. Marcus had been fierce in every battle we fought. I hate to admit it but he was just as strong as the main hero at the time.
"Saint Corvinus the Wise, whose cunning turned the tide when all seemed lost." The third figure held a grimoire crackling with lightning. Corvin… his name alone hurts my head.
"And Saint Caleb the Sword, whose sacrifice protected countless innocents from the Abyssal hordes."
The fourth figure emerged and his sword raised defiantly against the encroaching darkness.
Caleb had been the greatest swordsman of our age, unmatched in skill and valor.
He fought with a ferocity that inspired us all, wielding his blade as if it were an extension of his very soul.
I remembered how he'd charged into battle, cutting a path through the abyssal king's castle. He had a heart as vast as his prowess; he carried wounded soldiers on his back for miles, never hesitating to share his meager rations with refugees, even when our own supplies ran low.
But that's all he ever was.
Four Saints. Four heroes.
There had been five of us.
"But there is a truth we must also acknowledge. A darker chapter that the histories often... soften. There was a fifth member of that sacred company." Duke Paul's gray eyes swept across the courtyard, and for one irrational moment, I thought he was looking directly at me.
"A healer named Bam."
The name hit me like a physical blow. My name. My _real_ name, spoken aloud for the first time in five hundred years.
"Bam Montclair Caesar served alongside the Saints throughout their campaign against the Abyssal forces. His healing abilities sustained them through countless battles. Without him, they might never have reached the Abyssal King's throne."
A murmur rippled through the crowd. Some nodded knowingly. Others exchanged glances, as if confirming half-remembered rumors.
"But when the final battle was won..." Duke Paul paused, letting the silence stretch. "When the Abyssal King lay defeated and the Saints stood victorious... the Merger device began to rupture."
"…?!"
I couldn't breathe for a moment… what did I just hear?
"The device that had nearly fused our world with the Abyss threatened to detonate. Its energies, if released, would have consumed everything the Saints had fought to protect. Billions would have perished in an instant."
No. No, that's not—
"In that critical moment, Bam's mind... broke. Whether from the strain of battle, or from exposure to the device's corrupting influence, we cannot know. But instead of helping his comrades stabilize the Merger, he became consumed by a terrible obsession."
"He sought to harness the device's power for himself. To claim what no mortal should possess." The Duke shook his head slowly, mournfully.
"He turned on the very heroes he had served beside. Forced them into a fight none of them wanted."
Lies. Lies, lies, lies.
"The Saints had no choice." Duke Paul's voice cracked with manufactured grief. "To prevent Bam from triggering a catastrophic detonation that would have destroyed everything they'd sacrificed so much to save... they were forced to cut down their former friend."
The crowd let out a collective sigh. Not of shock—of _awe_. Of reverent appreciation for the burden the Saints had carried.
"With his interference neutralized, the Four Saints succeeded in safely dispersing the device's energy. Thus, they saved our world not once, but twice."
Haah…
In their story, I wasn't a hero.
I wasn't the man who'd walked into the heart of that rupturing nightmare while reality itself came apart at the seams.
I wasn't the healer who'd pushed past his limits, who'd tuned his body beyond what any mortal should endure, who'd reached the Merger device when legends couldn't.
No.
In their story, I was the villain. The cautionary tale.
The madman who'd almost destroyed everything, saved from my own insanity only by the merciful blades of better men.
The injustice was so absolute, so perfectly complete, that I almost laughed.
Almost.
"Let us honor their memory, let us remember the burden they carried. Not merely defeating the darkness, but protecting us from one of their own."
***
The applause that followed Duke Paul's speech remained engraved into the eye's of Aurelian. He barely heard it. His hands hung at his sides, fingers curled into fists so tight his knuckles ached.
They erased me. No—worse. They made me the monster.
The ceremony continued…
Demonstrations of mana manipulation from promising young Bournes. Sword forms executed with varying degrees of competence. The crowd oohed and aahed at displays that Aurelian could have performed blindfolded in his previous life.
He watched none of it.
When the formal proceedings finally concluded and the gathered Bournes dispersed into smaller clusters of gossip and scheming, Aurelian slipped away. His parents were still occupied somewhere in the east gallery, probably being reminded of their place in the family hierarchy through pointed silences and carefully calibrated snubs.
The gardens behind the main mansion offered something approaching solitude.
Aurelian wandered past hedgerows trimmed into geometric precision, past fountains that burbled with water worth more than his family's annual income, until he found a secluded alcove where the noise of the gathering faded to a distant murmur.
He braced his back against the cool stone bench, pressing his thumb into the edge until the skin nearly split.
This was the only way he'd learned to keep from screaming, by giving the body a simple, physical pain to replace the screaming one in his skull.
He could still hear the echoes of his old name, tarnished and twisted in the mouths of strangers, ricocheting around the inside of his head until he wanted to vomit.
He'd rather have been anywhere but here, stewing in the garden with the ghosts of four saints and one traitor.
Crack…
He let himself breathe out once, twice, before the crunch of gravel made him freeze.
He heard them before he saw them.
Garron's boots dragging through the crushed stone, Quintus's soft steps nearly silent but for the occasional sucked-in breath of anticipation.
They thought they were clever. They thought they were predators, hunting the weak.
He almost smiled at that.