The Royal Cathedral loomed above the kingdom, its towering spires piercing the gray winter sky. The air hung heavy with the scent of melting wax and incense as the building’s austere beauty stood in silent testimony to centuries of devotion. Symbols of the Macy family’s revered clerical lineage adorned its stone walls, their intricate carvings catching faint glimmers of sunlight. Shadows stretched long across the cobblestone square, embracing the mourners gathered at the entrance.
They came in silence, their somber attire a reflection of the grief etched into their faces. Whispers floated through the crowd, soft and reverent, as though the cathedral itself demanded respect for the sorrow within.
The Macy family, known throughout the kingdom for their sacred duties, mourned a loss that resonated far beyond bloodlines. Today, their pain was the kingdom’s pain, and it had drawn nobles and commoners alike to the sacred hall.
Inside, the cathedral’s vaulted ceilings rose in solemn grandeur, a sanctuary of light and shadow. Flickering candle flames danced along the walls, casting ethereal patterns that moved like spirits. The air was thick with the scent of incense, mingling with the hushed whispers of the mourners. At the front pew sat Lady Wendy Macy, her posture rigid but her grief evident in the trembling of her clasped hands. Each tremor seemed to ripple through her being, a silent testament to the heartache she bore. Beside her was her husband, Kelvin Macy, his strong presence a silent pillar of support amidst the grief. His hand rested gently on her back, a steadying force against the waves of sorrow threatening to overwhelm them. On Wendy's other side, her 16-year-old daughter, now the eldest after the death of Jessie H. Macy, gripped the edge of her dark dress, knuckles pale from the force of her hold. Her eyes, red-rimmed and hollow, stared ahead, unseeing, as she struggled to process the loss of her sister. Wendy’s ten-year-old son clung to her sleeve, his small face streaked with quiet tears. The innocence of his grief was heartbreaking, each tear a poignant reminder of the tragedy that had befallen their family.
Before them rested a modest but elegant casket, its surface cloaked in a soft cloth embroidered with delicate floral patterns. It seemed at odds with the overwhelming grandeur of the cathedral, yet its simplicity reflected the values of the departed.
The crowd watched in reverent silence, the weight of sympathy filling the hall. No words could bridge the chasm of loss that lay before Wendy and Kelvin Macy. Theirs was not just a personal sorrow but a wound carried by the entire kingdom. The cathedral seemed to hold its breath as the mourners waited, their grief a shared, unspoken prayer.
---
The quiet of the cathedral felt heavier the further back one sat, where the flickering light of the altar candles was little more than a dim glow. Jonny sat among the rows of mourners, flanked by André and Coral. The weight of the air seemed to press down on him, a constant reminder of the losses he had endured.
He stared blankly ahead, his hand resting beneath his cloak, fingers wrapped tightly around the hilt of Noctisbane. His thoughts drifted, untethered, until they found their way to the faces of those he'd lost.
Helena came to him first—her warm smile, her soothing voice that once eased his fears when the world felt too large to navigate. He could still remember how she would hum softly while tending to her garden or smoothing out his hair after a long day. She had been a beacon of safety and kindness in his stormy youth, a steady presence that grounded him. And yet, her laughter had been silenced, her warmth extinguished too soon.
The memory shifted, pulling him forward to the present, where Jessie's face emerged. Her determination came to mind first—the way she carried herself with quiet strength, always ready to fulfill her duties, no matter how tired or uncertain she might have felt. He remembered how she'd sit by the campfire during their travels tending to Dave's wounds or reading from her tattered prayer book by the flickering light.
Jessie hadn't been in his life for long, but she had a way of making her presence felt. She had been the glue of their small group, balancing Dave's reckless optimism and Coral's sharper pragmatism. Jonny could still picture the three of them talking late into the night as they camped beneath the stars, the flicker of the campfire casting shadows on their faces. Their laughter blended with the night sounds, a chorus of their strong bond that he often listened to from a distance. He stayed apart, his heart aching to join in, yet held back by his own insecurities.
And now she was gone too.
His grip on Noctisbane tightened, the smooth leather creaking faintly under his fingers. His mind replayed their last conversation—Jessie's calm reassurance that the group would make it through the Darkborn's territory intact. That her faith, in her gods and in all of them, would see them to safety.
It hadn't.
Jonny's jaw clenched as the flood of memories threatened to drown him. Jessie's loss wasn't like Helena's; it cut differently, a fresh wound on top of an old scar, sharp and immediate, and tangled in the same thread of helplessness. How could he protect the people around him when the world seemed determined to take them away? The frustration and despair clawed at him, a relentless reminder of his perceived failures. Each loss added to the burden he carried, threatening to overwhelm him.
---
Near the altar, movement caught Jonny's eye. Dave, battered and broken, limped toward the casket. Every step seemed to cost him immeasurable effort, his body wrapped in bandages, his gait uneven with the absence of an arm and a leg. Yet the pain etched into his face had little to do with his injuries.
The cathedral was now filled with a hushed murmur of prayers and whispers, the mourners lost in their own grief. Most of their attention was focused on Lady Wendy Macy, her husband Kelvin, and their family, who were at the front, their sorrow a palpable force that seemed to draw all eyes. In this sea of mourning, Dave's quiet, painful progress went largely unnoticed.
As he neared the front, a few heads turned, but by then he was already too close to stop. His presence was like a ghost slipping through the shadows, the bandages and scars blending with the dim light and the somber atmosphere.
When he reached the casket, Dave stood with difficulty, his remaining hand trembling as he placed it gently on the wood. The flickering candlelight cast shadows on his tear-streaked face, illuminating the profound sorrow etched in his features. Tears streamed down his face, each one reflecting a cherished memory of Jessie. His shoulders heaved with the weight of his grief, his whispered sobs barely audible in the quiet of the cathedral.
“Jessie… I’m so sorry…”
The words hung in the air, too fragile to echo but sharp enough to cut through the silence. For a moment, no one moved. No one breathed.
Then Lady Wendy Macy stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the stone floor. The sound was jarring, like a cry of anguish in the quiet hall. Her frame trembled as she stared at Dave, her tear-filled eyes ablaze with grief and fury. Kelvin Macy, standing beside her, placed a restraining hand on her arm, but her emotions were too strong to be contained. She shrugged off his hand and took several determined steps toward Dave, her grief transforming into a fierce, uncontrollable rage.
“You!” she screamed, her voice raw. “You were supposed to protect her! How could you let this happen?!”
Before anyone could react, her hand struck Dave across the face with a force that sent him sprawling to the floor. Gasps rippled through the cathedral as the mourners watched, frozen by the scene. Dave lay there, stunned, his cheek burning from the impact and his heart heavy with guilt.
Dave didn’t resist. He didn’t try to defend himself. He stayed on the ground, his face turned to the cold stone, his lips trembling as fresh tears mixed with the blood trickling from his split lip.
Lady Macy’s hands shook as she pressed them against her face. Her sobs broke the silence, the sound full of anguish and despair. “How could I lose her…?” Her voice cracked, and her two children rushed to her side, clinging to her with tears of their own. Kelvin placed an arm around her, offering his silent support.
Without another word, she turned and stormed out of the cathedral, her children trailing close behind her. Kelvin followed, his footsteps echoing like thunder in the quiet hall, fading only when the heavy doors shut behind them.
---
As the tension lingered in the air, Coral hurried to Dave’s side. Kneeling beside him, he placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Come on, Dave,” he murmured, his voice soft and soothing. “Let’s get you out of here.”
Dave didn’t respond, but he let him help him to his feet. His eyes were glazed, his expression hollow as though the pain in his heart had stripped him of any will to resist.
Coral supported his weight as they moved toward the exit. He cast one last glance over his shoulder at Jonny, his eyes filled with sorrow, before turning back to Dave. “She didn’t mean it,” he whispered as they stepped through the cathedral doors. “She’s just hurting…”
Jonny remained seated, watching them leave. His heart was heavy, weighed down by memories that refused to fade. The deaths of Alex, Helena, and now Jessie pressed against him like a suffocating shroud. His mind swirled with guilt, anger, and a determination that burned brighter with every passing moment.
***
Gavin lingered in the shadows beyond the cathedral, his mechanical form concealed beneath a heavy cloak. The soft hum of his internal mechanisms blended with the rustling of the early morning wind. He watched the mourners leave one by one, their faces etched with sorrow, their steps weighed down by loss. Though his glowing eyes were hidden beneath his wide-brimmed hat, they glimmered faintly as he tracked Jonny’s movements among the grieving figures.
This moment felt achingly familiar. The stillness, the sorrow, the empty space left by someone who had once been there—Gavin had stood here before, in a different time and place, when Helena's death had left Jonny crumpled and silent beside her lifeless body. He remembered how he, too, had stood apart, uncertain and numb, trying to understand what it meant to lose. It had been his first brush with something his creators had never intended for him to feel: grief.
His hands, hidden beneath the folds of the cloak, trembled slightly. He slipped off one glove, revealing his bare hand. The sleek metal of his fingers bore the marks of time—scratches from battles long past and those just recently fought. They had not been designed to comfort, only to destroy. And yet, Helena's absence had taught him the beginnings of something he could not yet name—an ache that seemed to persist even when his circuits worked perfectly. But this time was different. This loss wasn't just his and Jonny's to bear; it was Coral's and Dave's as well, and their shared pain ripped through him like feedback in his systems.
The images came flooding back unbidden—Jessie's cries, the chaos of the fight, and the quiet stillness that followed when her body fell.
Gavin's mechanical systems retained the events with unerring precision, each detail stored as though it had just occurred. He recalled Jessie's utterly depleted state, fatigue had drained her to the brink, every step a struggle under its weight. Yet, even with her strength nearly gone, she still found the resolve to fight back, refusing to yield.
The image of her raising her staff in a last, futile defense burned vividly in his memory—a final act of defiance before Malkir's claw tore through her side. Her final moments replayed in his mind with relentless clarity, an unchanging reminder of his failure. The weight of her absence bore down on him, alien and impossible to comprehend.
It wasn’t the first time he had witnessed death since awakening in this new strange world. Helena’s passing still lingered within him, not as a mere memory but as something heavier, pressing against the edges of his thoughts. But Jessie’s death struck differently. It wasn’t just the fact that he had failed to protect her—it was the realization that, despite all his enhancements, he had been powerless in the face of human fragility.
Gavin's gaze lingered on his hands, metal fingers steady as ever, but now burdened with a weight he couldn’t quantify. He had tried. He had fought. Yet Jessie’s life had slipped through his grasp as easily as Helena’s had.
Grief. The term felt inadequate to describe the storm within him. His programming, once a rigid framework of logic and efficiency, once more wrestled with sensations he couldn’t define: guilt, sorrow, perhaps even a burgeoning empathy.
Why does this matter to me?
The thought emerged unbidden, sharp and cold. He was a machine, a construct of steel and circuitry, created to fulfill a purpose. Yet here he was, dwelling on something that no amount of logical processing could resolve. Jessie’s laughter, her steadfast commitment to her companions, and her stubborn refusal to yield in battle—all of it lingered within him, forming connections he hadn’t realized he was capable of making.
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Helena’s death had opened a door, but Jessie’s death forced him through it. The realization was as unsettling as it was transformative: he was changing. The boundaries between what he was built to do and what he was becoming blurred with every life he touched, every loss he endured. Each failure, each connection, carved away at the detachment that had once defined him, leaving something raw and unfamiliar in its place.
What am I supposed to do with this… sadness?
Despite his pondering, the soft whirring of his internal mechanisms yielded no answers. The weight of Jessie’s absence pressed against him—heavy, foreign, and utterly inescapable. And yet, even in the stillness of grief, a spark of resolve began to form. If he couldn’t undo the past, perhaps he could honor it.
He turned his gaze toward the horizon, the hum of his systems steadying. Jessie’s memory, like Helena’s, would remain with him—not as an unchanging fragment of data but as something living, shaping his every step forward. For the first time, Gavin felt the stirrings of something more than duty, more than survival. He didn’t yet have a word for it, but perhaps this was what it meant to be human.
---
The mid-morning sun bathed the kingdom’s spires in a golden light, casting long shadows across the ground. From his hidden vantage point, Gavin watched as Jonny and the others emerged from the cathedral. Coral supported Dave, who limped beside her, his face pale and gaunt, his body bandaged from the recent battle. Jonny walked with measured steps, his head low, his hand gripping the hilt of Noctisbane tightly beneath his cloak.
Gavin’s gaze lingered on Jonny. The boy had changed so much since their paths first crossed—grown harder, stronger, but also more burdened. There was a quiet resolve in Jonny’s expression now, a determination forged through loss and tempered by the weight of his own inadequacies. Gavin knew that look. It mirrored the one he had seen in his own reflection after Helena’s death.
Jonny paused briefly at the edge of the cathedral steps, turning back to glance at the imposing structure one last time. His expression darkened, and his grip on Noctisbane tightened. Then, without a word, he turned and began walking away, his silhouette outlined against the first rays of morning light.
From the shadows, Gavin remained still, his cloak billowing faintly in the breeze. He did not follow. Not yet.
***
The grand chamber of the Paladin Council stood still, its towering stone walls draped with intricate tapestries—each one depicting battles won and kingdoms saved under the watchful eyes of the holy order. The room’s atmosphere was thick with the weight of duty and history, an undeniable reverence emanating from every corner. It was a place where the lives of soldiers, knights, paladins, and even the smallest of misdeeds were measured with painstaking care.
André Barker stood at the center, tall and unyielding. His presence, though calm, was marked by an internal heaviness he could not shake. Around him, the council members sat in their somber black and silver robes, their faces solemn, their eyes reflecting decades of wisdom and experience. Among them was Knight Commander Chescott Calderan, a figure in dark, battle-worn armor. Each scar and dent on his armor was a testament to countless honorable clashes, and he stood with a commanding presence befitting a paladin of great renown. Black armbands adorned each member, a symbol of mourning and respect for the recent tragic events. They did not make decisions hastily. They measured every word, every judgment, with the quiet understanding that their decisions shaped the future of Calaedria itself.
Victor Quinn, the Head of the Council, a venerable paladin with sharp, perceptive eyes and an unyielding spirit, leaned forward from his high seat. His voice, calm yet authoritative, made every word feel like a declaration. His silver hair, though a testament to his years, was tied back in a disciplined manner, framing a face marked by both wisdom and the strength of countless battles. The light of the chamber flickered across his ceremonial armor, highlighting the intricate symbols of his rank and office. The chamber was silent, the air thick with anticipation. The council members watched intently, their expressions a mix of concern and determination, fully aware of the gravity of the day's matters.
“Sir André Barker, you stand before us not because of your own actions, but because of the actions of those under your command. The death of Jessie Hollyn Macy weighs heavily upon us all.” His tone, though firm, held a touch of sorrow—a recognition of the loss that echoed far beyond just André.
André’s gaze lowered for a moment, as if the weight of those words crushed his chest. Jessie’s death was not something that could be easily dismissed. No matter the circumstances, it was a death that would haunt him. The air in the chamber seemed to grow heavier, charged with unspoken grief and a sense of a looming decision. The council members exchanged glances, each feeling the weight of the kingdom's expectations pressing down on them.
André’s thoughts drifted to his failure to realize his son Coral’s plan, the dangerous mission with Jessie and Dave that had led to this tragedy. The Barkers had long shared close bonds with the Macy and Powder families, but this incident threatened to drive a painful wedge between them, straining their once-unshakable unity. He took a deep breath, letting the sorrow of this loss fuel his resolve. Yet, with a deep breath, he straightened his shoulders, his resolve hardening like tempered steel. The legacy of his family was one of unwavering service and steadfast duty, and he would honor that legacy now more than ever. He spoke with the calm determination that had defined his family’s service to the kingdom for generations, despite the guilt gnawing at his heart.
“The loss of Jessie is mine to bear,” he said, his voice steady, though the grief behind it was palpable. “I take full responsibility for what happened under my watch.”
There was no hesitation in his words. It was the weight of duty that compelled him to speak this way. His actions as a paladin had been honorable, but this was not an honor to be proud of. The room fell into a heavy silence, the words hanging in the air like a shroud. Faces around the room reflected a range of emotions—grief, anger, understanding, and a shared sense of loss. Each council member absorbed the gravity of the situation in their own way, the silence echoing their collective sorrow. Inside, André wrestled with his conscience, the dichotomy of duty and guilt tearing at him. He had always believed in the righteousness of his path, but now, that belief felt like a fragile shield against the storm of his emotions. He had been raised with the noble ideals of a knight, but his calling as a paladin demanded a higher standard—one that he feared he had failed to uphold.
The council members exchanged silent glances, their expressions a blend of contemplation and sorrow. There was no malice in their eyes, only the clear judgment of those who had weathered many storms. Each member bore the marks of their experiences—scars and the weight of countless decisions. One member, Danika Keaton, a woman with a deep scar running across her face, leaned forward. Her eyes, sharp and unwavering, met André’s with a solemn gaze. The scar, a reminder of a past battle, only added to the aura of strength and resilience she exuded. The room was thick with tension, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on everyone present.
“The Barker family has served Calaedria faithfully for generations,” she began, her voice not unkind, but direct. “We honor your contributions, Sir André. But the facts remain: your son, Coral, violated the laws of our order. He led a party into Darkborn territory. One life was lost, and others were placed in peril.”
André felt the sting of those words more than he let on. His duty as a father, mentor, and protector was to guide Coral, to ensure that such mistakes never occurred. He had failed. And Jessie had paid the price. Coral’s guilt was undeniable, and André felt it deep within himself.
As the council members’ gazes turned towards Coral, standing silently behind André, his shoulders tensed. Despite his valor and the extraordinary feats he had displayed against the Darkborn and their lieutenant, Malkir, the weight of guilt was evident on his face. In his mid-twenties, Coral was no mere knight; he had proven himself time and again in battle. Yet now, standing in the shadow of the council’s judgment, he felt the crushing burden of his actions. The room was thick with tension, the silence heavy and oppressive. Each council member’s gaze felt like a piercing reminder of his recklessness, and Coral struggled to maintain his composure under their stern scrutiny.
“Coral,” Danika Keaton said, her voice unyielding and resolute. “You knowingly ignored the prohibitions of our order. By leading Jessie and Dave into the darkness, you have brought upon us the tragic death of Jessie Macy. Along the way, you encountered Jonny and his companion, further compounding the risks. The consequences of your actions are profound, and the responsibility for her death lies with you.”
Coral’s throat tightened, but his voice came out low, steady, as though he had prepared himself for this moment long ago.
“I cannot undo what has been done,” Coral spoke, each word laden with regret. “Jessie's death and the pain caused to her family and friends weigh heavily on my conscience. I failed Jessie, and I failed Calaedria. Whatever punishment you deem fit, I will accept it without protest, for I know the gravity of my actions.” He paused, his eyes scanning the council members, sensing their inclination to place the blame on his father, André. “But know this: the responsibility lies with me, not my father. He should not bear the weight of my failures. I led Jessie and Dave into the darkness, and it is my burden to carry.”
The council members nodded, their faces grim but not unfeeling. There was understanding in their eyes. They had seen many like Coral—young, impulsive, unaware of the consequences until it was too late. And yet, justice had to be served. The weight of the laws of Calaedria demanded it.
Victor Quinn, his voice as steady as the ancient walls surrounding them, addressed Coral directly.
“Your remorse is clear, young paladin,” he said, his eyes heavy with both disappointment and sympathy. “But consequences must be faced. You endangered lives, and because of that, there must be punishment.”
André stepped forward then, his voice low but resonating with authority as he addressed the council.
“Coral made a grievous mistake,” André said, his words measured but insistent. “The repercussions are immense, and the loss of Jessie Macy is a profound tragedy. Coral understands the weight of his actions and will carry that burden for the rest of his life. He is young, and while his decision was flawed, it was driven by a desire to protect. I ask that the council show mercy in its judgment. Let us not destroy his future for this error. As head of the Barker family, I stand with him and take responsibility as well.”
The council members were silent for a long moment, their eyes shifting between André and Coral. They weighed the plea, considering both Coral’s remorse and André’s history of service to the kingdom.
Knight Commander Chescott Calderan, leaned forward. His voice was measured but carried the weight of his authority. “Victor, if I may,” he began, his gaze shifting to the council members. “The Barker family’s service to Calaedria is unparalleled. Their legacy is one of honor, bravery, and sacrifice. Coral's actions, while misguided, stemmed from a desire to protect. I urge the council to consider this in our judgment. Let us remember not only the mistakes but also the potential for redemption and growth.”
Finally, the Head of the Council raised his hand, signaling the end of the deliberation. His voice was firm but not without compassion.
“Mercy, Sir André,” he began, “does not mean a lack of consequences. The law must be upheld. But we will consider your family’s service to Calaedria and Coral’s remorse in our decision.”
The council’s decision was final, and the Victor Quinn spoke with finality.
“Coral will be suspended from active duty indefinitely. He will be placed under house arrest, confined to the Barker estate except for his duties in the holy archives. During this time, he will assist in the preservation of our kingdom’s history, reflecting on his actions and the weight of the lives we protect. Additionally, all titles he has attained thus far will be stripped from him. This will serve as both punishment and a path to redemption, teaching him the value of responsibility and honor.”
Coral bowed his head deeply, a silent acceptance of the judgment that had been passed. He would do what was required of him. And though André’s heart ached for him, he knew that this was the path to redemption.
“Thank you, my lords,” Coral spoke, his voice quiet but resolute. “I will not fail the order again.”
The council members nodded, their judgment complete. As the session drew to a close, the Victor Quinn stood, signaling the end of the proceedings.
“Let this be a reminder to all who serve in the name of Calaedria,” he said, his voice echoing through the chamber. “We live to protect the kingdom. The borders must remain strong. Dismissed.”
As André and Coral left the chamber, the weight of the judgment followed them like a shadow. The sun streamed through the high windows, bathing the courtyard in golden light.
André placed a hand on Coral’s shoulder, a quiet gesture of understanding and solidarity between them. The bond of father and son was deep and unbreakable, forged in love, respect, and countless shared experiences. Their relationship, a blend of family and mentorship, had been tested by recent events. Yet, it would endure, strengthened by the trials they faced together. This moment, heavy with unspoken emotions, was a reminder of their shared journey and the resilience they would need to move forward.
“You’ll learn from this, Coral,” André said softly. “As we all.”
Coral nodded, his face a mixture of guilt and resolve. He had been humbled, but he was not broken. The weight of Jessie’s death would remain with him, a somber reminder of the consequences of his actions. Yet, it would also serve as a catalyst for his growth, pushing him to become a better leader and protector.
André gave Coral's shoulder a final squeeze before they parted ways. André headed toward the council chamber to discuss the aftermath with his peers, while Coral made his way to the family estate. Each step he took was a step toward redemption, the path ahead uncertain but necessary. The bond between father and son remained steadfast, a source of strength as they faced the future apart but united in purpose.
***
Across the courtyard, Jonny sat alone on a weathered bench, his isolation mirrored by the emptiness around him. The long shadows of the afternoon sun stretched across the cobblestones, giving the courtyard a serene yet melancholic air. It was as if the world itself reflected his inner turmoil. Beside him, Noctisbane rested in its sheath, the hilt of Alex’s sword barely visible beneath his cloak. Jonny’s fingers brushed against the hilt absentmindedly, a physical connection to his past amidst the sea of memories. The bench beneath him felt familiar now, having borne the weight of his presence for what seemed like hours. Despite the tranquil scene, Jonny’s mind was a storm of thoughts—of the losses he encountered, of everything he’d witnessed and endured. The peaceful surroundings felt like a cruel contrast to the chaos within his heart. His thoughts were tangled in grief and anger, the weight of his losses pressing down on him.
“I thought I'd find my place here,” he muttered to himself, though the words felt more like an echo of his internal doubts.
Footsteps sounded behind him, steady and deliberate. Jonny glanced over his shoulder to see André approaching. The paladin’s expression was a mixture of gratitude and fatigue, the weight of the recent meeting clear in the lines of his face. He stopped a few steps away, his hands resting loosely at his sides.
“Jonny,” André said, his voice calm but earnest. “Thank you again for helping Coral during the excursion. You had no obligation to do so. Risking your life… that wasn’t your responsibility.”
Jonny hesitated, shifting his weight as he looked down at his hands. The rough calluses on his fingers reminded him of how far he’d come—but also of how far he still had to go. “I didn’t do it just to help Coral,” he admitted, his voice low. “Gavin and I… we needed resources. He’s still damaged, and we thought maybe we’d find something useful in Darkborn territory.”
André’s eyes narrowed slightly, though not in judgment. He folded his arms, silently listening as Jonny continued. “Besides,” Jonny added, forcing himself to meet André’s gaze, “I was already heading to Calaedria. To take you up on your offer. Joining the knighthood… it seemed like the next step.”
A shadow passed over André’s face, and he looked away for a moment, his thoughts clearly conflicted. “Jonny,” he began carefully, “I won’t lie to you. After what happened—Coral’s defiance, Jessie’s death—the council is watching everything closely. Right now, bringing you into the knighthood might not be possible.”
Jonny nodded, though he couldn’t hide the flash of disappointment in his eyes. He’d expected this answer, but hearing it still stung. He stood abruptly, adjusting his cloak as he tried to brush off the rejection. André’s gaze softened, and he stepped closer, resting a reassuring hand on Jonny’s shoulder.
“But there’s something else you can do,” André said quietly. “Coral, Dave… they didn't just lose someone—they lost Jessie. To Coral, she was a childhood friend, almost like a sister. And to Dave...she was his future. You’ve felt that pain too, Jonny. You know what it's like to carry that weight. Reach out to them. Help them. They’ll need someone who understands.”
Jonny didn’t respond immediately, but he felt the weight of André’s words settle in his chest. Finally, he gave a small nod. “I’ll talk to them. I know what it’s like to lose someone.”
As Jonny turned to leave, André remained where he stood, watching the boy’s retreating figure with a mixture of admiration and sadness. Despite his youth, Jonny carried himself with a quiet strength that André rarely saw, even among seasoned knights.
“You carry more than most men twice your age, Jonny,” André murmured to himself, his voice barely above a whisper. For a moment, he allowed himself to wonder if the boy’s path might one day lead to greatness—or if it would break him under the weight of everything he carried.
The sun dipped lower in the sky, and the courtyard grew quieter, save for the distant echoes of life continuing in the halls beyond.
---
The heavy stone walls of the hall’s medical wing loomed ahead, their cold, unyielding presence mirroring the somberness of what lay within. Jonny slowed his steps, his boots scuffing against the floor as he reached the door. The air seemed heavier here, the silence oppressive. He placed a hand on the wooden frame, his fingers curling hesitantly. For a moment, he stood there, gathering the courage to step inside.
Taking a steadying breath, Jonny pushed open the door. The room beyond was dimly lit, the flickering light of lanterns casting long shadows across the stone walls. The faint scent of antiseptic and herbs hung in the air.
On a cot near the far wall lay Dave, swathed in heavy bandages. The sharp lines of his gaunt face betrayed not just the toll of battle but the weight of loss. Where his left arm and leg once were, empty space now remained, the wounds bound tightly in blood-stained wrappings. He lay still, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, as though staring into the abyss of his memories.
Jonny paused, lingering at the edge of the room. Dave hadn’t noticed him yet, lost as he was in the haze of grief and guilt. His voice was a whisper in Jonny’s mind: “Dave’s body had survived the battle, but his spirit was broken. Losing Jessie was a wound that no amount of healing magic could mend.”
With quiet steps, Jonny crossed the room, his presence careful and unintrusive. He stopped at the foot of the cot, watching Dave with a mixture of empathy and uncertainty. For a moment, he hesitated, unsure of how to break the fragile silence.
Then, softly, he spoke. “Dave… it’s Jonny.”
Dave’s eyes flickered, a subtle movement as his focus shifted. Slowly, he turned his head to face Jonny, his gaze dull and distant. There was recognition there, but no spark of relief. His voice, when it finally emerged, was a rasp, raw and laden with sorrow.
“Jonny… I couldn’t protect her. I couldn’t save Jessie.”
The words hung in the air like a heavy fog, suffocating in their weight. Dave’s expression didn’t change, the anguish etched into his features as permanent as the scars on his body.
Jonny pulled up a chair beside the cot, the scrape of wood against stone the only sound in the room. He sat down with quiet determination, leaning forward slightly as he met Dave’s hollow gaze. His expression was steady, a mix of empathy and firmness.
“I know,” Jonny said, his voice low but resolute. “But that doesn’t mean you have to face this alone.”
The room fell into silence once more, but it was a different kind of quiet now. Not oppressive, but contemplative. The two sat together, the shadow of Jessie’s death stretching over them both, yet there was something fragile, unspoken, in Jonny’s words—a thread of hope, faint but unbroken.