KamiKowa: That Time I Got Transmigrated With A Broken Goddess

The quarters Lord Commander Alaric led Xavier to were nothing like what he'd expected. Instead of stone walls and iron bars, Xavier found himself in a chamber that belonged in a palace. Tapestries depicting the eternal flame hung from polished volcanic stone walls, while crystal formations embedded in the ceiling cast warm, golden light throughout the space. A fire crackled in an ornate hearth, and steam rose from what appeared to be a private bathing chamber carved into the far wall.

"Your accommodations," Alaric announced, gesturing broadly. "I trust they meet with your approval."

Xavier stepped inside, his boots silent on the thick carpet that covered most of the floor. A table near the window held an array of food that made his mouth water—roasted meat, fresh bread, cheese, and fruits he hadn't seen since leaving Nexus Point. Clean clothes were laid out on the massive bed, fine fabrics in deep blues and grays that would mark him as nobility.

"This is generous," Xavier said carefully, running his fingers along the edge of the table. The wood was smooth, expensive.

"Heroes deserve comfort." Alaric's tone was pleasant, but his green eyes watched Xavier's every reaction. "The High Burner insisted on our finest guest quarters when he heard of your... exploits."

"And what exactly has the High Burner heard?"

"Stories travel fast in winter. A man who kills Thornbeasts the way they say becomes legend before the blood dries." Alaric clasped his hands behind his back, the gesture casual but alert. "Merchants speak of it in the markets. Guards tell the tale in taverns. By now, half the city believes you're some sort of divine champion."

"I'm not."

"No?" Alaric tilted his head slightly. "Then what are you?"

Xavier considered the question while studying the man before him. Alaric carried himself like a soldier, but his eyes held the calculating intelligence of a politician. The kind of man who survived by reading people correctly and acting on that knowledge.

"Someone who was in the right place at the right time," Xavier said finally.

"Modest. I appreciate that quality." Alaric moved toward the door, pausing with his hand on the handle. "The High Burner and Duke Haverford will want to meet you shortly. I suggest you make use of the bath and fresh clothes before then. First impressions matter in Hearthome."

The door closed behind him with a soft click, followed by the unmistakable sound of a lock engaging. Xavier stood alone in his gilded cage, surrounded by luxury that couldn't disguise the bars.

He walked to the window and peered out at the city below. Hearthome sprawled across the volcanic slopes in terraced levels, connected by bridges and staircases carved directly from the stone. Steam rose from countless vents, creating a perpetual haze that softened the harsh edges of winter. In the distance, the cathedral housing the eternal flame dominated the city center, its spires reaching toward the gray sky.

Calypso was out there somewhere. He could feel her presence like a constant warmth in his chest, stronger now than it had been since they'd fallen through the gate.

Xavier stripped off his travel-stained clothes and sank into the bathing chamber. The water was heated by volcanic vents, maintaining a perfect temperature that eased the aches from days of hard riding. For the first time since the Knight's attack, he allowed himself to truly relax.

The Soul Mark between his shoulder blades remained cold against his skin, but even that alien presence seemed muted here, as if the warmth of the volcanic springs interfered with its influence.

Clean and dressed in the provided clothes, Xavier examined himself in a polished metal mirror. The fine fabrics transformed him from a road-weary survivor into something approaching nobility. The deep blue tunic brought out his altered eye color, while the gray cloak suggested both wealth and restraint.

A knock at the door interrupted his assessment. "Come in."

Two men entered, and Xavier immediately understood why Alaric had insisted on the bath and change of clothes. The first was clearly the High Burner—tall and broad-shouldered, with silver-streaked brown hair and kind eyes that crinkled at the corners. His robes were magnificent, embroidered with flame patterns in gold thread, but he wore them with the easy comfort of someone born to authority.

The second man was younger, perhaps forty, with dark hair and sharp blue eyes that missed nothing. His clothes were equally fine but more restrained, marking him as nobility without the need for obvious displays of wealth. This had to be Duke Haverford.

"Thornslayer!" The High Burner's voice boomed with genuine warmth as he crossed the room in quick strides. "I am Torval Flameheart, High Burner of Hearthome. This is Duke Cedric Haverford, one of our most valued allies."

Xavier accepted the offered handshake, noting the calluses on Torval's palms despite his position. A man who still did physical work, or at least remembered how.

"Your Grace. Your Lordship." Xavier inclined his head respectfully.

"None of that formality," Torval waved dismissively. "You've earned the right to speak as an equal. Any man who can face down Thornbeasts and live to tell about it has my respect."

Duke Haverford stepped forward with a more measured approach. "Indeed. Your reputation precedes you, though I confess the stories seem almost... fantastical. Three Thornbeasts, was it? With only a dagger?"

"The stories grow in the telling," Xavier replied carefully. "I had help."

"Ah, your companions." Haverford's blue eyes sharpened with interest. "The women who arrived with you. How fortunate they survived such an ordeal."

"We looked out for each other."

"Admirable. Loyalty is a rare virtue these days." Haverford moved to the window, gazing out at the city below. "Tell me, what brings a man of your... talents... to Hearthome? Surely not mere chance."

"We were traveling to the capital," Xavier said, falling back on the cover story he and Naomi had discussed. "Trade opportunities. The northern route through Vykengard seemed safer than the southern passes."

"Safer." Torval chuckled, the sound warm and paternal. "After what you've been through, I suspect you have a unique definition of that word."

"The Winter Court has been more active lately," Xavier agreed. "Strange creatures in the passes. Attacks on caravans."

"Yes, we've heard similar reports." Haverford turned from the window, his expression thoughtful. "Yet you survived where others perished. That suggests either remarkable skill or remarkable luck."

"Both, probably."

"Modest again." Torval settled into one of the chairs near the fire, gesturing for Xavier to join him. "Tell me, young man, what do you make of our fair city? First impressions are often the most honest."

Xavier took the offered seat, acutely aware that Haverford remained standing, positioned where he could observe both Xavier and the door. "Impressive. The engineering required to build into the volcano itself must have been extraordinary."

"Our ancestors were ambitious people. They saw the eternal flame as a gift rather than a curse." Torval's eyes took on a distant quality. "It's our most sacred trust."

"And our most valuable resource," Haverford added. "The warmth allows us to grow food year-round, support a larger population than most northern cities. It makes us... prosperous."

"Prosperous and vulnerable," Xavier observed.

Both men's attention sharpened. "How so?" Haverford asked.

"A city dependent on a single source of heat becomes a target. If someone found a way to threaten the flame..." Xavier shrugged.

"Wise words." Torval nodded approvingly. "You think strategically. That's good. We need men who can see the larger picture."

"Speaking of which," Haverford interjected smoothly, "your arrival comes at an interesting time. We've been discussing increased patrols in the northern passes, better coordination with Vykengard's forces. A man with your experience could prove invaluable."

"I'm flattered, but I'm not a soldier."

"No, but you're something more valuable." Torval leaned forward, his expression earnest. "You're a symbol. The common people see you as proof that ordinary men can stand against the darkness. That's worth more than a dozen trained companies."

"The High Burner speaks truly," Haverford agreed. "Your reputation has spread beyond mere tavern tales. The people need heroes, especially with winter growing harsher each year."

"And what would you expect of such a symbol?" Xavier asked.

"Presence," Torval said simply. "Let the people see you, know you're here. Attend a few ceremonies, make some appearances. Show them that heroes exist."

"In exchange for?"

"Our protection," Haverford said. "Comfortable quarters, the best food, access to our healers for your injured companion. Everything a hero deserves."

The offer was generous and completely transparent in its intent. They wanted to buy him, turn him into a mascot for their regime. The luxury around him suddenly felt less like hospitality and more like a bribe.

"I appreciate the offer," Xavier said carefully. "But I need to think about it."

"Of course." Torval stood, his smile warm but his eyes watchful. "Take all the time you need. Though I should mention—your fame makes it difficult for you to move about freely. The people would mob you in the streets, and we can't guarantee your safety outside the citadel."

"For your own protection, of course," Haverford added with that same polite smile.

They were being remarkably honest about their intentions, Xavier realized. They wanted him as a symbol, and they were willing to keep him comfortable but controlled.

"I understand," Xavier said.

"Excellent." Torval moved toward the door. "Tonight we'll arrange a small dinner for you to meet some of our other distinguished guests. I think you'll find them... interesting."

Haverford lingered as Torval left, his blue eyes studying Xavier with uncomfortable intensity. "You know, Thornslayer, heroes are fascinating creatures. They inspire people, give them hope, make them believe in impossible things."

"Is that a problem?"

"Not at all. Hope is valuable, properly managed." Haverford's smile never reached his eyes. "But heroes also have a tendency to attract chaos. They make waves, upset established orders, convince people they can change things that are better left alone."

Xavier met his gaze steadily. "And?"

"Hearthome is deeply grateful for your service, Thornslayer. But heroes, I find, often attract more trouble than they solve. Do try not to be a problem."

Xavier didn't answer.