An Archmage Among Adventurers

The path back to Greymire wound through the forest, narrow and choked with brambles, but the adventurers pressed forward with renewed energy. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows that danced between the trees. Birds called to each other in the distance, their song a sharp contrast to the heavy silence that had blanketed their journey before.

Ellie walked at the rear, her head lowered, watching her boots scuff the dirt with each step. The others strode ahead, their voices lifting on the breeze, rising and falling with laughter and exaggerated tales of their victory. Already, the story of the creature's defeat was growing, twisting into something far removed from the truth. She heard Iona tell it first, her words bold and bright.

"And then, just when it seemed like we’d lost him...” Iona gestured with her axe for emphasis. “Ellie stepped in, calm as anything. One flick of her wrist, and the beast was gone—like it was nothing!"

Ellie flinched. She knew she should correct them, stop the lie from spreading any further, but the mere thought of speaking up made her stomach churn. She felt trapped in the web they were weaving, the weight of their belief pinning her down. Every step she took felt heavier than the last, as if the ground beneath her feet was sinking, pulling her deeper into this false legend.

Ahead, Gorran’s deep voice rumbled through the trees. “When we get back to Greymire, drinks are on me.” He clapped Talan on the shoulder. “We’ll toast to Ellie. There’ll be songs about this one, mark my words.”

“Songs?” Ellie’s voice came out small, and no one seemed to hear it. Her heart pounded at the thought. Songs about a battle that never really happened, songs about her—a hero she was not.

She glanced at the rescued adventurer, who was limping along between Talan and Gorran, his head still bowed in exhaustion. His gaze flitted to her occasionally, with a mix of gratitude and awe. The kind of look given to someone who had changed your fate.

Ellie looked away, her throat tightening. She hadn’t saved him. The creature had been about to kill them all, and she had been too slow, too clumsy to stop it. The others couldn’t see it, couldn’t know how close they had come to disaster. They only saw what they wanted to—a heroine, a savior.

The path curved, and the rooftops of Greymire began to come into view, the village sprawled out below like a collection of huddled stones. Smoke rose from chimneys, twisting into the pink hues of the evening sky.

From this distance, it looked peaceful, like a place untouched by the shadows that haunted the forest. But Ellie felt no peace, only a growing dread as they neared the village gates. The others were still laughing, their spirits light with the victory they believed they had won.

“Ellie,” Iona called over her shoulder, pausing to let her catch up. “You’re quiet back there. You should be celebrating—this was your moment!”

“I… I’m just tired.” Ellie avoided her gaze.

“Tired, she says.” Iona chuckled, shaking her head. “You barely even broke a sweat.”

Ellie forced a weak smile, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. She could see the gate now, two weathered wooden doors flanked by guards. The villagers would be waiting, no doubt already alerted by the smoke signals sent earlier. They’d be expecting stories, expecting answers. They’d be expecting her.

“Listen...” Talan fell into step beside her, his expression more serious now. “I know you’re not one for the spotlight. But this… this is big, Ellie. People are going to want to know how you did it.”

“I didn’t—” she began, her voice catching as she stumbled over the lie once more.

He cut her off with a smile, his eyes warm but unyielding. “You don’t need to explain. Just let them believe what they want to believe. You saved our lives. No one can take that from you.”

Ellie swallowed hard, her mouth dry. The gate was only a few steps away now, the murmur of voices growing louder as the villagers gathered in anticipation. She could feel the weight of their eyes already, waiting, wondering. She felt like an imposter, about to step onto a stage she had no right to stand on.

The doors creaked open, and the adventurers stepped through, greeted by a chorus of cheers and shouts. Faces lit up with relief, with admiration, and they surged forward, eager to hear the tale of how the beast had been vanquished. Ellie hung back, lingering in the shadows as the others basked in the attention.

Talan was already recounting the battle, his voice rising over the din. “It was Ellie who dealt the final blow. The creature didn’t stand a chance—magic like I’ve never seen before.”

The crowd turned, their eyes landing on her, full of expectation. She could feel their admiration pressing down on her like a suffocating blanket. She tried to smile, but it felt brittle, like a mask she was too afraid to remove. Every nod, every cheer, every approving glance only tightened the knot of guilt in her chest.

Somehow, through the haze of noise and praise, she caught sight of the village elder—a thin, weathered woman standing at the edge of the crowd, her dark eyes fixed on Ellie. There was no cheer in her gaze, no awe or admiration. Only a quiet, piercing scrutiny that seemed to cut through the layers of pretense Ellie had wrapped herself in.

For a moment, Ellie held her breath, wondering if the elder could see through the lie, if she knew the truth hidden beneath all the stories. Their eyes locked, and Ellie felt exposed, vulnerable.

But then the elder turned away, disappearing into the crowd, and Ellie exhaled, the knot loosening slightly but not disappearing. The cheers rose again, louder this time, and she was swept into the tide of celebration.

As the villagers led them toward the tavern, Ellie knew she had been swallowed by the legend they had created for her. And the more she tried to deny it, the deeper it would sink its roots.

There was no escape now. She was the hero of Greymire, whether she liked it or not.