As the smoke cleared and the last embers of the Enraged Aerdeich flickered out, a chant began to rise from the crowd.
"Godsend, Godsend," they called, the word echoing through the devastated streets of Purewood.
It was a title, a name, they had given to Luke, resonating with the ancient prophecies of their faith. Only those blessed with divine favour could defeat an Aerdeich, and Luke had conquered one of the most fearsome—a beast driven by rage and darkness. The people of Purewood, in their awe and gratitude, couldn't believe that a true mage, a Godsend, was among them.
Father Wingate, Sister Maria, and a group of children emerged from the cathedral, drawn by the noise. They stopped in their tracks, watching the scene unfold with wide eyes.
"Godsend," Father Wingate gasped, his voice barely more than a whisper. Sister Maria's eyes widened, mirroring his shock. The children, having already learned of Luke's extraordinary identity, began to explain excitedly to the bewildered adults.
"Father Wingate, Sister Maria," one of the children, the eldest boy named Thomas, piped up. "Luke is the one! The Godsend! He saved us all from the Enraged Aerdeich!"
Father Wingate placed a hand over his heart, his expression a mixture of amazement and reverence.
"Could it be true? The one we have prayed for, standing among us?"
"We always knew he was special, but this... This is beyond anything we could have imagined," Sister Maria nodded slowly, her eyes fixed on Luke.
Luke, standing amidst the ruins, felt the weight of their expectations settles on his shoulders. The chants of "Godsend" filled the air, each repetition hammering home the realization that he was now seen as a saviour, a beacon of hope. The crowd's fervour was palpable, their faith in him unwavering. Despite his exhaustion and lingering fear, Luke couldn't help but feel a swell of pride and responsibility. He had saved them, and now they looked to him for guidance.
Mayor Kingsley approached Luke, his expression serious yet filled with admiration.
"There's no turning back now," he said quietly. "All the people shall say your name, calling you the Godsend. No matter how much you aim to hide it, to explain around it, you won't convince them otherwise. The people believe what they believe."
Luke met Mayor Kingsley's gaze, his eyes reflecting a mix of resolve and acceptance.
"I know," he replied. "The moment I decided what to do, it was already written for me to be exposed like this. No matter what I do, people will still say that I am one of those special people. After all, it was the only thing I could do."
Luke took a deep breath, the weight of his newfound role settling on his shoulders.
"Rather than trying to explain the misunderstanding countless times, maybe it's better to just embrace it. If I'm the so-called mage, then I shall act like it. It's the only thing I can do now."
Just then, Gareth's voice cut through the air.
"Enough dwelling on this," he called out to his fellow knights and civilians. "There are still people trapped under the rubble, and they need immediate help. Yes, we've learned that Luke is a mage, but what more? Lives are at stake."
The crowd, momentarily caught up in the revelation of Luke's identity, snapped back to the urgent task at hand. Those who could help began to move once more, and their efforts to search and rescue renewed. The sudden attack from the Enraged Aerdeich had halted their progress, but now they could resume it again with vigour and determination.
Luke watched as the knights and civilians worked together, lifting debris and calling out for survivors. The sight filled him with a renewed sense of purpose. He turned to Mayor Kingsley, who nodded at him with a mixture of pride and relief.
"You did well, Godsend," the mayor said, his voice firm yet kind.
With a nod of acknowledgement, Luke joined the rescue efforts, using his newfound authority and the respect of the people to coordinate and assist. As he moved through the ruins, offering support and encouragement, he realized that embracing his role as the Godsend was not just about fulfilling a prophecy—it was about giving hope to those who needed it most.
The people of Purewood continued their work, inspired by the presence of their Godsend. Together, they faced the aftermath of the destruction with courage and unity, determined to rebuild and protect their home. And as Luke helped lift a fallen beam, revealing a frightened but unharmed child, he knew that this was just the beginning of his journey. The road ahead would be long and challenging, but with the belief of the people and his newfound resolve, he was ready to face whatever came next.
As the night sky began to lighten, signalling the approaching dawn in Purewood, a desperate shout pierced the air.
"Anyone! Someone! Please!"
The voice belonged to Eamon, an elder man who worked at the barracks cleaning equipment. Once a knight, his career-ending injury had forced him out of active duty, explaining his absence from the front lines during the recent attack.
"Eamon!" Luke called, rushing toward the source of the voice.
Despite his fatigue and the emotional toll of the night, he sprinted to where Eamon knelt, calling for help to move a massive stone off someone trapped beneath it.
When Luke arrived, his heart sank. It was Sir Carrick, pinned by the heavy stone. Eamon's face, etched with pure fear, added to the tension. Luke, despite his lack of physical strength, joined Eamon and a couple of other knights in their efforts to move the stone. Every bit of help counted.
As the stone was finally lifted, Luke's stomach twisted at the sight. Sir Carrick lay beneath, his right hand crushed beyond recognition. Blood pooled around him, and bone was visible through the mangled flesh. Luke had seen injuries before, but nothing this severe. This was the first time he witnessed such a devastating wound up close. Unlike the carcasses of monsters, this was human flesh and bone laid bare.
Eamon's desperate calls for a doctor echoed through the air. Sir Carrick, still conscious, focused not on his injury but on a boy he had seen trapped under the rubble, pleading for someone to save him. Luke's confidence began to waver. He had thought he saved everyone, that no more cries would be heard. But this was reality.
When the doctor arrived, they quickly assessed Sir Carrick's severe injury. With a heavy heart, the doctor explained that they couldn't save his hand. Sir Carrick's reaction was not one of concern for himself but anger and urgency about the trapped child.
"Forget my hand! Find that child!"
Spurred by his command, a group began to shift rubble, uncovering a little girl right where Sir Carrick had pointed. Upon inspection, she was found to be alive, merely unconscious. Sir Carrick's tense form relaxed slightly, his breathing becoming more controlled as relief washed over him.
The doctor then addressed the pressing issue of Sir Carrick's arm.
"To save what's left, we need to amputate the remaining part of your arm," the doctor said.
Sir Carrick gritted his teeth.
"Do it," he commanded.
A knight, sword in hand, approached with a solemn expression.
"I'm sorry," he murmured before making the necessary cut. Sir Carrick held back his screams, grunting through the excruciating pain, his resolve unwavering.
Luke watched, feeling himself slowly breaking inside. The sight, the sounds, the smell of blood and the rawness of human suffering—it all weighed heavily on him. He had thought being a Godsend meant victory and salvation. But now he realized it also meant witnessing, and sometimes failing to prevent, the harshest realities of their world.
Amidst the chaos, a woman's wail pierced through the cacophony of suffering. She cradled the lifeless body of her baby boy, her cries filled with anguish and fury.
"Curse these blasphemous monsters!" she sobbed, her voice trembling with raw emotion.
All around Luke, the scene was a mosaic of despair and pain, the aftermath of the Enraged Aerdeich's rampage.
Amid this turmoil, someone caught sight of Luke. Their eyes lit up with a spark of hope.
"Luke! You're a mage! A Godsend! You can heal them, can't you?" they exclaimed, their voice rising above the murmurs of the crowd.
Others began to echo the sentiment, eyes filled with desperate hope.
"Yes, Saint Cynthia could heal the wounded, but she never defeated an Aerdeich! Luke did! He must be even more powerful! He can save us, right?"
Luke's inability to respond was palpable. His heart, already heavy, felt like it was being dragged into an abyss. The expectations, the weight of their hope, crushed him. A voice, sharp and accusing, cut through the din.
"He's not a real mage, is he? A fake?"
Luke's heart didn't just sink; it plummeted to depths he didn't know existed. His breath quickened, sweat beading on his forehead. No, this couldn't be happening. Just moments ago, he was ready to embrace the mantle of a mage. But if this was the responsibility, the expectation, then he couldn't bear it. There was no way he could fulfil their hopes. They would find out he was an imposter. They would kill him.
Panic began to set in, his mind racing for an escape. He needed to run, to get away from the crushing weight of their faith. But where could he go? The walls of Purewood seemed to close in around him, and the suffocating pressure of their belief bore down on him, threatening to consume him entirely.