And There Were No More Heroes

Smoke was streaking the sky with black fingers again, smudging the sunset and turning the brilliant gold into something tarnished.  The smell of ashes, the cries for mercy all reached the ears of the old man sitting far enough away from the chaos that only the edges touched him.
They were burning those who were not righteous in the eyes of their Goddess.
It was a weekly ritual. There were so many to cleanse; a never ending forest of cages and prisons all with souls requiring the flames to save them.  But only recently did the Priests realize that the only way to save the unrighteous was to get them while they were young so as to prevent contamination.  
Contamination. As though children could be the bearers of some sort of sin.  This evening, the first would go to the fires.  They would scream and cry and their flesh would sizzle from their bones and they would be purified.
The old man spat in disgust.
A boy, hardly into adolescence was staring in the direction of the smoke as well, but his eyes were bloodshot, teary and he looked ready to rush in there.  He looked over at the old man in accusation.
How could you let this happen?  You are an adult, you could talk to them, reason with them!  Why are you just sitting there?
Because I'm no fool, the elder silently answered what he imagined was racing through the boy's mind.  They won't listen to an old warrior.  They have their Holy Script to command them now.
The boy turned away again and rubbed his fist over his eyes before taking a few stiff legged steps towards the fires.  The old man wondered who it was to the boy that was being consigned to purification.  A friend?  A cousin?  A sister perhaps?  
The elderly man looked back to his own meager possessions and wondered how long it would take before the fires found him.  He had no doubt that they would; someone would remember the name of Jadeus Merch and figure him for a fool; someone who would try to rally the townspeople against the Temple.  
Maybe he would have-thirty years ago, when the world had seemed lighter and pain came as a bright angry flash instead of a dull ache.  Back then, with his blade in hand and his ideals burning in his heart, anything would have been possible, including bringing the Servants of the Goddess to justice.  But those ideals had turned his heart to ash and his sword was just a piece of filthy stained metal, the sapphire denoting him as a Warrior of Light covered in dingy soot and age.  
i'm too old  now boy, he admonished the lad's back. There's no point to my doing anything anymore.
But as the first high pitched whimpers of pain and choking reached him, he felt something begin to stir again; something that hadn't stirred in a long time.  The boy gave him a stricken look and seemed about to bolt right into the crowd's shouts of approval which Jadeus could just about hear.
"Wait," the elderly man rasped, getting to his feet.  "If you go, they'll just shove you backwards and knock you out.  You won't save whomever you're trying to save that way."
"It's my sister," the boy said.  "I promised mother I'd protect her and now..."
"You can't protect her," the elder said flatly and with a hand that only shook slightly with age, he drew his sword.  "But maybe there's just enough life left in these bones that I can."
"But..." the boy started.
The sapphire caught the last beam from the setting sun and flared blue.  The elder suddenly smiled at the boy who stared at him in surprise.  
"Remember me boy," he said.  "I am the last of the Warriors of the Light you'll ever see.  But I'm not going to let them throw me aside or burn me alive.  They'll have to kill me with everything they've got first and I think I can save your sister before that happens."
The first few steps the elder took were faltering but as he continued up the street to where the angry red glow of death and fear lurked, his stride grew more confident.  His back straightened, his hands stopped shaking and he felt young again; like he did thirty years ago when he and his companions overthrew the last demons and sent them back to their hellish world.  
Maybe I'm the last of the heroes in this world, he thought as he met the first shocked townsperson's head with the pommel of his sword.  But I'm not going down without doing my last bit to make this world a little better for one last person.
Because that is what a hero is really for.