Carwen’s summoned helper kneeled at her feet. Even prostrated, he was tall and thin, the leaf-laden twigs sticking out of the gaps in his armor bulking his silhouette. He was silent for a long moment.

In the silence, each heartbeat rang in Moka’s ears, ticking like a clock as she waited for a hint, a moment of aggression to ring like the strike of the hour. Moments before the resolve to kill, provocation be damned, settled in Moka’s heart, the entity’s voice crackled from beneath his helm, like the rusted hinges of an ancient door. His helm tilted slightly up, not fully facing Carwen, but inching closer. He spoke in cadence, as though he was repeating the words of a spoken ballad. Moka could almost hear music, her rapid heart the percussion beneath lilting words.

“My body is yours, for now, until it fades off of this plane of existence. Direct it, how you see fit.”

Carwen lowered her hand, placing it on the kneeling entity’s pauldron. She regarded him, a shadow falling across her face. Her fingers twitched, as if she was about to lift her hand again, but she paused. Moka’s focus flickered between the entity and the elf, scanning Carwen’s expression for a clue to what was happening in her mind. She found Carwen’s lips moving, silently repeating what the summon said, her brow furrowed in concentration.

Moka’s eyes flicked back to the figure, her focus narrowing. The thorns on the end of her staff aimed, unwavering, at the gap between his helm and breastplate. The twigs and leaves seemed thin there. She could pierce it. [Triple Strike] all but hummed in anticipation, tingling in her chest and spreading down her arms. A pregnant pause filled the air, thick enough to cut.

Carwen’s voice split the silence, taking on a poor mimicry of the summon’s cadence. She spoke each word with care, as if reciting them.

“Your mind, I also ask of you. To enforce my will, to act on my behalf, both outside my presence and in it.”

The entity’s helm tilted up a fraction more. Electricity seemed to crackle in the air between them. He spoke, pleasure seeping through its voice, like sparks flying from clashing iron.

“My thoughts bend on your behalf. I hang on your every word, and seek that which will further your goals.”

Carwen lifted her hand up and over the summon’s helm, bringing it to rest on his opposite pauldron, autumn-colored leaves poking through her fingers. Again, she hesitated. Moka did not blame her. There was a wrongness in the air that was palpable. The seconds stretched to minutes, Carwen’s hand lingering at the last step of her faux-knighting ceremony. The entity waited, content to let the silence grow. Carwen screwed her face in thought, the alley darkening around her.

To Moka’s eye, the entity seemed to lean forward, his antlers growing and branching. An icy wind ran its fingers down her spine as it carried a handful of leaves through the alley, making them dance on strange currents. The entity’s shadow flared, moving with unnatural disregard for the light. Moka’s blood ran cold. She shifted her weight to run before she realized what she was doing. The desire to flee rose in her like a forgotten instinct clawing its way from the depths of her psyche. She clamped down on the feeling, her tense muscles causing a shiver to run through her.

Motion drew Moka’s eyes. She followed it up the wall behind Carwen’s summon. A humanoid shadow creature with branching antlers stared down at her, its eyes burning orange spheres. Moka matched its gaze. The shiver running through her halted, every muscle in her body clenching. A strange sense of familiarity settled over her, like she had faced this monster before. She tried to swallow, finding her mouth dry, her tongue like sandpaper.

A light cough, Carwen clearing her throat, broke the spell. Moka blinked, and the shadow creature vanished, leaving the scene as it was. Carwen’s summon kneeled, not a hairsbreadth out of place, his posture straight and rigid. Moka felt as if she was walking a precipice, the slightest misstep leading to consequences she did not understand. Her eyes caught Carwen’s. There, she found a mirror. The elf’s eyes were hard, her skin pale. Sweat beaded her brow, but she stood straight and unbowed. She dipped her chin a fraction, acknowledging Moka. Moka returned the gesture, a measure of respect for the elf filling her.

Carwen turned to the entity at her feet. She spoke as though a queen passing commandments to a knight facing her with a bare sword; imperial and defiant, her chin raised and lips pursed. Her hand remained on his pauldron, held as though it was a sword that could take his head.

“I serve my god, enforcing his will on the world. I task you to represent him as you do me, to the best of your abilities, in both thought and deed.”

The entity was staring Carwen in the eye now. Despite kneeling, he seemed to loom in the low-light of the alley. Moka felt the cloud cover pressing in too close, weighing down on her. An ill wind blew around them, carrying dead leaves. The nearby rubble rustled, mimicking the sound of bones, like an audience of skeletons giving applause. More leaves joined the dance as the ones adorning the creature’s armor withered and fell, just to be replaced by fresh growth. The fae-creature purred his reply, with a noise like a file shaping steel.

“By our Lord’s grace, I seek salvation. Through you, may I touch upon the hem of his power.”

The entity moved to rise. Carwen snatched her hand back as if burned. She reeled back several steps. When she stopped, she was no further from the entity than before. Something in the air seemed to settle into place. Carwen bent forward, her knees buckling, as if suddenly experiencing a great weight. Now on his feet, the entity performed a lavish, sweeping bow. He spoke with the finality of a death sentence.

“Thrice offered, and thrice accepted. Body, mind, and faith, I am yours to command.”

He stood tall, his antlers rising like the branches of a magnificent tree. Carwen stumbled back, her eyes wide. Finding herself able to create distance, she took several rapid steps, fleeing the danger that seeped from her summon’s every fluid shift.

Moka could not shake the feeling that they had a grinning tiger by the tail. She was all-but kicking herself for not saving at least one grenade. Her attention flickered to Carwen. They locked eyes. Carwen held her gaze for a moment. A thought visibly passed through her mind, causing her eyes to narrow. She glanced at something in the middle ground between them, then straight up. Standing straight, she took a deep breath and released it. With a flick of her hair, the nervousness seemed to melt from Carwen’s posture. She turned her nose up at Moka and beamed at her summon, performing a light curtsey.

“Welcome, my first knight. What may I call you?”

With one fist pressed to his heart, and the other sweeping open to show himself unarmed, Carwen’s first knight lowered his antlers in a bow. His sing-song cadence was on full display, entirely immune to the air of tension lingering in the alley.

“You may call this one, Pilgrim, for that is what I am. Once a hedge-knight seeking a greater power, now a templar in truth, devoted to a higher cause.” Pilgrim straightened, standing head and shoulders over Carwen. His cadence stretched and flattened until it sounded like a dirge. “Mistress, a serious matter I must bring you.”

Carwen’s smile froze on her face. She wore her pleasant expression like a mask, a slight widening of her eyes the only window into the rapid thoughts beneath. Moka shuffled to the side, creeping closer as she hid in Pilgrim’s blind spot. Everything about Pilgrim screamed danger to her. Carwen may think she had the matter well in hand, but Moka held no such delusion. Shrugging her shoulders back, she prepared to fight for her life. She paused several paces away from Pilgrim, reluctant to hide in his shadow. A flicker of orange flashed across her vision. Her eyes darted to follow it, finding a dead leaf blowing in the wind. Snapping her eyes back, she jolted as she came face to face with a pair of burning eyes. Pilgrim’s shadow pressed a finger over its helm, where his mouth would be, the action only visible by the light cast by its eyes.

Moka froze, the shadow’s pose causing her to hesitate. Blood rushed to her ears, like the pounding of an ocean knocking at the doors to her mind. She almost missed Carwen’s voice.

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“Yes, Pilgrim. What is it you bring to me?”

Moka could feel the shadow grinning at her behind its helm, the twinkle in its eyes betraying its amusement. That amusement did not reflect in Pilgrim’s reply.

“I must know of our god, Mistress. His title, his domain, his works. Bestow unto me knowledge of him, I beg of you.”

Moka dared not take her eyes off of Pilgrim’s shadow, but she could hear the strain in Carwen’s voice as she hemmed and hawed, searching for an answer to satisfy him. Then, to Moka’s endless irritation, she heard Carwen’s voice relax, relief and satisfaction warming her tone.

“Ah, well, I am but a mere follower, here to aid our Lord’s Champion. Moka can answer any questions you may have.”

Pilgrim’s shadow dispersed, laying on the ground as if it was a mere trick of the light. The burning orange eyes remained. Pilgrim himself faced her. Moka met his gaze, unblinking. She could almost hear a poem being recited in the background, but when she tried to focus on it, it vanished.

“How strange,” Pilgrim’s voice rasped from beneath his helm, sounding almost whimsical. “A goblin, one of the least of us, chosen to represent Him. I had thought you a servant, summoned like myself. What does that say of Him, I wonder? A god of rejects? The lowly who wish to climb?”

The wind carried the defiant howl of a hound in the distance. Laying her ears back against her head, Moka hissed at the uppity summon, ignoring his grating chuckle. A warm weight settled on her shoulder, where the feather had landed. A sense of ease moved through her, clearing her mind. Pilgrim had yet to make an aggressive move, which helped something click into place for her. Moka stood up straight, letting her staff drop so she could rest the ball end on the ground. She recognized a war of words when she saw one, even if she was slow on the uptake.

“You serve a follower of mine. Seems to me, you should be grateful if Azarus is the god of the lowly rejects. You fit right in.”

Pilgrim chuckled, like metal gears grinding. Behind him, Carwen’s mouth fell open, her eyes bulging as she fixed Moka with an incredulous stare. After a moment, she turned slightly to the side, her mouth snapping shut. Her eyes darted back and forth as if she was reading something from an invisible screen.

The weight of Pilgrim’s full attention settled on Moka like a physical force, pushing her toward the ground. She grit her teeth, forcing her legs straight and clinging to her staff like a sturdy sapling in a storm. As quick as it came, the weight disappeared. Pilgrim’s helm tilted up and down, taking in Moka from head to toe.

“Unyielding and defiant. The qualities of a king or a soon-to-be dead peasant.” Pilgrim leaned closer to Moka, his antlers blotting out her light. His cadence was reminiscent of a calvary’s charge. “Which are you, I wonder? Tell me, Champion, what feats have you accomplished in the name of our god?”

Moka’s mind was blank. She could not think of a single she had done for Azarus, just things he had done through her. Her free hand slipped to her belt, finding the hilt of her dagger in easy reach. She gripped it, but did not draw it, taking a step forward. Her staff would be useless against Pilgrim’s armor. She needed something thinner to stick through the gaps. Her focus narrowed. She lived in the present, her immediate task the only thing that mattered. Words were failing. There was only one route left open to her.

Carwen’s voice broke Moka from her reprieve.

“I can answer that!”

The solution of violence retreated in Moka’s mind. Her ears twitched, her mind racing to guess what Carwen would say next.

“She slayed an entire goblin raiding party that was threatening my village! Oh, and she stared down the forest’s guardian and made it retreat.” Carwen approached from the side, forming a triangle between Moka and Pilgrim. She pressed a hand to her heart, a soft smile lighting her face. “As a child of the forest, I could feel the Guardian’s hostility. Yet, it let us be, and even granted us one of its greatest boons. It is not a feat a mere mortal could hope to accomplish.”

So saying, Carwen raised her free hand, opening her fingers to reveal one of the crystalline petal-berries. With the rustle of leaves, Pilgrim turned to look at the proffered proof. Moka tensed as his hand twitched, for the first time realizing his gauntlets ended in sharpened points.

“A grand gift, indeed, and for a task ill-suited to a goblin.” Pilgrim’s helm swung back to face Moka. “Our god sent you to slay your own kind. Did the task have significance to you?”

A shiver ran down Moka’s spine. There were parallels to be drawn between the goblin raiders and the humans that had destroyed her village. Ones that she had pushed to the side in favor of concentrating on the mission Azarus entrusted her. She did not wish to face them now. Thrusting her chin forward, she glared up at Carwen’s strange servant.

“I do as Azarus asks and do not ask questions. My life belongs to him, from the moment he rescued me till I spend my last breath in his service.”

Pilgrim pressed a sharp, metal fingertip against his helm, where his mouth would be. He cocked his head to the side, his antlers exaggerating the motion. For a breath, he examined Moka, his burning orange eyes trying to peer through her soul. With a rasping sigh, he tapped his finger three times, then let his hand fall.

“Dedicated, unbreaking, and rising from a place of despair. Setting his lowly champion against significant tasks hiding moral quandaries. Our god represents himself like a hero of old.” Pilgrim broke eye contact with Moka, turning down to look at his open palm, as if weighing an ocean of blood. “Am I, then, to represent these values as well?”

Moka opened her mouth in a snarl, ready to refute Pilgrim. The accuracy of his thoughts was of no consideration to her. This was an enemy, to be struck down with words if not blades. He had shown weakness, and now it was time to strike.

Carwen’s smooth voice slipped into the gap in conversation, speaking over Moka’s attempt at a spiteful retort.

“I believe our god rules over elements of redemption as well. There was an…” Having caught the warring duo’s full attention, Carwen stumbled over her words as she tried to describe what had happened with the Danara and monstrosity she became. “-incident with two hobgoblins and a dryad. It is hard to explain, but His interference made a great enemy into two allies. Greater than that, He has granted freedom from my fate as a political tool, and changed me in ways I have yet to understand.”

Pilgrim’s head swung up toward Carwen, his antler passing closer to Moka than she cared for. She grit her teeth as the fae creature stared into Carwen’s eyes, weighing the truth of her statement. Carwen met his gaze, unblinking and bold in the face of judgment. Moka caressed the hilt of her dagger while the summoner and her minion battled wills. The feeling of imminent danger had passed. She could see an ending where no violence occurred, and they gained an ally. When she imagined it, she could not keep her upper lip from raising into a disgusted snarl.

She craved the confrontation. By whatever medium necessary, she wanted to beat Pilgrim into the ground, humble him. She would teach him a lesson about speaking down to her. Punish him for making her afraid. He needed to learn his place.

Moka’s ear twitched, her earring jangling. She heard a dog whine; the noise carrying a heavy grief. Her mind flashed to the last times she had felt the same. She whirled, searching for the dog in such pain. The phantom smell of smoke filled her nostrils. A flower bracelet weighed her wrist down, far too heavy for what it was. When she turned, there was nothing in the alley behind her except for a few scattered leaves and her untouched supplies. Her mind flashed to the dream-like feeling of failure she had felt when she appeared here, and the way it had weighed on her, as heavy as the betrayal that had destroyed her life. Unlike then, she had nowhere to point the blame but inward. She turned back to Carwen and Pilgrim, seeing that neither had reacted.

A heartbeat later, Pilgrim swung his helm to face her. His voice rasped to a marching cadence, reminiscent of an exploratory group.

“Is this the truth, Champion? Do we serve a god of Redemption? Perhaps one of Penance?” Orange orbs burned deep into Moka’s soul, searching for its worth. “Know now, thrice have I asked. Any untruth I will take as a great slight.”

Moka started, her body jolting if she had been asleep for a moment. Pilgrim’s questions slammed into her, coming together like a wave to wash away her thoughts. She broke eye-contact, her mind racing as several pieces clicked together. Azarus sent her to fight her own kind, who were acting like the humans she hated so much. He gave her visions of slaughter and deep-seated regrets; thoughts of betraying those who cared for her. Perhaps it was more connected than she knew, or cared to introspect on. Was the reason he granted her uncontrollable, all-consuming flames to teach her a lesson? A message that she must burn down the past and start anew?

Pilgrim leaned closer, his antlers cutting off Moka’s connection to the sky. Her eyes snapped back to him. She glimpsed a second pair of eyes, two smoldering orange pits, set in shadow, just over his shoulder. The clamoring in her mind went silent, her emotions going numb. Like a comfortable pair of slippers, she slipped completely into the moment. Her dagger was a minor comfort, but she could almost feel a warm hand on her shoulder. The words fell from her lips before she could decide what they would be, landing fresh on her ears.

“All I know is that He came to me at my darkest hour. He asked me what I would change, then chose me as his champion.”

Pilgrim’s eyes were questing, his tone intense.

“And your answer?”

Moka felt a hot tingle in her face, like her cheeks were burning. Her breath hitched, a thickness gathering her throat. In an instant, she relived the moment, Azarus bending down to reach a hand to her as she crawled in the mud. Her mind flashed through what had happened since. All the anger and betrayal she felt, and how she took out on those around her. Her lower lip trembled, yet her voice was firm.

“I said I would change myself.”

To the side, Carwen tsked. Moka kept her eyes fixed on Pilgrim, meeting his unblinking gaze with her own. He looked through her, as if seeing something beyond the goblin in front of him. Dipping his chin, he acknowledged what he saw in voice and action, his words spoken like a prayer.

“An answer worthy of a champion.”