The room was silent as Morgan stood there, staring down at the carefully wrapped body. His hands were gripped in front of him as he held his head down. The incense in the room burned his nose, but enduring it was the least he could do for his friend. What was worse to him was the failure to stop the assailant.

  Havar had been the first person he had met in that world. The mission he had been given seemed daunting, but his friend had made carrying that burden easier. Yet, even as he stood there mourning, another feeling had made its way slowly into him.

  Carefully he touched his side, already healing. The powerful blessing placed on him had probably been the only thing that had kept the wound from killing him. The man who had delivered the attack's face lingered in his mind. That cold voice brought it's ice to the young man's veins. He had never fought another person before seriously.

  Morgan had fought the freakish monsters of this world, yet it was that cloaked figure that had been the first to put a fear in him. The god who had sent him to this world had granted him incredible abilities that had made so many things less of a threat.

  He took a beep, shaking breath. It was like a great shadow was looming over him somewhere from behind. He could feel the gaze of those strange grey eyes on him as his heart began to pound. The reckless abandon the man had shown replayed in the young hero's mind. The wisps of blue ghostly energy from his summoned weapons. The vicious intent to kill the eyes held. The cruel, yet miserable words spoken. How close he had come to death in that moment? Like an icy hand, it had almost taken hold and pulled him away. In his mind, the youth stared at the table, seeing two bodies laying and the world dying around it.

  A knock came at the door and a female's voice asked, "Morgan?"

  The young hero startled, turning slowly to see his other companion. She stood there, her soft expression exposing her worry. He asked, trying to prevent his voice from shaking, "Yes, Amira?"

  The green eyed girl's attention for a moment drifted to the body, but quickly shot back to him. A paleness took her as she said, "The Bishop wanted a word with you. He seemed rather distressed."

  Slowly the hero turned back to the single form upon the table. Quietly, he turned back to the girl and followed her. Her bob of brown hair moved slightly as she walked. There was a slump in her narrow shoulders and she kept touching her bow. Morgan reminded himself that she had known the priest longer.

  Once they reached an office, the girl gently grabbed Morgan's hand and whispered, "Be careful, ok?"

  He nodded at his friend, letting her drop the hold. She wasn't fearful, yet there was a certain trepidation that had taken itself to her. Whatever the situation, it'd be bad. The last thing he wanted was for yet danger when he had just lost someone.

  In Morgan went, the heavy door closing behind him. Yet, the Bishop wasn't there. Instead, an old man stood at the window. An elder who leaned on a cane, wearing a very nice, yet still simple, looking robe.

  The stranger turned slightly, giving him a sort of odd look. The grey eyes of this man sent a shiver through him as he tensed for a second. The old man was bald, wearing semicircle glasses on his face. He frowned as he said, "The Justice's Hero, there you are. My condolences on the death of your friend. May he rest in peace."

  "Thank you. It's not easy." Morgan said, on guard against the elder.

  The old priest slowly eyed him. It was like he was studying some manner of potentially poisonous plant. After that awkward ocular dressing down, the man said, "I am Priest Marindol. I don't suppose Havar had told you about me?"

  The youth slowly shook his head and the old man nodded solemnly. "Such is to be expected and he was right to do so. You see, I work less for my supposed clergy as so much as I work for the council directly. I am a member of the Inquisition."

  Morgan blinked a few times and asked, "I don't really get it, but I assume this is extremely important?"

  The old man let out an almost amused sigh and continued, "Ah, Havar had mentioned in letters you were indeed ignorant of a lot. All the same, though, yes. First off." The elder's face suddenly turned to a stone stare and his voice dropped. "No more claiming to be the hero. No I'm not doubting you, but it's dangerous to claim that now."

  Instantly, the young man remembered the words of the horrid man who had cut down his friend. The priest's demeanor went back to how it was as he said, "The prophecy proclaims you a hero, yes, but also that you are a herald like the other four. If nothing else, you must play at not even being a god chosen champion. But here is the other part. The council wants you to help take down the other heralds. All five heralds must live."

  "The man who killed Havar had mentioned that. He also claimed to...be one," Morgan said, slowly looking downwards. The cane tapped across the floor as the elderly priest put a hand on Morgan's shoulder.

  "I know. I know the man all too well. I..." Marindol paused suddenly in the middle of his sentence. Looking up, Morgan saw the old man's face etched with shame. "I fear that much would be better had I not...done what I did to that man."

  Slowly the inquisitor turned and walked back to the window. There was a wobble in the elder's voice as he said, "The inquisition kills many people. Including champions of the unsafe gods. Yet, I still think about that lost man who had come into the temple that day. He had put trust in me and I repaid it by giving him his first death in this world." There was a pause as the old man wiped his face. "It's rather warm in here."

  "While I can't fathom his reasons for trying to kill you. Maybe his own sorrows have driven him mad. I can't imagine constantly rising from death has left him well in that aspect. Even still, here's what really matters."

  He walked away from the window a few paces and said, "You've garnered some attention from your adventuring. Thankfully, we've managed to play down the rumors of you being a herald as merely misinterpretation of what you say. Now, though, is when we will try to get you some true fame, though.

  "You see, we have reasons to suspect that Misana Lura'mi is not in line with her mother. In fact, we believe that she is being held hostage somewhere in this city. "