An unfamiliar warmth awakened Leor with a gentle kiss to his eyelids. His eyes twitched at the dazzling light peering through the murky window of the inn he had not remembered entering. As he tried to lift his groggy self from the comfort of cozy, cotton sheets, he felt a force pull him even deeper. At first, he thought it normal, but a gentle graze across his bare chest sent a chilling fear down his spine. Who the hell?

He turned and found golden streams of hair flowing across his torso. Ceri laid naked and sprawled, pressing her supple bust against his body. He winced at the waves of fragmented memories from the night before. His brain bounced off the back of his skull as he sat up, slowly, so as to not to awaken Ceri. Searching the timbered room, he found their clothes thrown across different areas. Everything had happened so fast. He could not believe he laid with a woman of the church. . . the future pontiff no less! A wry smile of disbelief stretched across his lips.

Ceri rustling the sheets drew his attention. He found himself staring at her and felt the memories of their bedding crawl up his skin, the soft curves of her body that melded in his hands, the intoxicating aroma of their lovemaking, and the sweetness of her lips. The memories reawakened his manhood, yet he had no desire to pounce on a sleeping priestess. They’d surely hang him for such a crime. There was a lightness in his chest Leor had never felt before or at least could not remember ever having. He did not know what it was, but he bathed in the feeling. It drove him to kiss Ceri on the forehead.

“Oh, my. Quite bold so early in the morning.”

Leor froze above her and gazed down. She stared back at him, grinning. “G-good morning,” he said, embarrassed. Ceri shifted her thigh and Leor took notice of his manhood pressing hard against her, then realized that was the boldness she was referring to. He sprung up and turned his back to her.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed,” Ceri said, embracing him from behind and tracing the scars on his back with her slender fingers as if memorizing the trails of a map. She pressed her lips against his cheek. “Especially after last night.”

Leor could hear her smiling through her words. “Then . . . you remember all that was done . . . said?”

“It is a slight blur but clear enough. A splendid time nonetheless. Thank you for keeping me company.” Her breath caused bumps to rise from the skin on his neck. She relinquished her hold on him and sauntered over to their scattered clothes. His eyes followed her as she did so and a great horror struck him when he found scarred flesh plaguing Ceri’s backside. They were from the lashings of a whip, that much he recognized. How could he have not felt it, he asked himself looking at his callous hands. It was then he realized what she meant by being impure, and the reason behind her strike to his cheek.

“Ceri . . .”

“Leor, please take the armored cloak as thanks,” she said, smiling as she handed it to him, bowing. It seemed she did not hear him call her. “Lords know I have no use for such fine trinkets. I think Sir Geriet would be pleased to know it will be put to use.”

Leor glanced from the garment to Ceri, taking a long, hard thought at her smile. It shined bright and ignorant of the pains of life, yet the lashings on her back tell a different tale. How? How can you still smile like so? To me, nonetheless? He took the cloak from her hand and thanked her silently. When he equipped his gift, the weight of his folly felt ever greater and it seemed as though the drake scales came to life and smothered him with the flames of his sins.

The streets were ghostly and dry, which wrought an unsettling feeling in Leor’s gut despite knowing everyone must be gathered at the church. Not even guards or knights patrolled the walkways and roofs. Since his youth, the grounds were always wet from the nightfall rain. He had said the same in his dream during their night in the Edgewoods. He recalled saying the dried floor and bright sun were good omens, but now he wasn’t so sure.

On the way to the church, they reached the Tridon Bell Tower, an ivory, stoned monolith that made the surrounding storehouses look more like huts. Leor had to stretch his neck fully to gaze at the tower’s peak. The Townsquare was twice as open as the eastern marketplace but with just as many storefronts, restaurants, armories, and seating. Except now, everything was boarded up and closed as if it were midnight. Ceri held Yoru up in his childish cloak and explained to him the history of the tower. Like every story of the Gods, he tuned them out. This one was about some nonsense of the unity of the three Gods of Tridon, but Leor always wondered why only the three Gods were considered and not the rest. What bothered him more was the crying silence. He remembered the groups of foreigners who shared his disapproval of the play. Surely, they wouldn’t have gone to the ceremony either, right?

Yoru jumped from Ceri’s grasp and growled at the tower’s casted shadow, confirming Leor’s suspicion. Leor moved before Ceri and steadied his hand over Inazuma.

“Show yourself.”

For a moment, there was no response . . . then a quiet chuckle grew louder as a black figure climbed out of the shadow like it was made of water.

“You're sharp. I like that.” said the figure, the white of his teeth bleeding through the black. “Makes things easier.” The light revealed him in onyx garbs armored with night-dyed leathers. He walked closer towards them, deafening silence in each step, like a black phantom. Small wonder why Leor could not tell if someone was there.

Leor donned his aggression on his tongue. “I have no interest in fighting you. Leave now.”

“Neither do I”, said the phantom as he drew an obsidian dagger from his hip. “Give me the girl’s necklace and no one shall die.”

“My necklace?” Ceri said, appalled. “By the lords, why would you want my necklace?”

“Don’t play coy. You know the weight it carries.”

“Don’t answer him, Ceri. Don’t show fear or weakness,” Leor said, drawing Ikazuchi, intending to match the dagger with his shorter blade. “He does not intend to give up.” He sensed an abyss lurking behind the man like a muddy pool of tar. It sent a frosty chill to his bones. He kept his sights on the phantom circling them. Thin but Lean. He must be quick on his feet and even faster with his dagger.

The phantom reached behind him and threw two small daggers. Leor swiped them from the air with a single slash, the daggers fell flat to the ground. The phantom followed soon after and their blades rang with blinding resonance, once, twice, and the phantom broke off on the third, smirking. Leor leapt at him, slicing down, but the phantom slipped to the side with ease, Ikazuchi only splitting air. The phantom thrust forward at Leor’s open rib cage. Leor moved his weapon to his other hand and swatted the attacker’s wrist before the dagger pierced him, then swung his back fist, connecting it with the phantom’s jaw. As the phantom flew, he flung a roundhouse from the shadows of Leor’s vision and whipped him on the neck. Leor dropped to a knee and the phantom tumbled through the dirt. They both rose to their feet.

“You got me good, I’d give you that.” the phantom said, wiping away the blood pouring from his lip. “Did not expect you to switch your weapon hand.”

“It pays to be practiced in dual-wielding,” Leor replied as he circled his neck. “Let’s end this farce. There’s no need to do further harm.”

“I can’t leave without that pendant.”

“Unfortunate.”

They stood with weapons ready, waiting and watching for every small movement . . . until the grinding of metal drew closer, louder. Leor and the phantom exchanged eyes of suspicion but came to the silent conclusion of ignorance. From the northern walkway, a knight in battered armor, lugging a greatsword, limped towards them. Beneath the knight’s visor came out a grizzly whisper of an aged man fresh from battle.

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“Cleanse the Purblights. The Haze bleeds from their bodies. For Lord Gwyn. . . cleanse the Purblights.”

“What the hell?” Leor muttered. He glanced over at the phantom and saw him run back to the abyss he came from. “Wait! Where are you going!?”

“Good luck. I’ll be back for the ring.” the phantom said before diving into the fading black pool.

The scraping inched closer. A trail of blood slithered in its path. The knight repeated his chant: Cleanse the Purblights. The hairs on Leor’s neck shot up and he shoved Ceri back, then caught the flash of silver with his blade, the weight of the blow was too great to hold so he followed its motion and slammed the greatsword into the ground. The stone shattered beneath their feet. Leor drove his boot into the knight’s chest, sending him rolling.

“Ceri, stand back,” Leor said, drawing his second sword.

The knight stumbled to his feet and repeated his cry. Pure blackness stared back at Leor through the eye slits of his helm which was carved into the Rays of the Licht Order, but to Leor, it looked more like a beast’s claw. The wings of his helm were bent and broken, his greaves were dirtied with mud and slight rust, the golden lion on his breastplate soiled by scratches. The behemoth of a knight who towered over Leor by two heads wielded a greatsword lined with nicks from years of battle and was great in size, no doubt. But the knight swung it through the air single-armed as if there were little weight to it.

The knight puffed his chest and roared before charging at them with the greatsword overhead, then slammed his weapon down in a savage arc once his prey was in range. Leor stepped back. The knight did not relent and drove his shoulder into Leor, hard and fast like a bull, knocking him off balance. Leor stomped the ground for footing and swung both his blades in time to fend off the knight’s follow-up horizontal swing, the clashing steel sent both their arms up. Leor dropped low and hammered his hilts into the knight’s breastplate, then whipped him with the blunt side of his swords, felling the knight. The lion now disfigured and crunched.

“Enough!” Leor breathed. He had never faced an opponent that moved so wild. “You have the wrong people.”

But the knight said nothing in return. Not a groan of pain. Not a single sigh of exertion. His only response was another careless, savage flurry of swings of his weapon. Leor backpedaled, deflecting some, dodging others. The ground shattered and unearthed with each blow to it, and Leor’s hand tingled sore with each parry. Songs of their steel rang through the plaza. The knight came to a sudden halt, panting and hunched over his greatsword. Before Leor realized it, the knight had split him from Ceri and Yoru. And the knight began marching.

“No!” Leor shouted, dashing forward off his back foot and reeling his blades back.

The knight spun around and caught Leor in the throat midair, pinning his windpipe. He hit the floor hard and the world spun when the air was squeezed out of him. The impact made him lose grip of Ikazuchi, sending it through the air. But he had no time to rest, on instinct, Leor jumped to his feet. A heavy blow to his ribs sent him sideways and crashing into the tower wall. A nasty crack filled his ears and the iron taste of blood welled in his mouth as the air left his lungs again.

“Leor!” Ceri cried. Yoru snarled at the incoming knight.

The knight flailed his greatsword at them. Leor struggled to his feet and blew life into Inazuma. He fixed his sights on the knight as he regained focus. Don’t kill if death is not required. In an instant, Leor darted forth, Inazuma’s tip angled to the heavens like a streak of black lightning., and cleaved the knight’s arm off . . . if it had landed. But the knight snapped Inazuma with a powerful descending, two-handed counter swing that crushed Leor’s shoulder blade, then wasted no time grabbing Leor by the face and slamming him into the floor. The stone caved in. Another crack and blood spewed from Leor’s mouth. When he tried to move, a sharp pain rippled through his body and a sickening crunch followed.

As he looked to the fuzzy sky, Leor realized the sun was no longer there and the rain had come at last, dripping a few droplets until becoming a downpour. He found it comical that now today decided to feel normal. Though to be fair, the wind howled harsher than usual and the rain came accompanied with lightning and thunder. The rain had not felt this chilling and wet since that day . . . Then the shadow of a mountain washed over him.

“Cleanse the Purblights,” the knight said, towering over him with his weapon waiting to fall upon Leor’s throat. His greatsword illuminated with a familiar light, yet somehow it felt impure . . . tainted. As the guillotine fell, the belltower struck its resonance for Logtown and through the bell’s chord, Leor heard Ceri scream his name. When he found her, she had Ikazuchi in her grasp, stabbing the frozen knight from behind, tears or was it the rain, streaming down her cheeks.

“What do you think you’re doing, wench!?” the knight said, gurgling blood in his newfound tone as if awakening from a long dream.

Ceri waddled backward and collapsed from the weight of her shaking knees into a crimson puddle dyed from the blood on her hands. Yoru appeared by her feet and barked the knight back, his black fur glistening in the rain. But the knight did not slow, not from his newly awakened consciousness, not from his drenched, rusted armor, not from the oozing hole in his torso. He dislodged Ikazuchi and staggered towards Ceri. Yoru gnawed at the knight’s ankles to no avail. He punted Yoru out of the way. Yoru yelped then fell silent.

“Stop!” Leor screamed. He raised his hand to call back his blade, but it only jiggled in the monster’s hand. Come back! Pain shot up his arm the longer he extended it. When his blade failed to return, he slammed his fist into the rising waters. “STOP I SAID, DAMN YOU! I’m the one you want! I’m the Purblight!”

As the knight stood over Ceri, she glanced at Leor with tears and a forced smile; for certain they were tears — rain carries no such sorrow. The light in her eyes twinkled before fading as Ikazuchi plunged into her abdomen, blood trickled down her legs and her ivory silks. There was a faint choke or was it a grunt or a cry. Leor could not tell, he could not hear. Not the rain, not the thunder, nor his labored breath. It was quiet now. . .

. . . Then the knight’s voice came, shattering the silence. “Purblight cleansed.” He ripped the pendant from her lifeless body. The sight of the robbery sent Leor spiraling. His body was light and fluid and burning as if he were floating in a lake of lava. Within a flash of lightning, he was atop the knight with the Storm’s Decree now in his possession. He pounded his fist into the knight’s face. Snap. Thunder followed. He felt the knight’s warm flesh stringing his fist as he pulled it back. Ceri’s face flashed in his mind when he saw the knight’s face. He screamed as he hammered it again and again until he could no longer see her murderer’s face, blood squirted out like a fountain, his face and his knuckles swollen and charred as if he were punching hot iron. But Ceri’s face still plagued his head.

The rain returned, heavy and plentiful. Finally, tears fell from Leor’s eyes. Ceri laid limp and cold in Leor’s arms. Her once brilliant emerald eyes were now flat and murky. He shut her eyelids, unable to stand looking at them lifeless, and held her pale hand to his cheek. Ikazuchi stared back at him from Ceri’s stomach, mocking him for his failure. You killed her. He feared removing the blade would cement the voice in his head as the true verdict. Then he was surrounded by a squadron of spear-wielding knights bearing the Licht Order Rays. When he gazed around, there was an audience watching him cradle Ceri. He could not say when they arrived, but nonetheless, he shouted and barked at the prying eyes.

“You all stood by and let her die! You fucking cowards! You let your own die!”

A guard tried to approach from his side, but Leor clutched Ceri closer and flashed his fangs, growling at him like a mad wolf. The knights fell back and created a pathway for two others who had a certain royalty to them: a blonde man of Leor’s age who stared down at him with disgust as if he were no more than a dying animal in his path; and the other, a woman with a smugness equal to the importance given to her by the knights kissing the ground she strode. The male knight hissed first. “You, where did you learn to use the ring? What house do you pledge fealty to? Speak now.”

Leor growled. “Fealty? Is this what fealty brings!? I spit on your fealty. I pledge to no house. I’m a true blood Purblight. May the Lords never be forgiven!” The townspeople gasped in horror at his audacious statement.

“Why you insolent —”

The female knight placed her hand over the male knight’s rapier. “Now, now, dear brother. I wager Father would be pleased to speak with this man. You wouldn’t wish to anger him now.”

The male knight reluctantly lowered his hand and turned heel. “Take him into custody. Make sure he rots in a dungeon until he wishes to speak.”

“Lady Lilith and Lord Gwyndel, I shall handle the arrangements.” Alden came bowing and knelt beside Leor, gripping his shoulder firmly.

Leor searched Alden’s face for answers. Why? Why do you stand there and let your apprentice die? In his fading vision, he spotted a familiar face in the crowd. The twisted grin he knew too well, Afzal. It filled him with a blinding fury. Leor called his blades to his hands and charged at him with the intent to take his head. The audience cried and screamed. But Leor succumbed to his injuries and the world fell darker than before.