The city was magnificent. There was no denying that. Pristine, enormous towers, smooth to the touch; of emerald greens, dynamic reds, glistening blues. Cobblestone roads, each cobblestone as bright and shiny as the day they were first pounded into the ground. Lively green trees peppered the roads, surrounded the towers and buildings, reminding everyone that nature always had a place.

Kal had only been to Safehaven a handful of times, but each time he had been filled with a sense of awe and wonder. Most were. Today was no different.

Still, he couldn’t help but feel anxious. The crowds of people bustling about here to there made him feel boxed in, claustrophobic. He’d grown up on a farm with wide open fields, sometimes going days without seeing anyone other than his parents.

He gritted his teeth and held firm, making his way through the throng. Now with both fists clenched.

His destination was clear, even from the outskirts of the city: Godknight Tower, the tallest of many tall buildings, by a wide margin. It literally towered over the city, so high that on foggy days the top could not be seen. Kal couldn’t even begin to imagine the architecture and effort it took to construct, though word was the Godknight had built it himself. With his bare hands.

Kal believed it. Like most of the citizens of Brightholme, he’d never had direct contact with the Godknight, though he had seen him multiple times. One such time had, until recently, been a special memory.

He thought back to that time, when he was still very young. The Roaring Mother had overflowed, breaking through a natural barrier of sand and earth. A rush of water had come crashing into the coastal town of Seaside, nearly submerging it and putting lives in danger. Word had come down to the family farm that help was needed, and his parents had quickly answered that call. They’d saddled up the horses—things were good enough back then that they could actually keep horses—and made haste, young Kal sitting in the saddle in front of his father.

He’d been excited for the rare chance to leave the farm, to see other parts of the world. It was an adventure, he thought, not really old or wise enough to consider the purpose of the trip. That lives were in danger.

As they neared Seaside, water splashing beneath the horse’s feet, Kal’s eyes had been drawn to something shooting across the sky.

“Dad, is that—” he’d asked, looking up at his father. His father had smiled, as impressed by the sight as his young son.

“Yes, that’s him,” he’d said, slowing down his steed. His mother had stopped next to him, and they had exchanged looks.

“Are we even needed?” she’d asked. “With him here?”

His father had shrugged. “Maybe just clean up. We’re here. Might as well see what we can do.”

A few minutes later they had arrived in the village to find a crowd gathered. There was cheering and thankful cries. Kal had craned his head and been able to catch a glimpse of the Godknight through the shifting residents of Seaside. He was smiling, nodding, touching the hands of the people. A few tried to embrace him, which seemed to make him uncomfortable, politely backing away.

Kal had jumped off the horse, anxious to see him up close. But his father had grabbed him by the collar, holding him back. “Lotta people up there, pup. Hang back or get trampled.”

Kal had pouted a little but did as he was told, straining to get a clear look at the Godknight. He was tall; very tall. Dark black hair with eyes so blue they seemed to shine in the sunlight. He wore a flawless coat of armor of silver and white, from his boots to his shoulders.

“He doesn’t even need it,” his father had said, regarding the suit of armor. “It’s just to look the part. Nothing can hurt him.”

“Nothing, daddy?”

His father had shaken his head. “Nope. Nothing.”

The Godknight had said his goodbyes and shot straight up into the air, the crowd oohing and aahing, clapping and cheering. A moment later, he was out of sight. Gone.

“How’d he do it?” Kal had asked. “Cleaned up all that water?”

They’d asked, of course. As it turned out, he’d first repaired the break in the riverbed, stopping any further overflow. Then, he dug out a new trench for the already excess water to drain safely away, back towards the river. All in the time it had taken them to ride from just outside the village to the village proper.

Kal had been awed and impressed, as most were. There was no one else like him in all of the world, they said, and never had been. Brightholme was lucky to have him.

“I wanna be like him,” he’d said to his mother and father. His father had ruffled his hair.

“Don’t we all, pup?”

He was far away from that sentiment now. It was the Godknight that passed judgment on the people of Brightholme. The sole arbiter of justice. Many who had committed some sort of crime were first brought in front of the Elders, the “leaders” of Brightholme. They had the power to adjudicate minor offenses, though that power was often passed down to the fairly recently created Solicitor’s Office. Misunderstandings, honest mistakes that resulted in minimal consequences might never reach the Godknight. But for any matters outside of the most trivial, the Godknight was the ultimate authority.

Kal approached the base of Godknight Tower, ignoring the smiling faces of the citizens and the polite calls from street vendors. He was scruffy and unshaven, his sandy brown hair needing a good comb and wash. Nobody seemed to notice or care; he was just another face in the crowd, for now.

There was no door into the tower, just a smooth surface all the way around. The base was circular and large, about fifty feet in diameter. As it reached upwards, the diameter shrank gradually, eventually coming almost to a point. On top of that point rested a circular structure, larger than the base by a wide margin. That was where the Godknight kept constant vigil over Safehaven and its people.

How the thing didn’t topple was a mystery to Kal. But a mystery he had no interest in solving. Not today.

He stopped, stared towards the top of the tower, his neck craned at a sharp angle. The crowds of people went about their business, walking around him, used to people stopping to stare at the centerpiece of their city.

Kal braced himself, momentarily questioning the wisdom of this decision. But this wasn’t about wisdom. It was about a gross miscarriage of justice. A father who didn’t deserve his fate, a mother who suffered the consequences the greatest.

He had been angry every day since the day his father had been banished. Angry this morning at once again seeing his mother in pain. Angry as he had taken the long walk to Safehaven, angry as he had approached the tower. But now, finally, actually in this place, he felt something else.

Fear.

He dismissed it. His anger was righteous. He embraced that, let it drive him.

“Godknight!” he yelled towards the sky.

A few people walking by exchanged confused glances, but kept walking.

“Godknight!” he yelled again, louder this time.

Now a few people stopped, frowning and whispering to each other.

“Godknight! Come down here! I want to talk to you!”

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

There was a collective gasp from the people in the City Center. More people stopped, stared, confused, whispering.

There was no sign of the Godknight.

Kal sighed, his anger only growing. No way was he going to be ignored.

“I know you can hear me, you son of a bitch! Get down here! Now!”

Anyone who hadn’t stopped yet stopped now. They backed away from Kal, giving him a wide berth.

“What’s he doing?” they whispered. “Is he insane?” they said. “Son, this isn’t a good idea,” an elderly gentleman told him from a distance, his voice quivering.

Kal kept his eyes trained to the sky. Anyone not staring at Kal in disbelief joined him in looking up.

“Godknight!” he screamed, loud enough to make his throat burn. He was still clenching his fists, so hard his arms were shaking.

“Look!” someone shouted, pointing to the sky. Mumbles and murmurs followed. A few people clapped and cheered. Mothers and fathers held firmly onto their excited children’s hands, keeping them from running forward.

The Godknight descended. Slowly, in a standing pose, as if lowered on an invisible platform.

His face betrayed no emotion, just the calm confidence people had grown used to seeing. His eyes were locked solely on Kal.

Kal felt the fear rise again, fought back the sudden urge to run. He let his anger stay in control; he was going to need it.

As the Godknight closed the gap, drawing nearer to the ground, Kal could tell his trajectory would bring him directly to the spot Kal was standing on. It seemed like a game of chicken, a game the Godknight had probably never lost.

And he wouldn’t lose now. Kal’s rage could only carry him so far. He desperately wanted to stand his ground, to be defiant. But in the end, it was Kal who took a single step back, allowing the Godknight to land softly in front of him.

The crowd fell silent. It felt like the entire city was watching.

Kal remembered how tall the Godknight had seemed that day in Seaside village. Now older and almost six feet tall himself, Kal still had to look up to meet the Godknight’s eyes. He guessed the Godknight was over seven feet tall—not tall enough to be a giant, but taller than any human he’d ever seen.

The Godknight regarded Kal for a long moment, raising an eyebrow and tilting his head. The look seemed to say, “You’ve got my attention. Get on with it.”

In the face of this enigmatic figure, Kal’s resolve weakened. What was he? Man? God? Though dubbed “the Godknight” long ago, he had insisted that he not be considered an actual god, forbidding any worship or religion centered around him.

Yet, what else could he be? If not a god, then what?

Finally face to face with this godlike being, Kal’s knees began to buckle. He gasped for air. His pent-up fury was replaced by a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, rendering him nearly incapable of coherent thought.

Feeling everything unraveling, Kal resorted to reciting the opening line he had been rehearsing for months. But now, they were just words. The bite and sting he had imagined were gone.

“You sent my father down river,” Kal started, his voice wavering slightly. “He was a good man. He tried his… his hardest. As hard as he could. And… and…” He looked down at his hand, hanging limply at his side. He stared at it, focused on it, and clenched it into a tight fist.

It helped.

“And he didn’t deserve it,” he finished.

The Godknight’s expression remained unchanged. He tilted his head once more, and Kal suddenly felt a little lightheaded and nauseous. It wasn’t an attack, he realized. The Godknight was merely peeking into his mind.

“Gidelon Eremor,” the Godknight said. A cold chill ran down Kal’s spine.

“Yes,” the Godknight continued. “I remember. He stole from his neighbors’ farms. The Cupellas. They’re good people.”

“They are,” Kal conceded. “But that’s not the point.”

“What is the point, Kalvin?”

Kal bristled at the use of his full name. It was not earned. The Godknight sat on his high and mighty perch all day and night, looking down on them all. He’d never once deigned to interact with him or his family, except to banish his father. Now he was speaking down to Kal, trying to sound fatherly.

“The point is, he didn’t deserve it,” Kal repeated.

The Godknight shook his head and smiled patiently. “We don’t send people away if they don’t deserve it, son.”

“Don’t call me son,” Kal spat with indignation. His anger was back. Good.

Kal thought he saw a flash of anger creep across the Godknight’s face. At Kal’s tone, or at being interrupted? He probably wasn’t used to either.

“Kalvin—” he began again. Paused. “I see you prefer ‘Kal.’”

“From you, Kalvin is fine,” Kal said. “You ever think of just asking my name? What gives you the right to go poking around people’s minds, uninvited?”

“I… I apologize, Kal. Kalvin. They are only surface thoughts. Your name, who your father was. I would never go deeper than that without permission. I promise.”

“And the Godknight always keeps his promises,” Kal said snidely, repeating one of the many sugary sweet phrases sung to the children of Brightholme.

The Godknight nodded and smiled. Conceding the point, ignoring Kal’s attitude.

“Kalvin,” he started. “Everybody.” He reached his arms out and turned in a circle, interacting with the crowd for the first time. Kal had almost forgotten they were there.

“I made this place for you,” the Godknight continued. “Made you all a home. You are free to do whatever you like, live however you please. I have one rule, and one rule only.” He looked back at Kal with stern eyes. “What is it?”

Almost as one, the crowd responded. “Live in peace.”

“Live in peace,” the Godknight repeated, nodding and smiling his approval to the crowd. They seemed to collectively swoon at the attention. “Your father committed a crime, Kalvin. And not some small infraction. He stole from his neighbors.”

“But he was desperate!” Kal countered, his tone shifting from angry to pleading. “The farm was failing. We were hungry, almost starving. He did what he had to do.”

“No, Kalvin. He made a choice. He could have asked for help. Temporary work, if needed, maybe even on the Cupella’s farm. The people of Brightholme,” he again spread his arms. “They are always more than willing to help their neighbors.”

A chorus of “yeah!”s and “of course”s rained down. Kal felt ganged up on, outnumbered. In over his head.

“But… but…”

“But, what Kalvin,” the Godknight asked sympathetically. “What defense can there be for breaking my one rule?”

Kal looked at the ground, shaking his head. “Nothing,” he said softly. “I guess there is no defense for it.”

The Godknight clicked his tongue, reached his hand out to put it on Kal’s shoulder. Kal took an instinctive step away. He had no interest in being comforted, especially not from him.

The Godknight shook it off and began to turn away. But Kal wasn’t done quite yet.

“What about second chances?” he asked, staring directly into the Godknight’s eyes. Challenging him.

The Godknight’s shoulders, almost imperceptibly, slumped. When he responded, there was a deep and profound sadness in his voice. “I tried that, Kalvin. I tried that for a very, very long time. Trust me. It doesn’t work.”

Now it was Kal’s turn to slump his shoulders. He had played all his cards. And had nothing left. He was defeated and probably should be grateful not to be sent down river himself for his presumption. But he hadn’t really broken that “one rule,” had he?

“Hey,” the Godknight said, almost cheerily. “Maybe I can come by your farm sometime. Give you and your mother a hand—”

“Don’t you dare!” Kal shouted, feeling tears start to well up in his eyes.

The Godknight reared back a little, as if struck. He surely wasn’t used to being spoken to the way Kal just had. And he certainly wasn’t used to anyone refusing his offers to help.

Kal felt completely exhausted. After a moment, he turned his back to the Godknight and began walking away. The crowd parted for him, some looking on sympathetically, most judgmentally.

After getting about twenty feet away, he turned back. The Godknight had already started to turn his attention to the people, but seemed to sense Kal was still there. He turned as well, once again facing Kal.

“My Dad always tried his best. Always. There’s honor in that.” He dropped his head and took a deep breath, his emotions threatening to overwhelm him. “And I loved him.

“But he was never my hero.”

Kal shook his head, making sure the Godknight saw his disappointment.

“You were my hero.”

The Godknight dipped his head. He stared at the ground for a long moment. Then, without another word, slowly rose up into the air, heading back to his forever perch at the top of his tower.

As he began to leave, Kal “heard” the Godknight’s voice in his head. It sounded sad. Sad and very old.

“I was a lot of people’s hero once.”