It wasn’t even like it was a particularly nice ancient sword of destiny.

Everything started with Tiff running away from the caravan of performers she had been working with. One of the guards, a man twice her age, had started to look at her in that particular way, and Tiff knew how that ended. She had long ago learned to watch out for herself, because there was no one else who would. Ever since she came of age, this included never staying in one place too long. Inevitably, some ugly man would notice the dirty, boyish acrobat who kept to herself and decide she needed someone to (ugh) ‘tame’ her.

And so, before it could become a problem again, The Tumbling Theophania struck out on her own.

It was hard making do out on the road by herself, though. People treated her like a beggar, not a performer, and other caravans were few and far between.

That’s how in the middle of one particularly rough patch, she found herself at a lake, struggling to get by. Out of mounting desperation, she resorted to ‘borrowing’ some peasant’s fishing rod, in a attempt to get something to fill her stomach.

Unluckily for her, as it turned out, Tiff did not know how to fish.

By midday, she was about to give up for good. But when she went to pull her line in, she realized that she had hooked something heavy after all. She fought a valiant battle to haul it out of the lake, only to find it wasn’t a fish at all. It was a sword, albeit one that seemed to be more rust than iron. But when she scraped some of the blade clean, the metal underneath still shone. And metal meant money, and money meant food.

That’s how she wound up bringing the sword to a blacksmith at the small town up the road. What she didn’t expect is the way his eyes bulged at the sight of the weapon.

“This is the sword of the Hero of Light,” he whispered reverently. And then, his eyes flicked up to her. “Are… are you…?”

Tiff liked to think that immediate decisiveness as one of her best qualities. Or possibly greatest weakness, given the trouble that it occasionally landed her in. Either way, she knew for certain that when someone asked you if you’re a legendary hero, there’s only one appropriate answer: “Yes.”

Things got a lot better after that. It turned out that people were eager to be helpful to a legendary hero, particularly one who spun an exciting tale about a run-in with a horde of dangerous bandits where she emerged victorious, but at the cost of all of her food and supplies. When she left the town, she did so with a full stomach and a set of mismatched leather armor.

At the next town, she marched in with the sword on full display across her back. The whispers started immediately, and she only had to casually sit at the fountain in the town square for a few minutes before the Burgomeister himself came running out, followed by all of the town’s notables.

She left that town on a horse, with the unfamiliar sound of coins jingling in her purse.

She even stopped by a river to bathe before the next one - forgoing a perfectly good protective layer of dirt that had taken her ages to cultivate - because once she had washed the mud out of her hair, it returned to its normal golden blonde, glimmering in the sun. Curious eyes and rapt attention followed her wherever she went.

At first, her stories were fairly modest and close to the truth - she had found the sword in a lake, yes, and she didn’t have any parents, so clearly she could be a unknown descendant of the Hero of Light. Then they started getting a little more embellished. A lady in white had risen from the lake to hand her the sword. She had trained with monks on a distant mountain to prepare for this day. She had slain a dragon, and when she cut out its gem-encrusted heart it had sung to her a ballad of her heroic ancestors and the great deeds in her future.

Tiff was good at stories.

The other thing that helped was that your typical villagefolk didn’t need someone to fight a war for them. Terrifying deadly monsters did not in fact ravage most towns on the weekends. Instead they needed her to give the local drunk a talking to, or drill the part-time militia in basic calisthenics, or find out what happened to a lost cat. In fact, the more mundane the task, the more people seemed impressed by a hero who would take the time out of her busy world-saving day to help.

And really, who exactly was hurt by her charade? If anything, she was inspiring hope in people, giving them the strength to continue on. Before too long, she would arrive only to hear about bandits who just fled the region, in fear that she would personally hunt them down. It might be mostly accidental, but she was doing some good for the world! It was only fair that the world did some good for her in return.

Then she arrived at Westholme.

 

---

 

Westholme was still more of a town than a city, but it was the nominal capital of the region, with buildings made of brick and stone rather than wood and straw. The Lord’s keep loomed on a hill north of town. Tiff would normally have given the town a wide birth out of her well-ingrained suspicion of aristocrats, but she had a reason to be there. A family in an outlying village had asked her to look into the disappearance of their daughter. Tiff was convinced she was dealing with a kid from nowhere who had run away to seek her fortune, and this was the logical place where she would have headed.

Tiff didn’t anticipate the welcome that she found.

Soldiers stood at attention, waiting for her at the town gates. Not just farmers either, burly peasants who might group together to chase away wolves. Real soldiers with steel weapons. When they insisted she go with them to meet the Lord, she had no choice but to accept.

That’s how Tiff found herself in the audience chambers of the keep, being presented to Lord Ulfric of Westholme. He was a big man with gray streaking his beard, but more than anything else, he looked tired as he slouched in his seat before her. At his side stood a sharp-faced man in priestly vestments, a scowl etched onto his face.

“They tell me you are the Hero of Light,” Ulfric said, his voice a low rumble.

Tiff stood at attention. “Yes, milord. At your service.”

“You’re not what I expected.”

Tiff knew how this went. She reached behind her to draw the sword from her back in one smooth motion, and then lowered to one knee, presenting the blade with her head bowed.

The lord’s eyes narrowed, and he sat up, leaning forward. “I see. That is indeed the blade described in legends.”

“She could have stolen it,” the priest suddenly spoke up. “I cannot believe that this is the Hero of Light. A mere girl? You know the prophecy as well as I: the Hero is meant to purge the countryside of evil with a purifying flame. Not… Not run errands for village nobodies.”

Tiff clenched her jaw. And this was why she was suspicious of aristocrats. She stood once again, but did not sheath her sword. “All deserve the protection of the light.”

“Ridiculous. I—”

Ulfric raised one hand and the priest’s mouth slammed shut. “If you are as you say, Hero, then you are familiar with the legends.”

“There are many legends, milord.”

“Mmm.” Ulfric’s eyes narrowed. “Allow me to be more specific. You have heard of the Necromancer Queen?”

Tiff’s mouth ran dry. She had heard plenty of myths and stories, but this was the one, the original. “Her cruel reign devastated these lands a thousand years ago. Until…”

“Until she was defeated by the Hero of Light.” Ulfric nodded. “And now she has returned.”

Impossible, Tiff wanted to say. Instead, she kept silent.

“She has claimed the cursed tower of Nyx, one day’s journey to the east. And though she has yet to act, she has already begun to demand tribute, in the form of one young maiden each month. And she threatens to unleash an army of darkness if we refuse.”

Tiff breathed in sharply. “I’m looking for a girl, she went missing…”

“A brave young lady willingly sacrificed herself,” the priest cut in.

“That’s not what her family seemed to think,” Tiff said. “They didn’t know anything about it.”

For an instant, Tiff could swear she saw the priest’s mouth curl in a smirk. But then he was scowling again. Ulfric was staring straight ahead, looking even wearier than before.

“Regardless of who you are, you will travel to the tower,” he said, his voice brooking no disagreement. “If you can destroy the Necromancer Queen, I will reward you with your choice from all that I possess. And if you cannot… then you will serve as the next sacrifice.”

Tiff swallowed, nodding. It wasn’t like she had a choice.

 

---

 

A full contingent of soldiers accompanied Tiff on the journey east, along with the priest. Eyes were on her at every moment, putting an end to any thoughts of slipping away into the night. As they traveled, farmers and villagers left their fields, falling in behind the procession. By the time they arrived at the tower, their group had grown into a mob, with the soldiers more than outnumbered by peasants with torches and pitchforks.

An uneasy feeling hung in the air, and Tiff realized just how serious this was. These weren’t people curious about a storybook boogeyman. They were legitimately afraid.

The obsidian tower that jutted up from the peak of a small mountain did little to help. Roiling black clouds swirled in the sky above, turning the brightness of midday into dusk. A balcony above looked down upon their group, but there were no signs of the structure’s occupants. There was just the entrance, where whatever front door that once existed had been long destroyed by time and the elements, leaving behind a portal into absolute darkness.

“May you have the blessings of the gods,” the priest said, his words sounding like last rites.

Tiff took a deep breath, and walked to the entrance. No one followed her. But what else was she going to do?

She entered.

The tower seemed even larger from within than from without, with stairs leading both up and down. She paused a moment to allow her eyes to adjust to the darkness. Then she drew her sword and began walking upwards, the only sound coming from her boots echoing on stone.

Halfway up, she heard something coming down, and flattened herself against the wall. A skeleton passed by, bones clacking as it walked. It had to be animated by some kind of magic, but it didn’t seem to notice her. She thought for a moment about striking it from behind, but wasn’t sure what that would even accomplish. The poor thing didn’t even have any weapons.

Nonetheless, the skeleton more than confirmed: a necromancer did indeed reside here.

She climbed until the muscles in her legs burned, the stairs curving higher and higher until she knew the top of the tower had to be close. When she turned the final corner, she realized she had reached the chamber at the very top.

On a black stone throne, the Necromancer Queen reclined, exchanging words with a man in black armor.

Tiff had all sorts of mental images about what a person who would turn to necromancy might look like.

She never expected the Queen to be hot.

She was tall and striking, with pallid skin and raven-black hair, and her black robes clung to her figure in ways that made Tiff’s breath halt. It was as if there was a nimbus around her, as if she was from some world beyond their own. Strangely, she also appeared young, hardly any older than Tiff herself. If it wasn’t for their situation, and if it wasn’t for the fact that the Queen was surely evil and would kill her without a second thought—

Tiff shook her head, trying to calm down. She had to remind herself that with magic, appearances could be deceiving. And at this point, she seriously considered just heading back down, trying to see if there was a back entrance. Maybe she could sneak away and disappear into the countryside to once again be a nobody. No one asked nobodies to go fight ancient evils, not even suspiciously young and attractive ones.

But then the skeleton bumped into her from behind, apparently having headed back up the stairs. And when it did, it abruptly fell into pieces, bones clattering off the stones and down the stairs.

Both the Queen and her minion looked up sharply.

Tiff stepped forward, her sword held out before her for protection. She desperately tried to keep it from shaking. But then the Queen gazed directly into her eyes, and Tiff found herself momentarily transfixed.

Not in an evil-hypnosis-magic kind of way, no. This was much more familiar. This was ‘oh hey, a pretty girl is paying attention to me, I should say something colossally stupid.

“Uh, hey there,” she said. “You come here often?”

The Necromancer Queen’s head tilted to the side. “To… my tower?” she asked.

Only the man in black armor seemed familiar with the script. “Hero! Today, you die!” he boomed out, hefting a heavy axe.

And then, Tiff was fighting for her life.

As the man rushed forward, she focused on dodging, trying to stay out of the way of the crescent blade of the axe, which left a deep gouge in the stone each time it slammed into the space she had just been. The man was slow enough that she could avoid his clumsy attacks, but he was seemingly tireless and his strength was otherworldly.

When she could, Tiff tried to strike back with her own weapon, taking any opportunity to stab or slice. But each time, the man simply reached out with one arm to knocked the blade away, as if she were swinging a stick at him.

Tiff realized then that she was probably going to die.

The Necromancer Queen sat on the edge of her throne, watching but not intervening. Tiff met her eyes for a moment, and then once again had to tear herself away from their piercing grasp. Sweat slicked her skin and her breath came in gulps.

She could outmaneuver her foe, but she was running out of stamina. And he still showed no signs of fatigue.

The man swung forward with one particularly strong blow that caught Tiff off guard before she could roll away. In a panic, she rose her sword to deflect, and the impact sent pain lancing through her shoulder and her blade spinning off to clatter on the stone. She fell down backwards, the axe cutting the air barely an inch overhead. Frantically, she scrabbled to try and crawl towards her lost weapon.

Behind her, she could hear the pounding tread of the man approaching. She grabbed the sword, turned and raised it, but the man was already stepping forward with a roar, the axe raised above his head, ready to crash down and cleave her in two.

Except Tiff saw a wisp of shadow tighten into a cord around his foot.

And then yank. The man’s voice cut off into a a choke of surprise, and he lost his balance, falling forward.

Right onto Tiff’s sword, the blade sinking into his chest.

All was still, the only sound from Tiff gasping for breath.

Realizing the situation, she shoved the man’s body off of her. When she pulled her sword free, she tried not to look at the blood on the blade.

The Necromancer Queen simply watched, her expression unreadable.

“Um,” Tiff said, eloquently.

The Queen nodded. “I suppose now it’s just us.”

Tiff saw movement, as a figure stepped out of the shadows behind the throne. She recognized it as the priest, who must have followed her into the tower. He held a curved dagger in his hands, raising it high.

Before she could think twice about it, Tiff had already yelled “Watch out!”

The Queen whirled around, splaying both hands outward. The priest suddenly froze in place. A grimace twisted on his face, as his skin rapidly faded to grey, flesh hardening to stone.

The Necromancer Queen turned to Tiff once again, her eyes narrowed and searching.

“One on one?” Tiff said. “Fair is fair.”

The Queen held out her hands.

Tiff raised her sword.

They waited.

“So, you’re evil?” Tiff said. She wasn’t sure why she was talking.

But the Queen just looked amused. “A little bit.”

“You’re going to destroy the world?”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because that’s, like, your job?”

The Queen tilted her head. “Just like your job is to burn heretics and set the countryside on fire?”

“What?” Tiff lowered her sword. “Come on.”

“It’s the prophecy, isn’t it?”

“Maybe certain interpretations of it. But I’m not a big fan of prophecies to begin with.”

The Queen smirked. “Strange words for a Hero of Light.”

Tiff let out a sigh. And she made another decision, before she could think too hard about it.

“That’s because I’m not any kind of hero. I’m just faking it.”

She figured this would be the point where the Necromancer Queen would cackle and throw her in chains. And then she had to struggle valiantly to keep her imagination from running wild with that scenario. But she shook her head and looked up, dreading what she’d see.

To her surprise, the Queen was just staring back at her, eyes wide.

“…You too?”