“Why did she desecrate their bodies?” Ceri shouted, “What could they have done to deserve such disrespect after their passing?”

“Ceri, calm down. You’re being too loud,” Leor said as he motioned his eyes at both ends of the alleyway. “The guards will come looking and that is the last thing we need right now”. He fastened his hood to ensure there were shadows over his face.

Alden stood quiet beside them; his eyes were vacant of their usual shine. There was little doubt Leor preferred that response, but now was not the time. He needed Alden to control his apprentice. Security was dense and plentiful as they had neared the church with guards on the rooftops, on patrol, and at the front gates. Chances of slipping in were next to none, therefore Leor had suggested coming back at nightfall when their numbers dwindled and their focus was clouded with sleep.

“Are you not enraged? The poor souls watched their friends. . . parents. . . children get turned to ashes before their very eyes. They had lost their homes to the Haze and lived starved of food and shelter. Yet, they are not absolved of their hardship, instead, they are repaid with more suffering even in death!”. Ceri stomped the stone floor, her voice steadily increasing and tears welling in her eyes. “Am I alone in this!? Lord Alden, please tell me I’m not alone.”

Yoru cowered in her arms and licked her hands, sensing her pain. The infant Edgewolf had a keen sense for reading human emotion and seemed desperate to ease their agony. Alden remained quiet and stared at the wall, dazed.

“Ceri, you’re not alone,” Leor responded in Alden’s place. “But there is nothing we can do. The deed is done. All we can do is move forward.” It's the fault of those damned Gods handing out their powers to those who use them for evil was what he wanted to say but kept to himself.

“But could we not have stopped this? Healing waters. Rations. Something! Something to ease their suffrage!”

Leor resonated with her words. They struck a nerve he had not felt in years and he feared he could not contain it. “Something, indeed,” Leor scoffed, “It would be nice if we could do something to save everyone in need, wouldn’t it?” Ceri shuddered at his darkened eyes. “But that’d be wishful thinking. All the people hoping and praying for their Lords and Gods to come to their aid but are met with silence, imagine that . . . but you need not look far, Ceri. The image plagues the streets of Logtown and Thalesia. Hell, probably everywhere affected by the Haze. The Purblights' suffering is as common as the sun rising every morning. Now tell me, priestess, what do you know of suffe—”

A stinging heat whipped across Leor’s cheek. The flat sound of skin against skin bounced off the walls, filling in the spaces of their silence. When he looked, tears flowed from Ceri’s face, one hand outreached across her body and the other gripping onto something around her collar. As he rubbed his redding cheek, Ceri turned away and walked off without saying another word.

Leor’s blood boiled red like the skin on his face as he rested his back against the wall. The slap did not hurt but left him in shock. He was surprised Ceri had the gall to attack him, but he thought of it as proof that he was right. Ceri could not handle his truth so she lashed out in anger, he told himself. He reveled in his victory, but his heart did not seem to agree.

Then, Alden startled him with a hand on his shoulder and shook his head, disappointed, and sighed. “Leor, my friend. . . You must not have a lot of companions, I presume. . . Well, that matters little.” He tightened his grip a little more. “Though it pains me to admit, what you said carries some truth. These times we live in are no longer peaceful and prosperous. The farmlands have been cut in half, the healing waters are locked away in Hyndal by Lady Naiomi’s decree, and more and more people are starting to question our Lords.” He paused, looking forward to Ceri. “We all have had our struggles in the past and it has shaped us to who we are today, but it does not mean it needs to dictate our future. I may not know what troubles you so and I do not need to. All I can do is offer you an ear.”

Leor looked away, sullen and defeated. As Alden followed after Ceri, he left off with a final question: “Is it wrong to grasp a single stream of light in a dark cavern?”

----------------------------------------

Strolling down the paved road, they came across a lesser marketplace. People’s voices were easier to make out between the spaces of the crowd and Leor did not feel the need to shout over them to call out to Ceri and Alden. Though talking seemed impossible. None of them had said a word to each other for what seemed like an eternity, Leor was used to silence but this one left stabbing pains in his chest. As much as he wanted to clear the air, the words would not come to him. It irritated him to the point of half-wishing he had not taken the job in the first place.

They gazed upon each merchant tent selling various goods from all over Syvernia, raw minerals and unrefined ores from New Alarindel, silks from Yonchin that were smooth enough to be mistaken for cream, and other trinkets Leor cared little for. Other than his disinterest, the price for each foreign good was heart-stopping; it would cost him half a year’s work to pay for an ounce of cheap iron, a reminder he’d soon forget. To his greatest disgust were the sleazy vendors. They would make claims of rarity despite another seller offering the same product and special properties he had never heard before nor believed to be true. To him, each seller sounded more desperate than the last, full of eagerness knowing their competitor had failed to close the deal and their chance was approaching. However, Leor repelled all their attempts with a single glare. He was in no mood to speak with con men and only stopped to check for what he sought.

The clangor of metal drew his attention. When he found the source, he was met with the orange glow of steel fresh out of a furnace and the scent of smoke and iron. The smith slammed his hammer against the radiating metal, flattening it and shaping it with even strikes against the anvil. The Armored Licht, Leor read the carelessly carved wooden sign outside the forge tent; it was as if a child wrote it with a dull knife.

Minutes passed as Leor stood patiently outside the blacksmith’s tent and he had yet to look up from his work. Even from where he stood, Leor could feel the suffocating heat of the forge. He glanced over at Ceri and Alden who were browsing other nearby shops, making sure they were still closeby.

“Excuse me, sir,” Leor asked in a low voice. “May I request your assistance?”

The blacksmith continued his hammering without giving Leor so much as a nod, only taking breaks to wipe the sweat from reaching his eyes. Perhaps the ting of the hammer muffled his call.

“Sir, could I acquire your assistance?” Leor repeated in a slightly louder voice than the echo of the smith’s hammer.

The blacksmith flipped the steel and began forging again. “What do you need?” His voice was cold and harsh like the finished tools on display, two traits a shop owner should not have. Oddly enough, it reminded Leor of Gerald and it made him feel at ease.

“A whetstone,” Leor paused to think. He had not thought out what he needed for himself. He only responded with what came naturally to him. “And oil to prevent rust”.

Still, the blacksmith had his attention on his craft, but Leor could see his brows raised from the side. “A hundred gold coins”.

“A hundred!?”, Leor blurted. “For two items!?” He nearly slammed the counter with his palm.

“Aye. That is for the good stuff,” the smith said over his shoulder. “You spoke as if you knew the craft so I figured that’s what you’d want. Was I wrong?”. Leor could hear the belittling tone in his voice.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“No, I do, “Leor snapped back. “But, no smith has ever asked for my arm and leg in exchange for a rock and a vial of liquid”.

“Then, begone,” the smith bellowed. “I have no time for fools who have no care for their tools”.

“Listen here, you lit—”.

A scream broke out from behind them. Leor turned to face it, hoping it was not Ceri or Alden to be the cause. He sighed in relief when it was not. They were in the crowd, watching a man in steel-plated armor shouting at a woman prone on the floor. The Rays of the Licht Order etched into his breastplate.

“Watch where you're going, wench!” the knight yelled. His face was red with anger and alcohol. He swatted at her as if she were no more than a fly. “You dare taint me, Lord Gywn’s honored guest, with your filth?”

The woman was in her mid-thirties and dressed in a flowing tunic like most Tridon women. Leor was confused. Compared to a common street beggar, she did not look filthy to him. She wept and shook as she covered her head from the blows. Her forearms turned a deep red like smashed cherries. She laid on the floor beside a torn bag and produce. “Please, Sir Knight. It was a mistake. . . Please grace me with your forgiveness”.

The knight heard none of her cries. His voice sounded angrier as if he was insulted. “Do you think a simple apology would suffice!?” He pointed at a small scratch on the side of his chest plate. “What will you do to fix this? I cannot have Lord Gwyn feast his eyes on such imperfection!”

The woman looked confused and fearful. “But. . . I have nothing to give, sir.”

The knight's mouth twisted into a sly grin. “You have the clothes on your back, do you not?”

It took a moment before the woman realized what the man was asking of her. Dread welled at her eyes and flowed down her cheeks. She gripped onto her clothes and shielded her body with her arms. “No. . . please. . .”

Eyes watched from the crowd, nearby windows and rooftops, some in horror, some in perversion, but all stood by without the intent of intervention, Leor included. The smith's hammer stuck harder with each second of silence between the woman’s cries, the knight’s hooting, and the crowd’s murmurs. Leor glanced at him and the finely crafted steel was now bent beyond recognition against the anvil. The smith’s eyes burned hot with disdain like the raging fire of the forge.

The knight raised his gauntlet, clenched into an iron fist. He gave her a final warning to strip and bow before him. The woman did nothing but curl into a ball, accepting her punishment. When he realized her defiance, the knight swung his arm down. The crowd relinquished an audible gasp. Before it connected, Ceri shoved the knight with her full weight, sending him into a nearby stand. The tent and wooden fixtures collapsed onto him; dust kicked up from the impact.

Leor’s eyes bulged open. CERI, WHY!? The crowd did not share his distress and could not help but snicker and sigh in relief. Leor swerved through the audience as fast as he could, doing his best not to shove too many bystanders. He had to get them out of there before the knight saw her face.

The knight erupted from the debris, his eyes dripping with bloodlust. “Who dares!?” he roared. His anger found Ceri quickly and he sped towards her with booming steps, wiping off the residue on his armor, then winding his fist. Ceri stood fast before the woman. Her eyes were unwavering and brave, but Leor could see her body trembling. Shit! Leor darted at the knight, clenching his fist and corking it back.

A dazzling light hailed from the sky, blinding everyone in the area for a few moments. Leor slammed his foot to a halt. When his vision came to, Leor found another knight standing before Ceri with the first knight’s fist caught in his hand. The second knight stood tall and square, the Licht Order sigil on his shoulder plate proudly bore its shards for all to see. His features were built and sharp like a well-made greatsword. The women in the crowd seemed to unconsciously agree that he was handsome by the way they ogled him with their mouths hanging open. Appearing to take notice or perhaps he was used to the lustful gazes, the handsome knight flashed them with a smile as golden as his hair The women fawned over it while Leor found it nauseating to look at.

“Now, now. This is no place to quarrel,” the handsome knight said. His voice was tender yet firm. “Isn’t that right, Sir Charles?”

Sir Charles shot up to the sound of the handsome knight’s voice and placed his fist over his heart, sobering up instantly. “Master Arthur, to what do I owe the pleasure?” No hint of anger lingered in his voice.

“I was passing by when I heard a commotion”. Arthur paused to offer his hand to Ceri and the woman. He lifted them to their feet with a gentle pull, treating them as though they were made of porcelain. He turned back to his subordinate. “Tell me, Sir Charles. How do you suppose I felt when I found you at the source, beating defenseless women?”

“I — “

“Before you answer. . .” Arthur squeezed Sir Charles’ shoulder, “. . . it best be a good one. A poor excuse and I shall see to your punishment myself”.

Sir Charles took a long silence, the color fading from his skin. He swallowed hard before speaking. “I- it was for the sake of Lord Gwyn. . .“, he said with hooded eyes, not daring to look away from Arthur’s boots. “I did not want to present myself to him with sullied armor”.

Arthur sighed. “There was no need to rouse a commotion. Go to the barracks and fetch a new one. Tell them I have sent you. That should suffice.”

Sir Charles bowed. “Thank you, Master Arthur. I apologize for the disturbance. I shall take my leave.” And so, the troublesome knight sprinted out of sight. Once he was gone, a wave of women blitzed past Leor, almost trampling him to get to Arthur. As they showered him with compliments and prurient eyes, Leor took Ceri by the hand and slipped through the crowd to the forging tent where Alden stood with Yoru by his side.

When they arrived at the forge, the blacksmith swooped the woman off her feet and twirled her in his arms like newlyweds. As he placed her back down, he kissed her on the forehead.

“Thank you so much, Miss,” he said to Ceri, bowing his head. “Thank you for protecting my wife.” He raised his head, his eyes misty with tears that would not fall, to look her in the eyes. “If the brave lady would like anything from my shop, you may take it as my thanks”.

Leor stepped forward with a grin of victory. He was finally going to get what he wanted and at free of cost. “Perfect, a whetstone and —”

“Not you, boy. The lovely lady only. “

Ceri faced Leor and fed him her own grin of victory, a similar smile to the one she used in the Edgewoods. Though she did not say it, he could hear her. See? Good comes to those who help people in need. Leor frowned at the thought.

“Thank you, sir, “ Ceri said with a curtsey.

“Please, call me Geriet.”

“You may call me Ceri. Pleased to meet you. I shall take you on your offer, Geriet. Two cloaks, please. One for me and one for my furry friend here.”

Leor cleared his throat.

“And whatever he needs, if you would be so kind”. Her tone made Leor’s cheek sting.

“Right away, Miss”. And so, the smith and his wife went off to gather Ceri’s request. When they returned, there was one extra cloak. “This is for you, Miss. It may be fitted to a man’s body, but it is my finest craftsmanship. Please honor me by taking it.”

The cloak was fastened with a gold-rimmed steel shoulder guard, woven with grounded drake scales, and dyed black as a starless night sky. The smith had explained that the cloak was forged with rare materials found in each of the seven realms, passed down by past generations, and only recently had it been completed. Even Leor had to admit, it was a fine piece of work.

“I understand this may be much to take, but not many people have the gall to attack a Knight of the Licht Order. That “Sir Charles” could’ve made my wife his whore if he wanted. . .Thank you, again, for saving my wife.” He placed the cloak firmly in her clutches, lingering for a moment before letting go. “After all, there’s a saying in my family. Tools are meant to craft and crafts are meant for use; not only for eyes, that’d make ye a fool.”

Ceri was speechless for a moment, hesitant to reject the smith’s offer. She eyed Alden for advice, but he only smiled at her. She gazed into the smith’s eyes filled with sincere determination. A determination that would be too disrespectful to turn down. “Very well. I will treasure this masterful work. Thank you.”

With farewells said, the party moved on from the lesser market with fresh garbs. Ceri walked ahead of Alden and Leor, hugging Yoru in a tiny poncho made for babies and showering him with affection. Leor sighed loudly. It had been an even more tiresome day; despite not being old, he could feel the years he had yet to live catching up with him. Their argument still rang in his head. Alden seemed to have noticed.

“Leor, my friend, I’m sure you know what to do to lift your burden,” he said with his ever-welcoming smile.