The streets are considerably safer when a wall of muscle stands between you and the desperate inhabitants seeking to survive by whatever means at their hands. While I’m not yet so fond of these thugs as to consider them proper guards, they serve the purpose well enough.

The dwarvish woman sneers a little too viciously, and a tall man glares at the unkempt thieves in warning. It never seems to be cruel in nature, but it still evidences a lacking dignity in them. I do not berate them for it, they are untrained and still learning. It will be some time before I can consider them anything more than thugs, but I am hopeful for their potential.

“Have you visited the sects before?” Belle asks, casual in her demeanour though still nervous in her bearing. There will be a hunt tonight, Reeve Lewark has located me a target deserving, and while it’s not the feast that I need to reinforce my power, it is enough to bolster my strength with the blood of the guilty.

“I’ve never visited, no,” I say. “Father was not fond of them.” I’m unsure whether to treat that knowledge as a critique or endorsement now. As a man, father was not always so good and kind as he showed to me.

“Why did you agree to come with me?” She asks, her attention is soft and curious if guarded.

“Why did you wish to visit them?” I ask. “Especially now of all times?”

“I want to be a good person,” she explains. “You’re my inspiration to start acting for myself rather than reacting to the world, but I feel like you might not make for a good moral arbiter. I hope that they might give me some direction.”

I pause to absorb her words. She considers me an inspiration?

She hardly knows me. What she finds inspiring is not the truth of me, but her own imaginings of my night-time hunts and the ‘justice’ that I bring to ‘villains’.

“Is it wrong for me to want the same?” I ask. “My new nature may have changed me but I still wish to do good in this world.”

Belle is silent for a little while, but she doesn’t press the point any further. She’s been increasingly concerned with unjust slavery since meeting Piper and the others. The more comfortable she is with me, the less satisfied she is with simply listening and following.

She’ll wish to lead for herself, at least that’s what I see from her as she stands tall and proud beside me.

“Are you alright in the sun?” Belle asks, moving the discussion along.

“It is uncomfortable, but not unbearable,” I reply with a smile. I’m yet to be strong enough to resist the glare of the sun, but I’m not so weak as to let it stop me.

The ruins and slums seem cleaner as we step past an unseen boundary. It functions as a territorial border into another faction’s lands. Gangs leave behind marks on the walls that I’m beginning to take notice of, while the borders between nobles are drawn upon maps and memorised.

Here, it is marked by cleanliness and tranquillity.

My senses are much improved since my death, and even in the daylight I can see and hear more than most. There is always some small violence and conflict hidden beneath the surface of any part of this city. Fights behind closed doors and arguments held in whispers, threats made with a casual touch of a sword, and terror expressed without even the slightest twitch.

All of this conflict is markedly reduced in this place, and worse for me, it vaguely feels as if the sun has been empowered by the faith that hangs as a poisonous residue over the streets. It’s not wounding so long as I stay under the protection of my parasol but it is warning enough.

I do not belong here.

“That way,” I direct Henry toward the most glaring source of faith.

Belle gives me a strange look but says nothing to question my decision to change directions. Winding through thin, well-kept streets, weaving through repaired homes, we soon come upon the man.

He is impossible to miss, and the very sight of him leaves me paused in shock.

The man is of middling age, his dark hair peppered with grey, and he’s exceptionally well groomed as it’s clear he takes effort to maintain his appearance. He’s fit as a soldier but bears no excess weight, the simple robes he wears do not disguise it.

Yet, he’s hideous.

One eye bulges out of its socket, oversized and wandering about separate to his other eye. His thin lips barely cover the mess of teeth that grow at odd angles, more brown than yellow even though I’m sure they’re as clean as the rest of him. Odd scars cover his skin as if he’s been wounded over and over again, while elsewhere lumps are growing beneath his skin.

When he notices us, he bows his head with as much grace as any I’ve ever known a man to have. I’m too shocked by his appearance to reply with proper timing and try to cover it as well as I can.

“Ah, Christina?” Belle laches onto my side, and even the thugs seem put off by the man. I have to wave them down before they act against him, as they have the thieves and pickpockets.

“You are a priest?” I ask the man, keeping my disgust contained beneath a frozen mask.

“Oh, no. I’m not a priest,” The man smiles, a sight twice as revolting. “I’m Merry, a mere follower of the Goddess Tilia. The priests serve to lead others, I simply follow my own virtues. For Tilia, and myself, it is the truth in all things that we seek.”

“Is that so?” I ask.

“There is something you wish to ask,” he says, nodding to me. “Please feel free, I’m not easily offended. An ugly truth is ever kinder than a beautiful deception.”

“How can you have so much faith, when you’re so clearly cursed by the gods,” I ask, acceding to his request.

“My faith?” he asks. “I wouldn’t consider myself all that more faithful than any other. The sect near here has many who dedicate themselves more fully than I.”

“The truth is kinder than a beautiful lie,” I say. “I was guided here by your burning faith, so intense that it pains me to even stand here in your presence. I sense no such faith from the sect you wave us toward.”

“Hmm, perhaps…” He says, lowering his head in thought. “I suppose that I have done wrong in thinking too kindly of my peers, by overlooking their failings.

“I don’t mean to avoid your question, but your reply may have helped me to find the answer. You describe my burning faith as something painful? It is my pains that guide my faith in the goddess.”

“What does that mean?” I ask, hesitantly reaching out from the protection of the parasol. My hand burns quick, but I feel nothing about it that would bring me nearer to the gods.

“I know pain,” he says, speaking slowly as he searches for each word, curious to my injury but not pressing on the point. “I know the truth behind the spread of suffering. I know that we feel inspired to hurt others when we are ourselves wounded, spreading the injury to all those around us. It is but one of the terrible truths that guide this world and I wish to know all of them, just as Tilia guides us.”

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He pauses, less for our sake and more for his own, as he considers how to progress.

“You describe me as faithful, but I hesitate to describe it as such. I would say that I have great respect for the goddess Tilia, but my faith is in her ideals. She has tread this path ahead of me, and I wish to follow in her steps.”

It seems that I have accidentally pressed him on such a point to inspire his faith to burn brighter still. If I look away and simply hear his words and his gentle but impassioned speech, he would seem charming.

“You serve Tilia, goddess of truth…” Belle is hesitant at first, put off by his appearance. “I want to know the truth behind honour? What makes a thing good or evil?”

“You ask the wrong questions,” Merry says with a playful lilt to his voice. “Right and wrong are not a matter of truth and lies unless you are lying to yourself. Even the gods cross paths at times, each thinking themselves righteous as they war.

“They are both right and wrong, good and evil,” he explains. “I’ve found myself contradicting my own goddess at times when our paths have diverged. The ‘truth’ is that good and evil, and even honour, are concepts that we all must define for ourselves. There is no one truth.”

“Then what if I deem it ‘right’ to slaughter the innocent for the sake of my own pleasure?” I ask him, gritting my teeth as I try to keep from adding too much bite to my words and sacrificing politeness.

“Then you would be in conflict with what I believe to be right,” Merry says, still smiling the same. “Those of us impassioned enough to act will war, and the surviving ethic will rule until overthrown.”

“You don’t describe morals or honour. Such things exist beyond mere strength,” I say. Belle nods enthusiastically by my side.

“That’s the way animals live, we’re not animals,” Belle says, adding to my argument.

“We are not?” he asks tilting his head in confusion. “If right and wrong exist beyond us, then where can we find them? Under a rock? Washed ashore on the beaches? I know of no morals that exist outside the minds of the gods and the developed races.”

“So you claim that there is no such thing?” I ask.

“Not at all. Honour, good, and evil, are all concepts that can only be born inside of us. They are unique and hold great meaning. Which is why we should all invest time to grow and develop these precious concepts inside of us, as they exist nowhere else in this world or beyond.”

It’s becoming clearer just the depths of this man’s faith and passion, found not in some grand cathedral but on the street cleaning away the dust and leavings. While the concepts he argues are alien, they bear a weight that I cannot simply ignore.

“How do we do that?” Belle asks, practically bouncing at my side. His words have clearly impacted her more than they have me. “How do we ‘grow’ our morals and honour?”

“We ask,” Merry says, sighing with the weariness of a man who has laboured long, whose weariness rests upon his brow like a golden crown.

“We must consider situations around us and seek to justify them in various ways. Place yourself as the villain, the hero, the victim, and the bystander, and find what you consider to be moral and honourable. Seek this truth anew each day, learning more every lesson learned. Through this process, we can become closer to our true selves.”

Belle nods slowly, the misshapen man’s words sinking into her heart.

I can find no fault in his advice, much as I’d like to. We must reconsider each situation anew, from the perspectives of all involved. If there is but one point unaddressed…

“We should similarly strive to ensure that we understand the perspectives that we place ourselves in, in this game of yours,” I say. “I have found myself troubled, not by the limits of my values, but by the lies that led to false conclusions.”

“We must all seek the truth, and shed the lies that would chain us so,” the man nods appreciatively to my input, though I’ve taught him nothing he did not already know.

“Is there a reason you’ve come to seek those of us who walk the path of faith?” he asks.

“We had come to find the truth,” I say. “To see if those of faith are worthy of respect and whether we might find some guidance with the challenges we face.”

“I hope that speaking with me has aided you,” he says. “I would be glad to assist further if there is something more you need.”

“You seek the truth even when it’s hidden?” I ask. “Would you know how to find a murderer, a red-eyed monster?”

“I know of some that might wish to help,” he says, chuckling to himself as his bulging eye spins about wildly. “I can reach out to them if it is your wish, but unlike me, they will want something in return.”

“Tell them to send a messenger to the Greystone estate,” I say, accepting the risks that will come from this. “Thank you for your time.”

I nod my head deeply in appreciation. He is an… interesting man, but even though it is frozen, my stomach is twisting in my guts and I can’t bear his sight for much longer.

“Wait,” Belle holds me back from leaving. “What about you, what’s your truth? How do you see good and evil?”

“My truth?” he asks. “It is a thousand smaller truths, but if I were to describe it in a few words. It is right to make this world a kinder place through understanding, and by cutting away the lies that keep cruelty alive.”

“How do you do that?” Belle asks, “Preaching?”

“Some lies cannot be cut away with kind words,” he whispers as if in grieving. “Sometimes violence is the answer.”

A dagger shines from the end of his sleeve, and I’m quite sure that it is not by mistake. The men that I had thought thieves, hanging around the edges of the alley, now seem something more. Their eyes shine as they look upon Merry, their faith added to what burns me.

I would rather hunt a Grand Knight in his fortified castle, than face this man alone in these streets.

“Belle, you have the answers you were after?” I ask, taking a step back from the man.

“I… I’m not sure,” Belle says, gazing at her own hands.

Merry has given us questions as answers, but I cannot fault him for it. Even though I would rather set them aside, my mind drifts to his words.

Will Belle find the same answers to these questions, or will her path diverge from my own?

I know at the very least, that my values are largely unchanged, they stand robust in the face of questioning.

Those who rule have a responsibility to those who follow them, and we should all seek to serve our group in the best ways that we can. In this way, all of us who belong to society will serve one another and support one another.

I am sceptical that these values are shared by others in this kingdom, and I do not know how to react to that.

“Do you think it right to kill dishonourably?” Belle asks.

“I… I think that honour should not keep us from killing those who must be killed,” I answer her. “The monsters I have slayed deserved their fates, even if my actions were cruel and distasteful.”

I consider for a few moments, before asking her a question in return.

“I need my prey to feel terror as they die,” I explain. “They must suffer immense torture, else I do not obtain the same power from killing them. Do you believe that this is wrong?”

“It’s not right, and it’s not good,” Belle says. “I don’t know if I’d call it wrong…”

For all the time until the sun retreats, we find different conditions that may change our minds on the nature of honour and morality. Whether past cruelties can be forgiven if a man has since changed, and a question of collateral, innocents who suffer as a consequence of an otherwise just killing.

Yet, the longer we discuss this, the more uncertain we become.

When night settles in, and my power is no longer drained by the hateful light of the sun, we leave my estate once more. We walk the streets in search of the man who has been marked for death.

The man is not special, he is not protected by nobility or other powerful interests. There are no gangs that will guard him. The reason he is free is simple.

He bribed a reeve.

Reeve Lewark hasn’t the influence to overturn the corruption, so instead, he has called upon me to correct this mistake. I do not appreciate that a murderer has been allowed to prey upon my territory.

His home is not guarded any better than those on either side of him, and he sleeps fitfully in his bed, which is too thin to disguise the stone upon which it lies. He is alone and unguarded.

Belle stands behind me as I prepare my dagger. A simple metal blade.

I enhance my strength with the darkness and reach over the bed to place the point of the dagger over the man’s spine. With a swift strike, I smash my dagger into place.

The metal grates on bone as I miss, waking the man from his sleep. He screams in fear, enough to strengthen me further still, and I strike for the same spot a second time.

This time I crack through the bone, and I twist until I hear a pop.

The man stops fighting. He falls to the bed like a rag doll, no longer in control of his own body.

His eyes move in maddened patterns, but he can no longer move his lips, paralysed by the injury.

“You have slain others,” I whisper close to his ear. “Do you remember how you did it?”

His eyes widen.

“I was told every detail, every cruelty. It is time for it all to be repaid,” I work my blade on him and sip at his blood in moments when his fear is peaked. It tingles on my tongue, and bubbles through my veins. There is nothing else quite like this…

Belle watches on, her hand on her sword, though the man poses no threat. Her eyes are wide with fright.

Spreading frost throughout my flesh. Let her see me for the monster I am. There is a… satisfaction from seeing the confusion in her eyes. She’s finally seeing the real me.

She finally sees the monster.

I flash my gaze at her for a moment, and she shivers in the cold of the dark shadows, silently watching me in judgment.

She looks at the man; the victim.

She gazes at her own hands; the bystander.

Finally, she looks upon me; the villain.

There is no hero with us.