Ismeth and Brad elected to descend from the western peak on foot this time, preferring to stay above ground and bask in the security of fresh air. Ismeth's unwavering declaration to never set foot in caves again weighed heavily on their decision. The sky was a vast expanse of oppressive clouds, blocking out all but the faintest rays of light. The rain fell in sporadic torrents, and the air was biting cold. The rocky terrain was slick with moisture. Although it had seen little use in over three centuries, a path once existed that facilitated the ascent and descent from the dark tower. Brad, who led the way like a skilled ranger during their descent, was taken aback by the absence of treacherous dead ends or traps that would have tested Ismeth's mountaineering prowess. Every step was taken with extreme caution, anticipating any potential pitfalls.

The bewildered knight considered that he had made an erroneous decision by forgoing the cave route to reach the top of the mountain, but then he realized that it might have been the hand of fate at play. For if he had not chanced upon the bodiless captive and the mist elf, he would be clueless as to what the sorceress had filched from the trunk. And alas, he wouldn't be lugging the weight on his shoulders nor would be tormented by the notion of halting Charlotta by any means necessary. A seemingly unimportant choice of path had steered him toward an entirely different destiny. He ruminated on how to surmount the problem that he couldn't disregard.

Ismeth maintained a stoic demeanor until they arrived at the settlement on the plateau, devoting himself to the descent. His silence was partly due to the lingering effects of the magical trap, but it was his partner's lack of speech that truly concerned him. Despite badgering Brad repeatedly to tell the story during a brief respite in the settlement, Ismeth received only silence in return.

By the time they had made it down the mountain and reached the stables where their steeds were kept, Ismeth was boiling with fury. He swore a solemn oath that he would not budge from that spot until he had wrung a satisfactory answer from his partner. As Brad prepared to mount his horse, Ismeth seized his shoulder with an iron grip and gave him a hard shake, articulating his vow in a seething tone;

"Spit it out, partner," Ismeth growled, his tone seething with fury as they faced off against each other. "Either you divulge the entire tale, or our partnership comes to an abrupt end," he snarled.

"What in the nine hells are you on about, Ismeth?" Brad hollered back, shoving his comrade aside. "This matter is none of your concern. I'm bound for Barnachia to rectify the issue before it snowballs into something worse."

Ismeth staggered backwards before barreling towards Brad, demanding in a thunderous voice, "Where the devil are you going, you bloody lunatic?"

"I cannot involve you in this affair, Ismeth. It's better if you keep out of it," Brad shoved Ismeth away again.

"What affair? What trouble? For pity's sake, enlighten me so I can be of aid. Perhaps I could lend you some counsel," Ismeth persisted, closing the distance between them.

"It's safer if you remain ignorant, Ismeth."

"Why on earth not, friend? Share a morsel of information so I can grasp the situation," Ismeth insisted.

"The sorceress has wrought something perilous, and I must act posthaste to rectify it."

"You shan't mount that horse, friend. No, this won't stand. You'll tell me the entire tale this instant!" Ismeth barked, lunging towards Brad once more and shoving him forcefully.

Brad's attempt to mount his horse ended in a painful mishap when he slammed his head against the saddle. The searing pain made him see red as he turned and threw a furious punch at Ismeth. But the dark-skinned knight saw it coming and deftly dodged it, sweeping Brad's feet from under him with a swift and forceful move. Brad tumbled backward, his backside hitting the mud with a squelching thud, while Ismeth pounced on him, raining down two blows in quick succession. The sight of blood oozing from Brad's mouth made Ismeth stop abruptly, his hands now open in remorse.

Spitting out the metallic taste of blood, Brad delivered a brutal uppercut to Ismeth's jaw, which was now slack from the relief of letting down his guard. Ismeth went flying backward, his body crashing into a pool of muddy water. He clutched his jaw, which was pulsing with a sharp pain, and groaned in agony. Brad got up, charged at Ismeth, and grabbed him by the neck, squeezing tightly with both hands.

"You were never one of us," Ismeth gasped, his battered face contorted in agony, his eyes bloodshot and bruised.

Brad seethed with anger upon hearing Ismeth's words. But when he noticed Ismeth struggling to catch his breath, he relaxed his grip just in time. "I'm no highborn fool!" Brad bellowed, jumping to his feet.

"That's irrelevant," Ismeth countered. "You've been bred among them, haven't you? Illuen The Commander grew up among savage Northerners, there he learned that brotherhood comes before honor. You may have memorized every word the commander has spoken, but you're clueless about what he meant. You're nothing more than a pampered lapdog, just like those noble canines."

Brad shook his head incredulously.

"Do you truly aspire to become a knight?" Ismeth asked.

Brad stared at him blankly.

"Why do you think they paired me with you and that fool Derek with Elphered?" Ismeth continued. "Because they thought you two understood the heart of this calling. They believed you could teach. But they were wrong. You haven't learned a thing. You're just reciting hollow phrases from memory. I've got your back, mate. Eat whatever shit you like. Leave if you must. I'll cover your arse, even serve your time in prison if necessary. But if you don't share with me, how can I perform my duties properly? How can I be a shield to your sword? Become a true knight or quit this job this instant."

Brad, on the brink of losing control, collapsed onto the muddy ground, his rage causing him to tremble like a leaf. The events of the past two days clouded his mind, preventing him from thinking clearly.

His comrade was not wrong in one respect. If he were to depart at this moment, he would place himself and his comrade in a most precarious predicament. Abandonment of a comrade, under the rules of chivalry, presuming his partner was not a turncoat, was an unpardonable offense. This principle of brotherhood lay at the foundation of the entire system of chivalry.

The duos designated as "Sword and Shield" underwent rigorous training and practical exercises. During the course of their candidacy, they were paired up to form squads of ten known as "Winged Swords," which comprised the primary assault units of the army. These winged swords combined to create larger units of one hundred soldiers designated as "Charging Swords," the chief offensive groups in a battle. In this way, the basic structure of the army was established. The most seasoned soldiers were placed in the thousand-man units stationed in the heart of the fray, referred to as "Unbreakable Swords." When they numbered ten thousand, they were known as "United Swords," and should they, on rare occasions, reach one hundred thousand, they were designated as "Invincible Swords."

Brad muttered under his breath, "I must convey this news to Lady Illaine."

"No worries, we can manage that, it's effortless. But first, tell me everything about these occurrences," Ismeth encouraged him, massaging his throbbing jaw.

Brad meticulously narrated the incidents of the past forty-eight hours, and Ismeth listened calmly and with great patience.

"Alright, I see. Whatever mystical object you mentioned appears perilous. Of course, if you can trust the words of a mist elf," Ismeth remarked.

"That wretched elf spoke the truth, I'm positive."

"But your Charlotta deceived you. That's unequivocal," Ismeth affirmed.

Brad nodded silently.

"Perhaps she had a reason. We shouldn't jump to conclusions. Spellcasters always loathe sharing magical knowledge with warriors. Plus, she left you a letter saying you'll meet in three months. So, she hasn't entirely fled." Ismeth tried to be optimistic.

"I cannot wait for three months, Ismeth. I will exhaust all my connections to locate her because I have an ominous feeling."

"Alright, alright. This is what we'll do," Ismeth began and elucidated his plan.

Brad had finally regained his composure and his wits. The duo mounted their steeds and set out towards the South Forward Outpost. But before that, they stopped by the Charlatan's Inn and found the miner dwarves. There, they informed Charagast, the leader of the dwarven mining party, that they were seeking a messenger. Upon Charagast's endorsement and counsel, they handed a few silver coins to Camill Berthans, the dwarves' human assistant, and instructed him to dispatch Brad's letter immediately to the Orion Temple.

When they reported to the commander, Brad remained silent. As anticipated, the interrogation wasn't too intense. Captain Stonecold was content because the orcs, ogre, and bandits had been vanquished. The pathfinder Middleton had already been transported to Barnachia, and he was recovering well. Although the commander was slightly annoyed with Brad due to his soldier's injury, he intriguingly didn't bring up the wizard issue. The duo was stunned but relieved, and resumed their regular duties. The next day, Captain Stonecold summoned Brad for a private meeting, indicating that he might have received the news they were anticipating.

"Enter, Silverhilt," the commander said, his face turned towards the window as always. Brad strode to the center of the room and saluted. The captain's bushy eyebrows were knit, his countenance dimly reflected through the pane.

"I received an unforeseen missive today, Silverhilt. A request for transfer from an unanticipated source. Are you familiar with the matter?"

"A transfer request, sir? I don't follow."

"The Orion Temple has besought your temporary assignment under their aegis, and it bears the signature of High Priestess Lady Illaine herself. Thus, let me be plain: this request carries the force of a command."

Brad marshaled his thoughts, which he had previously prepared with Ismeth, and responded, "Sir, Lady Illaine charged me with reporting to her should I chance upon any oddities in these mountains prior to her arrival. I surmise the letter pertains to that. However, I'm at a loss as to why they've summoned me. I only mentioned a tunnel in the mountains that necessitated scrutiny."

The commander wheeled about on his heel and leveled a stern gaze at Brad.

"Thoroughly I investigated," said Captain Stonecold with a stern gaze fixed on Brad. "It appears that once upon a time, you were a candidate for the noble order of temple knights. But for reasons unknown, you failed to make the final cut." The captain paused, as if to give Brad a chance to object, before continuing. "Or perhaps you resigned. Either way, it's apparent, Silverhilt, that you haven't completely severed ties with the temple knights."

With a few tense strides, the captain closed the distance between himself and Brad. He was a good two inches shorter than Brad. In the cold room, the captain's angry breaths billowed a mist on Brad's chest and neck.

"Now make a decision, Silverhilt. Are you a knight or not?"

"I'm afraid I don't understand your question, sir. I took an oath to become an Illuen Knight and to defend the united people of Illuthar with honor and dignity."

"So then, you didn't make any special request to be called upon by the Orion Temple for this mission?"

"No, sir. I must apologize for sending the letter without informing you, but I made no request to be called upon. I only mentioned my location at the South Forward Outpost if they wished to take my statement regarding the matter."

Brad was drenched in sweat, his mind racing. If Ismeth were here, would he be proud of Brad's answers, or would he be amused by his anxiety? Ismeth had spent the entire night preparing him for this interrogation. The captain's gaze softened a bit upon hearing Brad's apology, and Brad felt certain that he had won his trust.

"Regrettably, our hands are tied, and there is no choice but for you to depart. This order emanates from none other than the esteemed High Priestess Lady Illaine, who holds the highest rank in our chain of command. While I'm not thrilled by this development, I must send both you and Ismeth on this mission. However, do not be overly zealous. Deliver your statement and return promptly. You have my permission to be gone for no more than four days."

Brad made a weak protest, "Ismeth can remain here, sir..."

The man's gaze sharpened. "What value does a sword hold without a shield?" he barked, like a hardened drill sergeant, jumping onto his toes and spitting in Brad's face while shouting.

Brad retorted, drawing from his training, "Not more than a fish out of water."

"Very well, set out on the road at once. If you're not in the courtyard by the dawn of the fifth day, at the first count..." Captain Stonecold trailed off deliberately.

"As you command, sir," Brad saluted crisply and left the room, hastening to find Ismeth, who was eagerly waiting for him in the courtyard.

"So, what's the plan?" Ismeth inquired.

"Pack your belongings. We're headed to Barnachia," Brad replied with a sly grin.Ismeth, who had just noticed the captain watching them from the window, clenched his teeth to contain his exultation. They had been stationed there for almost two months, and the prospect of returning to Barnachia, the land of the finest taverns and bawdy houses beyond Smyrnia, was nothing short of exhilarating for him. Or so he thought.

The duo hastily gathered their belongings and embarked on their journey on horseback, a trek that would last just over half a day but hiding a pinpoint that would change their fates forever.

Brad offered a curt apology for the altercation that had transpired between them in Ismeth, but Ismeth was renowned for his unflappable demeanor and brushed it off with a laugh. Despite the fact that his swollen jaw still throbbed and he harbored some resentment towards his partner, he swiftly steered the conversation elsewhere. The prospect of traveling to the capital had put him in high spirits, and he regaled Brad with tales of the inns and houses of ill repute they would encounter on their journey.

Meanwhile, Brad mulled over how much of their adventure he should divulge to Lady Illaine, the esteemed High Priestess of the Orion Temple. His most pressing concern, however, was whether he would cross paths with Charlotta again and how he should conduct himself if he did. Was the enigmatic sorceress to be trusted as a friend or regarded with suspicion as a foe?

* * *

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, the King's Pit, the pulsing heart of Barnachia, a city of seven undulating hills, unfurled before them in a breathtaking display of grandeur. Street lamps flickered to life, casting a warm glow over the cobblestone streets.

As they traversed the bridges spanning the winding Chan River, the first sight to greet them was the Nine Immortals Square. The square was adorned with life-sized statues of the kingdom's illustrious founders, immortalized in stone for all time. Continuing on, they passed the Great City Library, a repository of ancient knowledge dating back over a millennium.

After climbing the steep slopes of the Nine Principles Hill, they caught a glimpse of the towering Mountain Fortress, a formidable edifice with outstretched arms, looming in the distance like a colossal, fabled giant. The Lion Road beckoned, its path illuminated by torches, casting a flickering light that shone like stars in the inky blackness of night. Finally, they turned towards the east.

Their route led them through the southern part of the city, where the Chan River cleaved the two halves, flowing from the craggy peaks of the Cahandor Mountains. This area, known as South Barnachia, was characterized by its quieter pace of life and sparse population when compared to North Barnachia. Four lofty hills, dedicated to the Element Gods, stood like a sentinel in a graceful semicircle, their broad shoulders sweeping down towards the heart of the city.

Here, perched atop each of the hills, were the ancient temples of Od (fire), Aver (air), Mai (water), and Gai (earth), structures steeped in history and considered sacred by the city's inhabitants for generations. Brad, an orphan who grew up in Barnachia, suddenly realized that he had never before visited these holy shrines.

The duo's objective was very close to the King's Pit, which lay in the northern precinct of the city, ensconced amid three hills that flanked the northwest and eastern parts of town. Atop the peaks of these hills, three grand temples were erected more than a millennium past in tribute to three celestial deities. The northern temple was consecrated to the God of Equilibrium, Demian; the western temple was consecrated to the God of Darkness, Therion; and the eastern temple was consecrated to the God of Radiance, Orion.

The Dwarves, once revered guardians of these ancient lands, had reverently bestowed upon these magnificent peaks names that resonated with their profound ancestral legacy. By invoking the sacred names of Dem-Han, Ther-Han, and Or-Han, they paid homage to the three gods. According to the sacred chronicles inscribed in the revered tomes of Dwarven lore, these sacred sanctuaries were meticulously crafted by the deft hands of nine indomitable Dwarf stone artisans, who emerged unscathed from the cataclysm that rent the realm asunder a millennium and a half in the past. When Humankind claimed dominion over these cherished lands, they christened the structures anew, bequeathing upon them their own designations: the Gray Fortress, the Dark Fortress, and the White Fortress, each appellation a testament to the chromatic tapestry of the stones hewn with unwavering resolve.

Under the cover of night, the duo arrived at the foothills of Or-Han Hill, situated to the east of King's Pit. They entrusted their steeds to the grooms stationed at the entrance of the settlement and ascended the winding road that led up the hill, their steps accompanied by a youthful Orion priest.

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

As they progressed up the Nine King Road, they encountered a sequence of magnificent entrances, each granting access to a different royal tomb. Each of the tombs had been carved into the rock face and faced a different direction, their grandeur a testament to the splendor of the kings that had been interred there. According to the historical records of Barnachia, there were nine such sacred mausoleums, each honoring a great king from a different era dating back to over 1500 years ago.

The tombs themselves were a sight to behold, containing sarcophagi, catafalques, altars, statues, and a labyrinthine network of interconnected tunnels that extended deep into the heart of the hill. Although the ground floor of the first tomb was accessible, the deeper levels were sealed with powerful sacred spells by the priests. Even Brad, who had spent over two years on the hill, did not know why access to the tunnels was forbidden.

Whispers had circulated that there were underground tunnels that connected the ancient cisterns situated at the base of each of the seven hills, leading to a century-old water and waste system that lay hidden beneath the ground upon which King's Pit was built. But as to the veracity of such rumors, none could say for certain.

In the span of half an hour, they ascended to the summit. The settlement sprawled out in a flat expanse, encircling the hallowed temple in its midst, and resembled a labyrinth when seen from above, with two-story L-shaped edifices forming its walls. The outer perimeters of the buildings were ensconced by a thicket of gnarled and crooked poplar trees, which stooped and swayed incessantly under the unrelenting dominion of the fierce wind that reigned over the peak.

As they strode through the corridor formed by the buildings and the woodland that muffled the tumultuous roar of the tempest, their tresses were thrown into disarray by the billowing gusts until they arrived at the hoary temple. The weeping cherub statue, positioned in front of the ancient temple, perpetually dribbled tears into the pool below, much to Ismeth's astonishment, who watched in wonder as the water flowed.

He turned to Brad, whose demeanor was somber and tense, surmising that his companion was perhaps conjuring up old recollections. Ismeth gritted his teeth and held his tongue, refusing to break the silence that had enveloped them.

"Wait here," Orion Priest Pedras spoke to Ismeth with reverence. "Lady Illaine has requested a private audience with Knight Silverhilt. "

With a nod of acknowledgment, Ismeth paid his respects to the priest and retreated, casting pebbles into the pool as a means of occupying himself.

The grandiose double-winged entrance of the ancient Orion Temple, embellished with the emblem of Orion, creaked open and the priest led the way while Brad followed, taking measured and reverential steps. The unassuming, single-level temple boasted a lofty dome ceiling and was bereft of windows. The dimly lit space was illuminated by the candles that adorned the niches on the walls, casting a muted glow. The interior comprised a semicircular arrangement of seating and a colossal three-dimensional altar depicting the Orion symbol, with a sphere and an elongated sword piercing through it.

Whenever Brad caught sight of the statue of Athellas, brought to his knees with a sorrowful countenance due to the agony of the sword impaling his back, he couldn't help but shiver. Having been raised as an orphan under the protection of the Orion Temple, Brad had frequented the temple in his youth, where he would envision the colossal figure that bore the entire cosmos on its back. Even imagining Athellas, depicted in a hue that stretched beyond the clouds in the sky, seemed peculiar.

The knight candidate raised his gaze to the magnificent and potent angelic depictions adorning the dome ceiling. The torches held by the angels flickered in varying shades of yellow and red, while the sinister eyes of the dark horned beasts lurking in the distant and obscured shadows glittered malevolently, imparting vivacity to the artwork. In the epic battleground illustrating the clash between the two opposing powers of heaven and hell, seven silhouettes, representing all of the gods, stood right in the center.

Lady Illaine, the High Priestess, sat solemnly on the bench directly facing the statue. Within the temple walls, she was the sole occupant. Priest Pedras saluted the woman with the traditional Orion gesture and quietly exited, but the sounds of his footsteps and the closing of the door reverberated through Brad's sensitive ears, causing him to involuntarily scowl.

"What ails you, my erstwhile student? Aren't you overjoyed to see me?" queried the elegant and dignified woman, with her snow-white hair and piercing blue eyes, still radiating a singular charm and allure, her smile causing age-lines to etch deeply in her sunken cheeks.

Quietly studying her features, Brad once again observed the striking resemblance between her and Illuen -referred to by the populace as the King- whom every knight addressed as the Head Commander. Despite the mere five-year gap between Illaine and her brother Illuen, the arduous and brutal years had exacted their toll on the wise woman.

With an unnamed feeling of empathy, Brad could feel the weight of her suffering deeply, whenever he gazed upon her, recognizing the signs of her fatigue and the steadfast spirit that kept her going.

Brad bent in respectful deference before the wise woman. "Encountering you again, High Priestess, is a moment of grandeur for me. However, the memories that this sacred temple evokes appear to resound in my spirit."

"Are you certain they don't echo something that has been ingrained within you for eons?" queried the sagacious woman.

Brad glanced at her with inquisitive eyes.

"As much as you can glimpse me, I can discern you, Brad Silverhilt. Your essence has truly transformed. A gravity seems to have enshrouded your countenance."

"Is it a positive or negative alteration, my lady?"

"If the quandaries in your thoughts persist like a phantom, what course shall you pursue, Brad Silverhilt?"

"I shall face them head-on," Brad answered without hesitation.

The hoary woman nodded subtly and signaled Brad to take a seat by her side.

Brad's body tensed, and he nodded his head in acknowledgment.

"You are well-versed in our teachings and have received extensive training for this very moment. But have you ever experienced the need?" Lady Illaine inquired, her voice carrying a hint of melancholy.

Brad replied with a question, as if intentionally avoiding a direct response. "The need for what, my lady?"

A wistful smile graced the High Priestess's lips as she spoke in a barely audible voice. "You will understand when the need arises. But let us move on to our agenda, as we have reminisced enough about the old days. So, tell me, why are we here?"

"As I reported in my letter, High Priestess, I fear that a valuable magical artifact may have fallen into the wrong hands," Brad replied, his tone tinged with embarrassment.

"The intentions of the person who wields the object are what matter most. Are you certain that this wizard possesses ill intentions?" Lady Illaine queried.

"I cannot be certain. Yet, my instincts urge me not to dismiss the matter," Brad answered.

"You and your instincts," Lady Illaine chuckled, amusement lighting up her features.

"I offer my sincerest apologies for my previous actions, my lady. I fear I had overstepped my bounds," Brad said contritely.

The high priestess halted the knight-in-training's attempt to explain by raising her hand. "Who has ever been able to exceed expectations without surpassing their limits?" She regarded Brad with a motherly gaze, as though he were her own kin, and continued, "You need not apologize for following your heart, Brad Silverhilt. Our souls are the only things that make us unique. We possess nothing else. It is our choice whether to defile or glorify them. Our sole purpose is to reinforce our souls and prepare for the adversities that lie ahead, both in this world and beyond. Our physical bodies are but fleeting vessels."

Brad reluctantly nodded his head. The high priestess let out a deep sigh.

"I understand that these spiritual truisms may be wearisome, but the hardships you have encountered are mere breadcrumbs leading you back to the most challenging inquiries. You continue to seek answers within the depths of your psyche," Lady Illaine spoke and fell silent.

"How shall I uncover that answer?" Brad asked with a hint of confusion.

"By posing the correct questions, but not to me, naturally," the high priestess replied with a chuckle. "My replies to your inquiries always appear to you enigmatic. Therefore, let us simplify the query. What is your desire, Brad Silverhilt?"

"As an aspirant of knighthood, I seek to be of service, my lady."

"Are you truly determined to become a knight, Brad Silverhilt?"

"Undoubtedly, my lady. I have devoted myself to this path, and I am confident in my choice. However..."

"What is the issue?"

"I yearn to participate in the task I spoke of earlier."

"Why? Why this specific task, Brad? We could offer you other tasks."

"I hold the belief that this task is of great significance, and I feel as though it is intertwined with my fate," Brad confessed, flushing with embarrassment. Asking for the High Priestess's assistance was no easy feat for him.

Lady Illaine offered a smile. "You needn't explain everything, Brad. I cannot demand a compelling reason when you do not yet know the answer yourself. However, your words suffice to proceed."

Brad regarded her with surprise. "So, I am to be included?"

The High Priestess nodded in affirmation.

"How about my partner?" Brad inquired. "Furthermore, our commander, Captain Stonecold, only granted us a maximum of four days off."

"Those are insignificant details, Brad. All obstacles can be overcome. What matters most is whether you are wholeheartedly committed to this venture. I have received my answer. The remainder is just bureaucratic formalities. Particularly with Stonecold's prominent nose, I am certain that we will find an excellent solution," Lady Illiane replied, her laughter resounding throughout the room—a rare occurrence.

As the door opened, Brad turned his head involuntarily. A towering wizard entered the room, wearing an azure robe embroidered with stars. Brad recognized him immediately.

"Greetings, esteemed Archmage Meracles. We have been awaiting your arrival," the high priestess welcomed the wizard, saluting him without turning around.

Brad rose from his seat and respectfully greeted the wizard, mindful that he was in the presence of the greatest wizard in the United Illuthar Kingdom.

"Share the entire tale with the venerable archmage as well, Brad Silverhilt," declared the high priestess, rising to her feet. As the other two conversed, she strolled through the temple, occasionally gazing up at the painting on the ceiling, lost in profound contemplation.

"I'm afraid the name Charlotta doesn't ring a bell, my dear Knight Aspirant," said the Archmage Meracles, his pointed beard swaying as he shook his head. "She may not be one of the Orion Wizards, but rest assured that I know every wizard registered in our guild. We take great pride in keeping a close eye on our brethren's comings and goings," commented Meracles. He paused, his eyes narrowing as he listened to the Knight Aspirant's report for further details.

"We already checked the area. Sadly, Charlman is dead and the fog elf is missing. A powerful soul cage spell has been cast, and a rare magical trap belonging to the Ancient Pharrah Civilization has been triggered. These are ominous signs, indeed." Meracles said, stroking his beard again as he delved deep into thought.

"Based on what you've told me, my dear Knight Aspirant, I suspect that the prisoned incorporeal you faced is a strong psychic. They possess a rare gift that sets them apart from other wizards, a gift that cannot be taught or learned in any guild or school. It is a mystical power that lies dormant within them from birth, waiting to be unleashed." Meracles took a deep breath before continuing;

"Psychic masters are elusive and mysterious, hiding their powers from the world, and only a lucky few find a mentor to guide them. Sadly, most are crushed under the weight of their own abilities, going mad or dying before they can reach their full potential."

He fixed Brad with a piercing gaze.

"But what puzzles me, my dear Knight Aspirant. How did you survive those mind attacks? It takes a strong will and an even stronger mind to resist such assaults. Do you have a secret, I wonder?"

Brad's voice caught in his throat as he spoke. "Esteemed Archmage, I believe this medallion has had an impact," he said, drawing forth the medallion from beneath his shirt.

The Archmage's thick, arched eyebrows knit together as he turned his piercing gaze to Lady Illaine. The silvery-haired woman simply smiled.

"The Eye of Orion. I believed it was your personal artifact, Lady Illaine?" the Archmage Meracles inquired.

"I have grown too old for adventures, my dear friend. That is why I have entrusted it to a more youthful individual," she replied.

"Is a knight aspirant a wise choice?"

"The medallion chooses its bearer, and it matches their efforts. Brad Silverhilt has proven to be a fitting candidate."

The wizard nodded in disapproval but refrained from arguing more.

"I wish to return the medallion to you, Lady Illaine," Brad said, endeavoring to remove the medallion from around his neck. The elderly woman extended her hands, halting him.

"The medallion has chosen you, Brad Silverhilt. We must respect its decision."

Brad shrugged and tucked the medallion back into his shirt.

"Very well. The Great Scholar David Cantorean alone could possess more knowledge on this matter. That is all I can say. I cannot even speak with him, Lady Illaine. You know he harbors no fondness for me," Meracles spoke with a bow before departing from the room.

"It's not that he dislikes you, truly. Master David simply has no liking for wizards who devote themselves to the great gods. That's all," replied the high priestess.

"He does not seem to favor the priests either," commented Meracles as he strode towards the door.

"Then we shall send Brad Silverhilt," suggested Lady Illaine.

"A splendid choice," Meracles said with a cutting gaze towards the knight before exiting.

Brad looked at Lady Illaine with a puzzled expression, as he failed to comprehend their exchange. "Who is Master David?" he asked naively.

Lady Illaine furrowed her brow and smiled at Brad, her gaze deep and wise. "Master David Cantorean is a scholar of great renown. He is as testy as he is knowledgeable, and like any other venerable old wizard, he is not easily matched. One cannot live with them, nor can one live without them," she said, her voice tinged with a hint of humor.

"But why does he not like wizards who dedicate themselves to the great gods?" Brad asked wonderingly.

"Because Master David is a man who values knowledge above all else, and he sees the gods as a hindrance to true understanding," Lady Illaine explained patiently. "But enough of that. You and your companion must visit the temple tomorrow, Brad. I shall give you directions."

With a respectful nod, Brad thanked the high priestess and left the chamber, feeling grateful for the wisdom and guidance of the high priestess.

* * *

As Ismeth meandered through the temple grounds, growing weary of his game of skipping stones across the pool, he chanced upon a small square. There, in the center of the meticulously manicured green space filled with vibrant ornamental plants, stood a striking woman. Dressed in cream white and wearing shalwar pants, she boasted a powerful, athletic build like Ismeth's and immediately caught his eye. Unlike the other nuns, she eschewed the full-length robes, an uncommon sight.

"Greetings, fair maiden. Are you, perchance, another artiste visiting these sacred halls, just like me?" he queried, a soft chuckle escaping his lips.

The young woman narrowed her green eyes and fixed him with a stern gaze, refusing to answer.

"Allow me, then, to introduce myself. I am Ismeth Crimsongale, scion of the Five Stones' Fortune Teller Queen, Mama J. My pride swells at my family's heritage, for today, I am a candidate for knighthood, a champion of my free-spirited, wandering gypsy people. Our roots trace back to the nomads of the Barren Lands beyond the Kingdom of Radiant. And you, dear lady, hail from the south, do you not?"

Once again, the young woman shot him an unyielding look, choosing to remain silent.

At that point, a very young girl with radiant yellow tresses and sapphire irises approached Ismeth.

"Her name is Shaela Alchanor. Don't waste your breath, she won't reply. As a candidate for the White Maiden, she has taken a vow of silence," the girl elucidated.

"The White Maiden? What manner of title is that? And what vow of silence?" Ismeth inquired, turning his attention to the girl.

"I am Christine," the little girl introduced herself, offering her hand to him. "One day, I will be a White Maiden as well. That's why I am receiving training in martial arts. A Quanas elf, a monk, is instructing us on the art of exploiting our opponent's strength."

"Is that so? How does one do that?" Ismeth probed.

"Extend your hand, and I shall demonstrate," the girl replied.

Ismeth complied, and the girl skillfully grasped his hand, maneuvering her lithe frame around him as though executing a dance step. Suddenly, she pitched forward, seizing Ismeth by his collar and flipping him over her shoulder onto the ground.

Ismeth's agility and athleticism only served to make the event more theatrical. He guffawed as he tumbled over and landed on the turf. Had Shaela also grinned for a moment as she watched the spectacle unfold, or had Ismeth imagined it? He could not say for certain.

"Damn, sister monk! That little lass hurled me to the ground like an empty sack. Perchance I should consider taking lessons from that monk," Ismeth grumbled while rising from the earth. Christine cackled with mirth, but also with pride.

"I say, when shall this vow of silence instruction conclude? I yearn to make acquaintance with loquacious Shaela," Ismeth queried, glancing once more at the monk.

"Should you visit tomorrow morn, perchance Shaela may offer a reply. Yet she is not among those maidens you would take to dance. She is among the White Maidens who have pledged to safeguard Lady Illaine. Hence, I cannot offer you felicity, knight," Christine retorted.

"Know-it-all brat. Regardless, we shall chat anon later. My fellow Brad has at last emerged," Ismeth muttered, gazing towards the temple gate from afar.

Christine also gazed at the same spot. Suddenly, the girl's animated stare faded akin to a tomb raider beholding a zombie and rapidly retreated in the opposite direction. Though Ismeth could not fathom it, he paid it no heed. "Adieu to thee, Christine!" he bellowed after her.

"Verily, in the eyes of today's young, there remains no reverence for knights, my dear sister of the cloth," joked Ismeth while looking at Shaeala.

He discerned a faint smile on the rigid countenance and lips of the monk woman, who stood like a statue with an impassive visage.

" Farewell, Lady Shaela," Ismeth bade farewell to the monk woman by bowing halfway and darted towards Brad, paying no heed to the approaching Priest Pedras. "Well, my friend, have you given your statement? Are we ready to plunge into the nocturnal revelries of Barnachia?" he inquired.

"Enough with the nonsense, Ismeth. We didn't come here to frolic. We'll revisit the details with Lady Illaine tomorrow morning," Brad replied sharply.

"We would be delighted to have you as our esteemed guests tonight, gallant knights," the priest interposed.

"Be that as it may, the night is long and we are weary. We can venture into the city tomorrow. Besides, the scenery here isn't too shabby," Ismeth sighed, thinking of the lithe monk woman.

Guided by the priest, they made their way to the room they were to occupy. They partook of dinner silently with the returning priests from the evening prayers and retired to their chambers. When each lay in their own bed, Brad, plagued by profound thoughts, muttered:

"Ismeth?"

"Aye."

"Would you accompany me on a perilous mission, should it arise?"

"What manner of question is that, lad? Are we not partners?"

"This is not akin to scaling a mountain, Ismeth. We may have to venture beyond the continent."

"We're not bound for the Mistra Deserts, are we?" Ismeth chortled.

"Wherever the mission leads us, we must follow. Answer me candidly."

For a moment, Ismeth fell silent.

"We swore to one another until death do us part, partner," he declared eventually. Brad knew that although Ismeth spoke in jest, he was in earnest in his heart.

They drifted off to sleep in silence.

The next day, the sky seemed to have rent asunder, and rain poured down relentlessly with a deafening cacophony. The wind had intensified twofold since the previous night. They indulged in a hasty yet traditional priestly breakfast of crusty bread, pungent cheese, and a dash of deep red wine. Despite their haste, they couldn't escape getting completely drenched just a stone's throw away from the main temple. Lady Illaine awaited them inside at the same spot, before the altar of Orion.

"Step in," she beckoned them. Shaeala stood by her side, and Ismeth couldn't have been more delighted.

"You're all set for the ceremony," Lady Illaine said, beaming, as the two knight candidates approached.

Brad looked at her, his expression questioning.

In an instant, the door swung open, and two knights burst in, causing Brad and Ismeth to snap to attention. The white wing motifs on their shoulders indicated that they were the highest-ranked among knights, the esteemed White Knights. Following them was another knight, who entered with a heavy stride, adorned with otherworldly shining armor, his breastplate embossed with a majestic lion figure enclosed by a vibrant rainbow-like arc design.

As the man in his forties strode into the room, Brad made a move to kneel, but a single gesture from the man's hand stayed his action.

Ismeth poked Brad in the side and whispered, "Isn't that him?" Brad confirmed with a nod, and he straightened himself up, drawing his sword from its sheath with a deliberate slowness. He presented himself before the commander with a solemn salute, holding his blade upright against his chest. Ismeth followed suit, emulating his friend's salute with equal reverence.

"Brad Silverhilt and Ismeth Crimsongale. The services you have rendered to the United Illuthar Kingdom have brought us great honor," spoke Illuen D'Harven. As he spoke, his sharp and chiseled facial features were lit up by his deep-set sapphire-blue eyes, which sparkled like jewels in their sockets. His golden tresses, now threaded with strands of white, cascaded in waves from his broad forehead as he smiled with genuine warmth, exuding an air of regal magnificence.

Ismeth gazed at Illuen in wonder, his mouth hanging open, as he saw him up close for the first time. Illuen possessed a unique and enchanting charisma. Brad, who experienced this before, was astounded when he first laid eyes on Illuen two years ago, just like Ismeth. It was as if Illuen hailed from another realm, bringing along with him an aura distinct from this world's, illuminated by its own unique light.

"Our commander, serving our country, is honor enough for us," replied Brad, intentionally taking a moment to respond, giving Ismeth the chance to gather his wits.

"Then, desiring that you may render many more noble services, I, as authorized by our kingdom, do hereby commence the knighthood ceremony."

Brad's legs nearly gave way with excitement, but the dictates of protocol compelled him to kneel, and so he did. He cast a discreet nudge in Ismeth's direction, prompting his partner to regain his composure and kneel alongside him.

Illuen unsheathed his magnificent sword, its hilt adorned with a resplendent rainbow gemstone, and placed it delicately upon Brad's shoulder;

"Be thou a knight, fighting for thy land,

Be thou a knight, living for justice's hand,

Be thou a knight, thy people holiest and true,

Be thou a knight, living with honor anew,

Be a heart that fights alongside thy faithful brother,

Be one with thy sword and shield as together,

Offer thy heart, thy soul, thy very life,

Be a breath, united in the name of Illuthar, in strife."

Without pause, he set his sword upon Ismeth's shoulder and spoke the same resolute words. Brad and Ismeth, brimming with emotion, rose in unison and recited the oath of loyalty that was to follow;

"If there be aught to offer for this great cause,

I proffer my honor on this path without pause,

May the radiant star of Orion be witness to my oath,

By my life and my honor, I swear this binding troth,

In the name of United Illuthar, I shall march,

My sword and shield, with honor, never to arch."

"Welcome to the Illuthar Knighthood, my brothers in arms, united under one banner," greeted Illuen as he saluted the two newly inducted knights with his blade before gracefully exiting the hall. The White Knights followed his lead, moving in unison with military precision.