With heart of gold and blade of light,

A Paladin seeks wisdom's might.

Where whispers dance on ancient stone,

If prudence lost, the path unknown.

Through shadowed veil and dragon's snare,

Her spirit shines, a beacon fair.

The sacred Oath, a guiding star,

Betrayal’s sting, a painful scar.

Where courage springs in trials deep,

A well of truth and vows to keep.

The final test with bated breath,

To right old wrongs and conquer death.

Chapter 1: Graduation Day

The sun shone bright upon the commencement ceremony underway on the campus of Durham University. It being about 10 o’clock in the morning on this late spring day, the sweltering humidity of the American Southeast had not yet reared its full and fearsome head.

Rows of black chairs covered the lawn in front of the temporary stage, surrounded on three sides by the stately English Gothic architecture of this august institution. The highest point of the campus, Asbury Chapel, towered in the background, a wonder of dark stone, stained glass, and ribbed vaulting–more Hogwarts than Ivy League.

“And today, when you cross this stage you cross over a threshold into a new life,” the Dean intoned into the microphone. “No longer students, I charge you henceforth to put your knowledge into practice for the good of all.”

Soon enough Chastity Kristiansen was called forward to receive her graduate diploma: a Masters of Divinity from the Interdenominational Durham School of Divinity (whose motto was ‘Fideles, Reformando, Oecumenicum’). Chastity accepted the rolled up document and shook the Dean’s hand, turning to smile for a quick photo.

Later, after all the graduation caps had been flung in the air, Chastity greeted her father, mother, grandmother, and younger sister Charity on the lawn as the other graduates mingled with their loved ones.

“We’re so proud of you, sweet pea,” her dad said, hugging her tight.

“Yeah–another achievement for my Super Sister! Way to make me look like even MORE of a slacker, Chas!” Charity said, playfully punching her big sis on the arm.

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“Oh shush, Charity,” her mom gently scolded. “Are we ready to go to brunch?”

Chastity turned and looked over her shoulder at a stone building further across campus that housed the School of Divinity. The Professor–she hadn’t seen him at the ceremony.

“You know, I need to go say goodbye to someone first. Meet you in the parking lot?”

“Of course, dear. But don’t be too long. I’ve got sweat dripping down my back.”

Chastity hurried across campus, long blonde hair flowing behind her with each purposeful stride, her 5’11 frame appearing even taller in her white wedge heels. The black graduation robe contrasted sharply with the fair skin and blue eyes of her nordic heritage, and glimpses of toned legs flashed beneath the moving fabric.

The Professor. She couldn’t leave without saying goodbye. To thank him for all he had done for her.

Chastity came to Durham on an athletic scholarship. Her event–javelin throw. She was good, good enough to be an alternate for Team USA at the last Olympics. Academically, she began as a Biology major, pre-med. But one day she wandered by chance into a seminar the Professor was giving on J.R.R. Tolkien’s concept of Sub-Creation.

“Sub-Creation, wherein mankind shares in the image of the Creator through the gift of creativity. Literary and artistic creativity is a form of participation in the divine aspect of creation, the worshipful forging of secondary worlds within the primary world. In Tolkien’s Legendarium, Eru Ilúvatar is the Creator, whereas the created beings, the Ainur and such, are given sub-creative powers.”

Now, Chastity did not have an artistic bone in her body. She couldn’t write a poem to save her life; she couldn’t even draw a straight line with a crayon without somehow messing it up. But something about the Professor’s lecture sparked a fire within her. It opened up a whole new world of intellectual inquiry and, ultimately, personal devotion.

To both her and her family’s surprise, she changed her major from Biology to Religious Studies and decided to pursue a Master’s after completing her undergraduate degree. With a cognate in Practical Theology, she was ready to hop on an airplane in just a few weeks time and fly halfway around the world to help fight the maternal HIV/AIDS epidemic, serving with a nongovernmental organization in Sub-Saharan Africa.

But as she crossed the quad, Chastity did not know she was being watched.

In the shadows of the stone arches covering a nearby walkway, a slender figure stared after her with smoldering hatred. This figure was dressed as if for a funeral, all black from head to toe, with stringy jet black hair hanging down over his forehead and his step dad's handgun tucked in the back of his tattered jeans.

“You ruined my life…” he seethed under his breath, “and I am going to make you pay.”

Chastity knocked on the door to the Professor’s office.

“Come in…” answered a feeble voice.

Chastity smiled and opened the door. The Professor was sitting at his desk, carefully assembling a model ship inside a glass bottle with long tweezers. He was ancient, with sparse, wispy white hair on the sides of his head, a moth-eaten tweed jacket with elbow pads, and eyeglasses that hadn’t been in style for half a century.

A living legend, the Professor had been at the University longer than anybody could recall–and behaved accordingly. His office was a complete mess. Stacks of dusty books and piles of hand-scribbled notes lined his desk, his shelves, and even the floor. He had no telephone, kept no office hours, and never attended faculty meetings. He taught whatever classes he wished and never required his students to buy new textbooks.

Chastity loved him. He was like the grandfather she never knew.

“Oh, hullo Ms. Kristiansen. What are you doing here on a week-end?” he asked in his faded ‘Received Pronunciation’ British accent.

“Professor,” she chided in a gentle tone, “don’t you remember? It’s graduation day!”

A flicker of recognition crossed his face, then a sheepish smile.

“Dear me, I seem to have forgotten all about it. That would explain the robe.”

Just then there was a high-pitched scream from down the hall. Chastity froze momentarily, then hurried to the door.

“He’s got a gun!” a woman’s voice called out from somewhere.

Opening the office door a crack, Chastity peeked out into the hallway. There she saw Damien Tahquitz, disheveled and clutching a handgun. And he saw her.