The streets of Hightown shimmered with the lingering moisture of a recent downpour, the cobblestones slick beneath Anne's boots as she made her way toward the Blooming Rose. She had a task ahead of her—to bring back her fellow recruit Keran. The young man had been spotted slipping away from the Gallows under the cover of night, and everyone knew he had saved money for months, eager to finally become 'a man’, so the brothel was the first place to check. It wasn't the first time one of the recruits had sneaked out of the barracks, despite the severe consequences that would follow if they were discovered, but Keran was the first not to return at dawn.
Anne couldn’t help but sympathize and envy the guy. Sympathize, because, like her, he was hard on the eyes, someone who had no volunteers in the Circle willing to risk punishment by fraternizing with him. And envy, because, unlike Keran, she didn’t have parents who could send her coin to save for a visit to the Rose. As far as she knew, after last night, she would be the last virgin among the recruits her age. But forget sex—she was about to turn seventeen and hadn't even had her first kiss. How depressing was that? Yet, it wasn’t the lack of experience that soured her mood the most. The true culprit was walking right beside her.
Tamlin, the eternal pain in her ass, now wore the armor of a full-fledged Knight, each polished plate gleaming with an obnoxious perfection in the early morning sun. Not even a month since he'd earned his rank, and already he carried himself like some seasoned veteran, his steps measured, his chin lifted. The insufferable self-confidence was bad enough, but what made it worse—what made her jaw clench every time he spoke—was the fact that he was never supposed to be here. Not in the Order. Not beside her.
Tamlin hadn’t been one of the original candidates for the Templar Order. But by some twist of fate—or perhaps the Maker’s own wry sense of humor—one of the chosen lads, Gareth, a boy who prayed before meals, after meals, and sometimes even during meals, a shining beacon of faith and obedience, had choked to death on a piece of bread the day before they were to depart the orphanage for the Gallows. And in yet another completely unexpected turn of events, Tamlin had stepped forward, volunteering to take Gareth’s place with such fervent enthusiasm that even the Knight-Corporal, who had come for the other kids the next day, was impressed by the display of zeal and accepted him on the spot.
Six years.
Six long, grueling years since that fateful day. Six years of training under the watchful, cold eyes of the Knight-Lieutenant Alrik, where every mistake earned a bruise, every misstep meant punishment. Not to mention the countless hours memorizing every word of the Chant of Light, as if her worth as a recruit depended on how perfectly she could recite it while swinging a sword. And then there were the lessons about spirits, demons, and maleficarum—each more dangerous than the last, each with strengths and weaknesses she had to remember.
All of it might have been manageable if not for Tamlin. Somehow, despite hating her guts, he always managed to be wherever she was, probably just so he’d always have someone to share his so-called "truths" with—truths no one ever asked for, let alone wanted. They’d had countless fights over it, and over everything else, really, but it seemed nothing was enough to deter him from making a pest of himself.
"You're quiet today, Ogre," the young man said, glancing at her from beneath his helm. He was the one who’d started calling her that a few years ago, back when she’d shot up in height and muscle, and, to her frustration, the name had stuck among other recruits as well. At first, it had enraged her—she’d even split his lip in a fight over it—but now, she barely cared. "Also thinking about the best way to beat Keran’s ass?"
Anne gritted her teeth but kept her gaze forward. They were close now, the brothel looming ahead. "No, I’m not," she muttered. "I’m sure he’ll come back willingly. Even if he’s drunk, we can talk him into it."
"Nah," the Templar uttered, blue eyes fixed ahead. "That wouldn’t be fair. The bastard's most likely sleeping soundly between some whore’s tits, and here we are, slogging through wet Hightown first thing in the morning." He paused, then added, "Besides, I hate guys like him. Boasting about their ‘wild’ nights, when all they had to do was toss a few coins to get what they wanted. Meanwhile, some of us have to work damn hard to get laid." He turned to look at her, his grin sharp. "And some can’t get laid at all."
Anne felt the heat creeping up her face, the embarrassment twisting into something sharper, hotter—like a spark catching dry tinder. The lie slipped out faster than she could think. “So you know,” she started, lifting her chin in defiance, “while a horse-faced shorty like you had to scrape and beg for attention, I had plenty of encounters.” She paused just long enough to snap her fingers. “Just like that.”
The Templar raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Really? With who? 'Cause I still got lots of friends among the recruits, and I haven’t heard a word about anyone doing the deed with you."
Anne’s face burned hotter. “Not everything happens inside the Gallows. I have men all over Kirkwall going crazy for me.”
Tamlin chuckled, low and unimpressed. "Sure, Ogre. But you know what? You just make yourself sound even sadder, inventing lovers from faraway districts. If you’re that upset about being untouched," his grin widened as he leaned in slightly. "I could be generous enough to let you get some practice. You could start by sucking my—"
He never finished, as Anne’s elbow slammed into his side with a sharp crack, knocking the wind out of him. “Suck it yourself!”
Tamlin staggered back, half-laughing, half-coughing, rubbing his side where the blow had landed. "I would if I could."
"Ugh," she grunted, rolling her eyes and quickening her pace to move away from him. But, of course, he matched her stride, laughing all the way to the brothel.
The Blooming Rose loomed before them, its gaudy sign swaying gently in the morning breeze. Anne hesitated for a moment, eyeing the place with the same curiosity she always did. The scent of smoke and sweet perfume was already starting to drift out through the open door, mingling with the damp air of Hightown. Tamlin, on the other hand, strode forward with false confidence, pretending like he belonged, though it was clear from the way his eyes flicked uncertainly over the brothel's garish décor that he was just as out of place as she was.
Inside, the dim light barely cut through the haze of incense and tobacco smoke. The floorboards creaked beneath their boots, and the faint sounds of low voices and soft laughter filled the air, accompanied by the rustle of silk and lace. Prostitutes lounged in the corners, draped in bright fabrics that only half-covered their bodies, their eyes shifting toward the newcomers with a mixture of boredom and wariness. A few raised their eyebrows at Tamlin’s armor, while others offered half-hearted smiles, but none of them stirred from their spots.
Anne kept her gaze forward, trying to ignore the weight of their stares. The Templar, for his part, looked slightly disappointed as he glanced around. He leaned toward her, muttering under his breath. “Been hearing tales of this place from the lads, and now that I am finally here…I don’t know, looks like any other bloody whorehouse to me. Maybe the wenches here got something special between their legs or -”
“Let’s just ask for Keran,” the recruit interrupted, her voice edged with vexation as she maneuvered through the crowd. She pushed past a cluster of dwarven women, who were laughing uproariously as they clung to a bare-chested elven man. The elf appeared distressed, arms raised in a silent protest that did nothing to stop the dwarves’ groping hands.
Anne's thick brows knit together, her eyes narrowing as she prepared to call out the scene before her. But Tamlin’s hand landed on her shoulder, halting her. "Do not get involved," he murmured, his voice low enough that only she could hear. "We’re here to find Keran—nothing more, nothing less."
Anne sighed, her irritation simmering just below the surface. With a swift shrug, she shook his hand off her shoulder. "Fine," she muttered, her tone laced with reluctant acceptance. She didn’t like it, but Tamlin had a point; drawing attention to herself wouldn’t help them here.
As her eyes scanned the room, she caught sight of a waitress behind the bar, a brief lull in her movements suggesting she was free—though in a place this crowded, that could change at any moment. Wordlessly, she tilted her head in the woman’s direction. The Templar gave a single nod, his blue eyes sharp with understanding.
The waitress looked just as tired as the rest of the staff. Her heavy makeup was starting to smear, and her apron was stained with Maker knows what. She was wiping down a glass when they approached, her eyes flicking up to meet theirs.
"How can I help you, brave Knights?” she asked, her voice flat, uninterested.
"We’re looking for one of our own," Tamlin said, trying his best to sound casual. "A man named Keran. Has he been here recently?"
The woman’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of something—suspicion, maybe—behind her eyes. She gave them both an once-over, and then shrugged. “We get a lot of people through here. I don’t keep track.”
Tamlin stepped forward, the forced casualness slipping away. “Maybe you should check the books, then,” he said, his tone growing sharper.
The waitress raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “And why would I do that?”
“Because it’s important,” the Templar pressed. "And I’m not asking."
The edge in his voice finally got through to her. She sighed heavily, clearly not in the mood for trouble with the Order, but she didn’t move. Anne could tell she was stalling, hoping they’d give up and leave. But Tamlin stepped closer, leaning over the counter with his usual swagger, though the recruit noticed his fingers tightening on the edge of the wood. "Look," he said, his voice low, "we can make this easy, or we can make this difficult. It’s just a name. Check the damn books."
The woman’s eyes narrowed. She shot a glance toward Anne, then back to Tamlin, sizing them up before exhaling through her nose. “Fine,” she muttered, shoving the glass aside. “Wait here.”
She ducked behind the bar and returned a moment later with a worn ledger, flipping through the pages with a practiced hand. For a few tense moments, she scanned the names scribbled across the entries, her finger trailing down the list. Finally, she stopped, tapping a spot on the page.
"Keran," she confirmed, her tone flat. "He was here. Came in seven hours ago."
Anne's tension eased slightly, but Tamlin wasn’t finished. “And where is he now?”
The waitress closed the book with a thud, crossing her arms. “Apparently still upstairs,” she replied, sounding slightly amused. “Room twelve. He’s with Idunna—the ‘Exotic Wonder from the East.’” Her tone was mocking, as if she found the title ridiculous. "She’s one of our stars. And let me tell you, she's not cheap."
The Templar smirked, leaning back with his arms crossed. “Good to know, Serrah. Thanks for your cooperation.”
The woman snorted. "Just don’t cause any trouble. We’ve got enough of that around here."
The recruit turned toward the stairs without a word, and Tamlin followed close behind, a slight swagger returning to his step now that they had a lead. As they made their way up the creaking stairs, Anne’s thoughts raced. If Keran had really spent seven hours with some exotic prostitute, they’d be lucky if he was still coherent enough to drag out of there.
When they reached the long corridor lined with doors, the array of sounds hit them full force: moans of pleasure, the rhythmic slap of skin on skin, and the low creak and groan of bed frames straining under eager weight. The scent in the air was thick, cloying—a mix of sweat, perfume, and something raw that could only be described as lust, lingering in the wood and fabric of the place.
Anne kept her gaze fixed ahead, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand. But a thought pricked at her mind, unbidden. She’d imagined places like this sometimes, conjuring fantasies of finding some tall, striking man, someone who might be hers for an hour or two. She’d entertained the notion with excitement, daydreaming about being wanted like that, even if it was just a pretense for the coin. But now, standing here, with all the sounds, the pungent smells, and the bare reality of it pressing in around her, she found herself repulsed. The fantasy of how thrilling it would be to lay with a male prostitute had evaporated, leaving only a gnawing discomfort.
Tamlin nudged her, pulling her from her thoughts. "Room twelve," he whispered, his usual tone softened—probably more from the atmosphere than anything else. They moved forward, each step taking them closer to Keran and, hopefully, the end of this mess.
Eventually, they came to a door with the number twelve painted on it. While there were no noises behind it, Anne took a steadying breath, steeling herself for whatever they were about to find.
She knocked on the door, her knuckles rapping against the worn wood. Tamlin stood beside her, shifting his weight impatiently. They heard a shuffle inside, followed by a soft creak as the door opened just a sliver.
A face appeared in the narrow gap—a stunning woman with pale, almost haunting eyes and lush auburn locks that tumbled over her shoulders. She leaned against the doorframe, one hand resting on the wood, the other casually holding the door open. A see-through dress that left nothing to the imagination clung to her voluptuous body.
"Is there a reason you two are disturbing me?" She asked, her voice a low, sultry purr, though her expression was far from welcoming.
For a moment, Tamlin was silent, clearly distracted by the sight of her. His gaze flicked up and down, lingering on the curves beneath the sheer fabric before he cleared his throat and forced his eyes back to her face. "Idunna, right? We’re looking for Keran. He is supposed to be with you."
The woman's lips curled into a slow, knowing smile. "Keran?" she repeated. "Oh, he's resting after the exertions." She stepped back, gesturing for them to enter. "Come in, noble Knights."
Anne hesitated for a second but pushed the door open further, stepping into the dimly lit room. Tamlin followed close behind, his hand instinctively moving to rest on the hilt of his sword. As the woman shut the door behind them, a soft click echoed through the room, the sound oddly ominous.
Idunna’s chamber was big and dim, shadows clinging to the walls, disturbed only by the meager light of a few candles sputtering on shelves near the door. Their faint glow barely reached the bed, leaving its form wrapped in darkness. A scent of incense lingered, dense and overpowering, seeping into every corner of the room.
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They hurried to the bed, the thick carpet swallowing every footstep, but when they approached it, they found nothing but a pile of crumpled, dirty sheets. Anne’s pulse quickened. She turned back toward the woman who still stood near the entrance, her brow furrowing in confusion. "What does this—?"
Before she could finish, her eyes locked onto the small knife in Idunna’s hand, its blade gleaming faintly in the candlelight. She sliced it along her arm again and again, blood welling up and dripping onto the floor from the fresh wounds.
"Blood magic!" The recruit gasped, her hand flying toward her blade. But it was too late.
The woman’s sanguine fluid lifted into the air, shimmering with a dark, unnatural energy, and Anne’s vision blurred, the room beginning to spin. The floor seemed to sway beneath her feet, and the walls warped as if they were closing in.
Beside her, Tamlin charged the maleficar, sword in hand, but his movements were sluggish, his body too slow to react. The magic had already taken hold of him, wrapping around the Templar like an invisible noose.
Anne’s breath came in ragged gasps as the room spun faster, her thoughts scattering like leaves in a storm. Her legs buckled beneath her, and she fell to the floor.
The last thing she saw before everything slipped away was Idunna’s smile, serene and knowing as if she had planned this all along.
Anne’s eyes fluttered open, the world around her coming into focus in a murky haze. Pain throbbed in her wrists and ankles, and it took her a moment to register that they were bound—her arms drawn back and fastened tightly to her ankles, forcing her body into an unforgiving arc. Rough ropes bit into her skin, each small movement sending a fresh sting through her limbs as the fibers chafed against her raw flesh.
With a jolt, the recruit realized she was sprawled on the cold, gritty floor, stripped to her underwear, skin prickling from the chill and the filth that clung to it. The dimness around her resolved into a cramped basement, its stone walls covered in dried-out gore. A single torch flickered at the far side, mounted beside a narrow set of stairs. The flame cast a feeble glow, leaving the rest of the space thick with shadows.
The stench hit her next—a putrid, nauseating mix of rotting meat and stale blood. It filled her lungs with every breath, intensifying as she strained against the ropes binding her. Panic clawed its way up her throat, her heart pounding faster with each futile tug. Her breathing quickened, each gasp dragging in the stench until it felt like she was about to vomit.
A voice broke through her frantic gasps. “Anne?” Tamlin’s tone was strained but steady. “Anne, are you awake?”
She craned her neck, looking over her shoulder, and spotted the Templar lying nearby, undressed and bound just as she was. His face was bruised, a thin line of blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, but otherwise he looked fine.
"Tamlin?" Her voice trembled. “Where… Where are we?” She tugged at the ropes again, desperate, but they only bit deeper into her skin. “I can’t—I can’t get out of this.”
“Stop. Stop struggling,” he said softly, though she could hear the effort he was putting into keeping his own voice calm. “I don't know where we are, but we'll get out of here. I’ll find a way.”
She let out a humorless laugh, hysteria edging into her voice. “How in the Void are you going to get us out while we’re both tied up?”
Tamlin shifted, wincing as the ropes dug into him. “I’ll think of something. Just trust me.”
Before she could say anything else, footsteps echoed down the stone stairs, and the sound sent a shiver down her spine. Anne froze, her heartbeat thundering in her ears as Idunna stepped into view, her figure silhouetted against the dim light seeping in from above. In her hand, she held the same knife she had used in the brothel, but her form was now draped in modest white robes.
“Awake, are we?” Idunna’s voice was smooth, almost sing-song, as she approached, looking down at them as though they were little more than amusing pets.
Fear clawed at Anne, primal and intense. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to meet Idunna’s gaze. “Are you going to kill us?” The question slipped out before the recruit could stop it, her voice barely a whisper.
The maleficar's smile widened, and she crouched before her, reaching out to run the tip of her blade along Anne's cheek. The recruit clenched her jaw, stifling a shudder. “Kill you? Oh no, dear... killing is so... final.” Her other hand brushed against the rope burns on Anne’s wrists. “There are far more interesting things one can do with a couple of Chantry dogs.”
“Leave her alone, you blighted bitch!” Tamlin growled, his voice low and defiant despite the bindings. “Whatever shit you’ve planned, it’s going to backfire. Knights of the Order will come looking for us. You won’t get away with this.”
Idunna laughed, a cold, delighted sound. “Oh, look at you. Such a brave Templar,” she mocked, circling him now, her gaze appraising. “You have no idea how alone you both are right now. No one’s coming for you, poor boy, not before I’ve had my fill.” She lifted her head and called out, her voice sweet. “Keran, my darling. Come to us.”
Anne’s heart sank as slow, unsteady footsteps thudded on the stairs. She turned, horror creeping through her veins as Keran came into view. His face was gaunt, his eyes hollow and lifeless. He moved like a puppet on strings, his gaze fixed on Idunna with a mixture of obedience and reverence, as if nothing else in the world mattered to him but her.
“My love,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.
Idunna came to him and reached out, pressing her knife into his hand, her fingers lingering over his for just a moment. “I need your help, dearest,” she cooed, brushing a lock of his hair back. “Go and stand next to these filthy Chantry dogs... and then slice your own throat. I need plenty of blood for the ritual.”
Anne’s breath caught in her throat. “Keran!” she cried, thrashing against the ropes. “No, don’t do it! Please, fight her—whatever spell she’s cast on you, just fight it!”
Keran looked at her, but there was no recognition in his eyes, no spark of the young man she knew.
“I’ll kill you! I’ll fucking kill you, you twisted whore!” Tamlin bellowed, struggling harder against his own binding.
The blood mage’s smile only widened. “I always find it adorable when people think they’re in a position to threaten me.”
Without another word, Keran turned, holding the blade in his hand as he moved beside them. He gazed at Idunna one last time with a look of pure devotion, then raised the knife to his throat.
Anne screamed, tears burning her eyes, but her voice was drowned out by the sickening sound of metal slicing flesh. A guttural, wet sound escaped the enthralled recruit as the blood poured out in thick sprays.
But the sanguine liquid didn’t fall to the ground—it swirled in the air, a crimson mist, guided by Idunna’s magic. She stood at the center of it all, her eyes glowing with power, her lips moving in a quiet incantation. The blood formed a swirling cloud, pulsating with unnatural energy, and then, with a slow, deliberate motion, the maleficar directed it toward Anne and Tamlin.
The mist descended upon them, its touch like fire. The recruit gasped, every inch of her skin ablaze with searing heat, her mind fogging over with unbearable numbness. She could feel the magic burrowing into her flesh, stripping away her senses and dulling her thoughts, until everything was distant, far away.
“Anne!” Tamlin’s voice reached her, but it sounded muffled as if he were speaking from the other side of a thick wall.
Her senses faded, her body no longer her own, and for a moment, she floated in the emptiness—disconnected, weightless, lost.
And then, with a sudden flash of light, everything changed.
The basement was gone. The blood, the magic, the horror—it all dissolved in an instant. Anne found herself standing in the courtyard of the orphanage, the familiar stone walls towering above her. The sky was overcast, a soft drizzle falling from the clouds. She blinked, disoriented, trying to make sense of where she was. How had she gotten here? What had happened?
She looked around, her mind struggling to piece together the fragments of her memory, but there was nothing. She was standing here, in the courtyard where she had spent her childhood, but everything else—the events leading up to this moment—were lost.
"Anne?" A soft, trembling voice from behind cut through the air.
She turned, startled, and saw a woman running toward her. The woman was beautiful in a way that seemed almost unreal—blonde hair cascading in a long, thick braid, her face delicate but lined with age, dressed simply in a clean, modest gown. Her green eyes were wide, filled with an overwhelming sorrow that made Anne’s heart stutter.
The woman reached her, arms outstretched, and without hesitation, she wrapped the recruit in a tight embrace. She stiffened, unsure of what to do. The woman’s touch was warm, her body trembling as she held her close.
“I’m so sorry, my girl,” the woman whispered, her voice breaking as tears spilled down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry for what I did to you. I’ve regretted it every day since. I’ve searched for you everywhere, but I could never find you. Not until now.”
Anne’s mind raced, trying to make sense of what was happening. And yet, in the deepest corners of her heart, something responded to the woman’s touch—a yearning she had buried long ago.
The woman pulled back slightly, her hands cupping Anne’s face, her eyes glistening with tears. “I never wanted to leave you. I never wanted to—” Her voice broke again, and she shook her head, swallowing hard. “They made me give you up. I was so young, so scared. But I’ve never forgiven myself for it. You were my precious baby girl, and I left you.”
Anne stared at her, words caught in her throat. She had never seen her mother—never known her face, her voice, her touch. She had been discarded like waste, tossed into the sewers shortly after she had drawn her first breath. That was the story she had always been told—the harsh reality she had come to accept. And yet, in her dreams, she had imagined this moment so many times. She had pictured her mother exactly like this—beautiful, remorseful, a figure full of love and regret, begging for forgiveness.
“I…” Anne’s voice faltered as her emotions tangled together. “You’re my… mother?”
The woman nodded, her tears flowing freely now. “Yes, baby. I’m your mother. I’ve waited so long to find you, to make things right.” She brushed a strand of hair from Anne’s face, her touch gentle, almost reverent. “I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I had to find you. I had to tell you how sorry I am.”
Anne’s heart soared. Her mother’s arms wrapped around her once again, warm and solid, and for the first time in as long as she could remember, she felt a hint of peace. She didn’t question it, didn’t let doubt creep in—she was simply basking in the embrace she had dreamed of since she was a child.
“Oh, my girl,” her mother murmured, pulling her closer, her voice filled with longing. “Now that we’re finally together again, I want nothing more than to be part of you, to be in your heart. Let me in, Anne. Let me be with you forever.”
The recruit opened her mouth to answer, feeling elated. She would finally have what she had always wanted. But as she took a breath to say yes, a male voice echoed sharply in her mind, cutting through her bliss like a blade.
"Fight!"
The word seemed to pierce through the haze of warmth that surrounded her, striking cold and harsh. Anne blinked, the fog in her mind lifting slightly as if a cold wind had just swept through her. She pulled back from her mother’s arms.
“Fight!” The male voice insisted again, louder this time.
Anne shook her head, trying to clear her mind to make sense of the voice’s warning. She looked up at her mother, who was watching her with an unsettling intensity, her hands coming to rest on Anne’s shoulders a little too tightly.
“What’s wrong, dear?” She asked, her voice honey-sweet but with an edge Anne hadn’t noticed before. “Don’t you want this? Don’t you want us to be together?”
Anne’s heart thudded painfully in her chest, her mind spinning with confusion. She longed for this, didn’t she? Her mother was here, finally, saying everything she had yearned to hear. But that voice—it had cracked something inside her, a jagged fracture in her certainty. The feeling of doubt was spreading—a prickling at the back of her neck—and she couldn’t shake it. And then, out of the corner of her eye, she caught a flicker—a shift in the shadows, subtle but unmistakable. The edges of the courtyard seemed to waver, like a mirage, as though the world around her wasn’t entirely solid. Her pulse quickened, a cold sweat breaking out across her skin. Anne pulled back, stepping out of her mother’s hold, her gaze sharpening as she looked around. This wasn’t right.
“My girl,” the woman’s voice took on a sharper edge. “Just say yes.”
"Fight!" The voice in her head thundered, louder than ever.
Anne took a closer look at the woman before her, every feature so painfully precise. Suddenly her image faltered, just for a heartbeat, and in that brief lapse, Anne glimpsed something unnatural in the perfection of her face—a subtle distortion twisting beneath the surface.
“Who are you?” Anne demanded, fists clenched as she took a step back, steadying herself against the rush of dread. “What is this?”
“Daughter, please,” the woman implored, reaching out, desperation gleaming in her eyes. But Anne swung her arm free, wrenching herself from the figure’s grasp, defiance flaring within her as she stood her ground.
Her mother’s face twisted, the soft features contorting and warping. Her beautiful, kind eyes flared with a dark fire, her lips curling back in a snarl as horns erupted from her head, curving around a crown of purple fire that replaced her hair. Her gown dissolved into skin that was thick and gray, her arms extending into clawed hands that seemed to glisten with a deadly sharpness. She was magnificent and monstrous, her bare chest heaving with fury, her eyes piercing through Anne like a blade.
“So, you resist,” the Desire demon hissed. “If you don’t let me in willingly, I’ll carve my place inside you.”
Before Anne could react, the demon lunged at her, its claws slashing through the air with terrifying speed. The young woman barely dodged the first strike, stumbling back, her heart pounding in her chest. She tried to fight, swinging her fists in a wild attempt to fend off the demon. But she was no match.
The monster moved with unnatural speed, dodging the recruit’s desperate blows effortlessly. Her claws raked across Anne’s side, tearing through flesh, and a cry of pain tore from her throat. Blood sprayed from the deep gashes, and she staggered, clutching her side, her vision blurring with agony.
The demon laughed, circling her prey with gleeful malice. “Is that all you’ve got, little girl?” it hissed, licking its lips. "So weak… so breakable.”
Anne gritted her teeth, her blood-soaked hands trembling as she tried to fight back the overwhelming pain. She swung again, but the demon was faster, sidestepping with ease before striking with its claws, this time tearing into her shoulder. The young woman screamed, the force of the blow sending her crashing to the ground.
She could feel the warmth of her blood pooling beneath her back, her body weakening with every passing second. She tried to push herself up, but her limbs felt heavy, her strength draining fast.
The foul creature loomed above her now, an infernal light dancing in its eyes as it straddled Anne, pinning her down. With one swift, horrific motion, it plunged its claws into the recruit’s chest, and Anne gasped, her body wracked with agony as the demon dug deeper, clawing at her ribs, searching for her heart.
Anne’s vision began to darken, her breaths slowing as the pain numbed, and she felt herself drifting toward the edge of consciousness. But just as her vision began to fade, a sudden brilliance erupted above her, blinding in its purity.
A sword, radiant and gleaming, descended from above to slice clean through the demon's head. The creature’s eyes widened in shock, its snarl frozen on its face as its head split in two. The monster dissipated into a cloud of dark mist, swirling and vanishing into nothingness.
Anne lay there, under the gray sky, her body still, her breath faint as she blinked against the blinding light above her. Slowly, her bleary vision cleared just enough to see the figure that stood over her, glowing from within, its form majestic and unyielding. It was a Templar, clad in shimmering, ethereal armor, the contours of his helmet obscuring his face, yet the light that radiated from him was both fierce and gentle.
The Knight kneeled beside her, and he reached out with one gauntleted hand, placing it over the wounds torn into her chest by the demon’s claws. Golden light spread from his touch, blooming from her heart outward, filling her limbs, and knitting together the shredded skin and muscle. Her pain faded, leaving only a profound exhaustion—and something else.
It was a feeling she couldn’t quite name, a sudden urge that burned like embers in her chest: the desire to fight, to stand tall, to prove herself in the fierce, honest clash of battle. She felt a thirst for honor swell within her, a yearning to test her strength against whatever darkness would come for her next.
Still too weak to fully understand, Anne struggled to open her mouth to thank him and to speak to her savior. But as she tried to form words, her voice came out as little more than a bloody, ragged gasp.
The Templar tilted his head. “Peace, child,” he uttered in a commanding tone that rang with familiarity. “For I have found you worthy.”
Anne’s eyes widened in recognition. That voice. It was the same one that had urged her to fight against the demon’s lies.
A fresh wave of light poured over her, so intense and blinding that she had to close her eyes, the brilliance searing against her lids. His voice echoed again, rich and steady, filling her with a strange, holy resolve. “I wish you glorious battles to come,” the Knight intoned, his words reverberating through the darkness like a vow. “Fight with valor!”
Suddenly, the ground vanished beneath her, and she felt herself tumbling into an endless abyss. She fell and fell, weightless and alone in the silence, her consciousness drifting. But just as she thought there would be no end to it, strong hands caught her, interrupting the descent. The grip was firm yet gentle, steadying her.
Barely managing to open her eyes, Anne found herself staring into the face of the most striking man she had ever seen. His features were rugged yet refined, with a strong jawline, high cheekbones, and a hint of scruffy stubble. His short, golden-blond curls caching the dim light in a soft halo. But it was his eyes that held her—warm amber eyes filled with concern, radiating a kindness that softened his otherwise stoic expression.
"Rest easy, recruit. You are safe," he uttered, his voice being that of a glowing Knight who had saved and healed her just moments ago.
Anne blinked, her mind sluggish, still swimming in the remnants of whatever strange magic had filled it. Oh, so that's what he looks like under his helmet, she thought, before exhaustion overcame her. Her strength spent, she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, safe at last in the arms of her protector.