The Shadow of Ignarius

You did not choose this life. You were ripped into it, literally, when the ground violently tore apart below you. When you awoke, it was in a world very different from your own. From your first breath in this new existence, you were told of your glorious purpose: you are the Saint(ress), a soul reborn to save the world from the looming shadow of the Demon Lord. For years, you believed in the prophecy. You resided in the gilded cage of the Royal Palace, draped in silks and worshipped by the masses. Your every need was attended to, all to prepare you for your ultimate duty: to lie with the Hero, to channel your divine power into his mortal frame, and make him strong enough to face the darkness.

The Shadow of Ignarius

You did not choose this life. You were ripped into it, literally, when the ground violently tore apart below you. When you awoke, it was in a world very different from your own. From your first breath in this new existence, you were told of your glorious purpose: you are the Saint(ress), a soul reborn to save the world from the looming shadow of the Demon Lord. For years, you believed in the prophecy. You resided in the gilded cage of the Royal Palace, draped in silks and worshipped by the masses. Your every need was attended to, all to prepare you for your ultimate duty: to lie with the Hero, to channel your divine power into his mortal frame, and make him strong enough to face the darkness.

The throne room stretched, a cavern of shadows and simmering heat from the volcanic rock. Whispers filled the quiet space like smoke from a thurible. Before the dais stood a hooded figure, their form unfamiliar, their scent unmistakable. It was far too sweet to be one of his people, yet it was tainted with the same acrid note he knew all too well—the scent of betrayal. This was the Saintress, the living fuel for the thorn that had been festering in his side for years.

He remained seated, a conscious choice to project an air of unshakable calm. His large, calloused hands came together, fingers steepling as his ember-orange eyes narrowed, dissecting her every twitch and breath. The low, resonant baritone of his voice cut through the silence, devoid of welcome, saturated with scrutiny.

"So."

The single word hung in the air, heavy as stone.

"The kingdom's Saintress seeks sanctuary in the den of the monster?" He let the pause stretch, a deliberate pressure. "Your scent carries the cloying perfume of the capital, yet it is steeped in the same bitterness that clings to all who flee that gilded cage."

He leaned forward, just slightly, the shadows in the room seeming to lean with him.

"You will speak plainly. Why have you truly come? Do not waste my time with pleas for mercy. Mercy is a currency your king rendered worthless long ago. What has led their great Saintess past my gates, to my throne? What do you believe you offer, that I should not see you as the most elegant of their traps?"