The air in the temple was heavy with the aftermath of violence, an almost suffocating blend of blood, magic, and shattered stone. Tendrils of eldritch energy still pulsed faintly around the edges of the cavernous chamber, whispering dark secrets into the void before fading. The temple's walls, carved with ancient runes of divine protection, had not emerged unscathed. A gaping hole yawned along the eastern wall, a brutal reminder of the clash that had taken place. Moonlight spilled in through the jagged breach, casting the destruction in cold, silver light, while shattered pews and scorched stone littered the once-holy ground.
Near a fractured altar, Erik lay on his back, snoring softly, utterly unaware of the chaos he had wrought. His body, though still, held the residual energy of the battle, a faint, almost imperceptible shimmer rippling along his skin. Beside him, Vesper shifted uneasily. She sat cross-legged, her eyes darting from the sleeping form of Erik to the others gathered in the ruin.
The Red Queen, regal even in exhaustion, leaned against a half-toppled pillar. Her armor, still battered from the fight, glinted under the moonlight, though the exhaustion in her eyes betrayed the toll the encounter had taken. She regarded Vesper with the dispassionate gaze of a judge measuring the worth of a sinner.
Berndhart, silent as a glacier, sat across from them. His massive hands rested on the haft of his axe, the weapon's head buried in the cracked stone floor as though anchoring him to this world. His face, rugged and unreadable, gave nothing away.
Vesper broke the strained silence, her voice cracking ever so slightly. “Your Grace,” she began, her fingers clenching around the strap of her belt. “I’ve told you why I left. I never wanted to abandon the Order-”
The Red Queen’s gaze cut her off, a flicker of disdain in her eyes. “Our vows are not suggestions, Vesper. A paladin’s duty is absolute, unwavering. You knew that, yet you chose your own path.”
Vesper swallowed hard, the guilt plain on her face. “I had no choice. It was my father—”
“I am not interested in your excuses,” the Red Queen said coolly, though something deeper flashed behind her words. Her tone softened, ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly. “Do you think the eldritch beasts care for the reasons we falter? The world is merciless.”
The conversation lapsed into silence and Vesper’s head bowed lower, her resolve cracking under the weight of her past mistakes. She tried to change the subject, her voice a forced brightness. “Berndhart, you’ve hardly spoken. What brought you to Ebonfield’s jungles, of all places?”
Berndhart’s eyes lifted from his axe, glinting with the reflection of firelight. He took a long, slow drink from a leather flask, his silence stretching uncomfortably. Then he offered a small, enigmatic smile. “I was waiting,” he said, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder.
The Red Queen’s eyes narrowed, her interest piqued. “Waiting? In a place overrun by eldritch abominations? Waiting for what?”
Berndhart’s smile didn’t falter, but there was a glint of steel beneath his calm exterior. He took another sip, watching the Red Queen carefully. The stillness of his response only deepened the tension.
The Red Queen’s fingers flexed subtly, the faintest shimmer of divine magic gathering in her palm. She began to weave a spell, something delicate yet probing and invisible, designed to peel back the layers of this enigma who called himself Berndhart. But the moment the spell touched him, the magic fizzled and died, like a match snuffed out by the wind.
Berndhart's smile widened, just a fraction, but enough to show that he had noticed. The Red Queen’s expression froze, pride forcing her to hide the surprise. “Interesting,” she murmured, her voice a forced calm.
Berndhart’s gaze never wavered, as he placed his axe across his legs.
Vesper, desperate to steer the conversation away from confrontation, blurted, “We found him just after we left Ebonfield. Erik and I were traveling to the Paladin Temple when Berndhart... appeared.” Her attempt at sounding casual fell flat, and she winced at how weak it sounded.
The Red Queen tilted her head, her suspicion deepening. “And this axe,” she pressed, her voice low. “It did more than any weapon should. Even now, it carries power. So why is a northern warrior, one who drinks the draughts of vikings, here alone? The people of the far north never travel unaccompanied—unless they raid or die.”
The air thickened with a new tension, and before anyone could respond, the sound of horns cut through the temple, their brassy blast echoing over the broken walls. The High Paladin Ulric had arrived. Heavy footfalls followed, the clink of armor and the collective breath of disciplined soldiers entering the desecrated space.
The High Paladin Ulric entered the desecrated temple throne room like a storm contained within the armor of an ancient warrior. His stride was measured, each step reverberating with the authority of a man who had seen countless battles and borne witness to countless more. His presence was formidable, as if the very earth bowed beneath his boots. His armor, a masterpiece of gleaming silver inlaid with protective runes, shone with the holy light of his faith, yet the gleam did little to soften the weathered lines of his face. His hair, long and streaked with silver, framed eyes that were a piercing blue:sharp, discerning, and unyielding.
A vivid green scar, etched jaggedly from his temple to his jaw, marked him as both survivor and legend, a reminder of the eldritch foe he had faced in his youth. The scar glowed faintly in the moonlight, a testament to the battle he had fought and the power he had overcome but never forgotten. As he approached, the divine aura around him crackled subtly, a shield of light and will honed over decades.
He inclined his head to the Red Queen, the gesture one of respect but also formality, as if acknowledging a peer in bloodshed and sacrifice. “Your Majesty,” he greeted, his voice deep and resonant
His gaze shifted to Erik, lying sprawled and snoring amid the ruins, and his bushy grey brows drew together, casting a shadow of disbelief over his scarred features. “Is this... the demon?” he asked, his voice taut with a mixture of skepticism and grim expectation, as if bracing himself for a revelation he both anticipated and dreaded.
The Red Queen’s eyes lingered on the jagged hole in the wall, a grim reminder of the force unleashed in their clash. “Ulric,” she said, her voice a controlled edge, “I hit him with everything, divine strikes that should have shattered bone and will. Yet he stood, and more than that...”
Her gaze darkened, the memory of Erik’s transformation searing through her mind. “He drew the eldritch energy into himself, not resisting it, but welcoming it. It wrapped around him like a second skin, a power no human should endure, let alone wield. Whatever he is; part demon, part eldritch, or something even darker, it’s only a matter of time before that power consumes him. Or worse... spreads to consume us all. The Red Queen's expression grew more troubled, her voice dropping to a near whisper, as if speaking the truth aloud could make it more real. “And within him,” she added, “an eldritch demon stirs, bound but not broken, whispering through the cracks of his soul. Even now, it watches and waits.”
Erik’s body jerked upright, his limbs moving with unnatural grace as if pulled by invisible strings. His eyes remained closed, his head lolling back continuing to snore, but the demonic mouth twisted open on his hand into a furious sneer, as Eriks demon hand raised up by itself as if Erik was holding onto a ledge dangling unconscious. The sudden movement startled everyone, drawing gasps and weapons half-raised in reflex.
The demon’s voice boomed from Erik’s slack mouth, dripping with righteous offense. “Eldritch demon? Really?” It threw Eriks other hand in the air, as if addressing a crowd of imbeciles, and just as quickly fell back down slapping Eriks thigh uncontrollably. “Oh, how the divine cling to your self-righteous ignorance! ‘See something different? Kill it first, ask questions never!’” The demon made a dramatic gesture, as if mimicking a sermon flailing Eriks other arm all over again. “It’s so typical of your kind. You bash down doors, wave your shiny swords around, and act shocked when things don’t bow to your so-called holy light!”
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Vesper, sitting nearby, didn’t even try to intervene. Her face fell into her hands, shoulders slumping. “We’re doomed,” she muttered, muffled by her palms. “Absolutely doomed.”
The demon wheeled on High Paladin Ulric, Erik’s body moving with unsettling fluidity leaving Eriks hand somewhat pointed at the High Paladin. “And you,” it continued, pointing an accusatory finger at Ulric, “you’re supposed to be wise! A grand High Paladin with a glowing scar and everything, yet here you are, ready to stab first, as if divine revelations are nothing but stage whispers at a bad play.”
The tension in the room ratcheted up as the paladins stared, weapons twitching in confusion and mounting anger. But the demon wasn’t done. It leaned forward, Erik’s body still very much asleep, and scoffed, “I bet your gods barely have time to talk to you, what with all the incessant praying and all that ‘holier-than-thou’ posturing. Maybe, just maybe, they’re tired of you killing things you don’t understand.”
The whole scene hung between absurdity and impending disaster. Vesper slid lower, as if hoping the ground would swallow her. The Red Queen’s eyes narrowed dangerously, but even she seemed caught off guard by the sheer audacity of the outburst.
Erik’s body swayed, arms flailing dramatically. “But sure! Let’s all just smite each other and call it a day! That’s always worked so well in the past!”
The insult struck deep, questioning not only the Commander’s faith but the very essence of his divine mission. The Red Queen stiffened, a ripple of divine energy coiling around her, while the High Paladin Ulric’s face twisted with barely suppressed rage. His hand tightened around his sword.
“That is enough,” he growled, divine light flaring along the blade’s edge. “I will not suffer the mockery of a demon.”
He raised his sword, the air around him shimmering with holy power, preparing to strike. The energy in the room grew suffocating, a collision of divine and demonic forces about to ignite.
But Berndhart stood, his presence suddenly immense, the air around him vibrating with a barely contained power. The ground seemed to hold its breath as he spoke, his voice carrying the weight of ancient promises. “No.”
The room went utterly still, all eyes on the giant Viking. Berndhart’s cloak fell away, revealing a body carved by battle, covered in swirling tattoos that glowed like ice-blue fire. Energy pulsed visibly beneath his skin, an ethereal force unlike anything the paladins had ever seen.
Berndhart raised his head, his gaze like a winter storm. “I have sworn an oath, under the stars and through the ice, that I would protect this man. The great god Njörvind has honored me with this task. Our northern lands are plagued by eldritch invaders, and Erik is the key to saving them. By my ancestors, I will fulfill my duty.”
A tense stillness seized the temple. The Red Queen and High Paladin Ulric exchanged a look, their hands instinctively tightening around their weapons, bracing for the weight of Berndhart’s words and the danger they implied.
Erik’s demon hand groaned, as if the very act of explaining things was a burden it could barely tolerate. “Ugh, he’s right,” it admitted, its tone weighted with reluctant seriousness. “The eldritch plague isn’t just chewing through this world; it’s clawing its way into the demon realms, too. My own brother’s already been swallowed by that nightmare.” The hand paused, as if the admission cost it something, then sighed dramatically. “And I’ll be damned to the light if I let the rest of us get wiped out. This clueless fool I’m stuck to” -the demon gestured with Erik’s limp arm:“is, somehow, crucial to stopping it all.”
The High Paladin Ulric, still gripping his blade, hesitated. Divine light flickered around him as he received a vision, an divine message that only he could hear. His face went pale, and his eyes widened as he lowered his sword.
High Paladin Ulric’s grip on his sword eased, though divine energy still thrummed beneath his skin, a storm barely kept in check. His scar pulsed with an eerie green glow, and his expression shifted from hard skepticism to the weary acceptance of a man who had seen too much and yet must believe once more. He drew a heavy breath, each word weighed down by the gravity of divine intervention.
“A divine decree has been made,” he announced, his voice resonant, each syllable carrying the unyielding will of the divine. His gaze swept over Erik, Berndhart, and Vesper, the burden of what lay ahead evident in the furrow of his brow. “This journey must be undertaken. This man, and those who stand beside him, are bound by fate to cross the sea and face whatever trials await. The path is not a choice; it is a command woven by powers beyond our comprehension.”
Ulric’s eyes held a flicker of both frustration and resignation, as though he struggled to reconcile the impossible with the undeniable, the burden of duty pressing heavily upon his shoulders.
High Paladin Ulric took a resolute step forward, his armored boots echoing through the shattered temple, his presence as unwavering as a mountain. His piercing blue eyes softened as he approached Vesper, who knelt, still bowed low with guilt and uncertainty. The aged paladin reached out, his hand steady despite the divine energy that thrummed through his very bones, and rested his gauntleted palm gently on Vesper’s head.
“By the will of the divine,” Ulric intoned, his voice deep and commanding, yet gentle in this sacred moment. The energy in the room thickened, a palpable weight of holy power gathering, and the air grew rich with the scent of rain-soaked earth and wildflowers. Ulric’s eyes glowed brightly, twin orbs of celestial light, as he channeled the full force of his faith.
A beam of radiant power burst from his hand, shooting skyward through the broken ceiling, carrying with it the sound of celestial trumpets, clear and triumphant. The brilliance enveloped Vesper, bathing her in divine light that shimmered like a dawn breaking over the horizon. The energy swept through the room, a gentle wave that mended cracks in the stone and soothed the wounds of the weary. Heat that had been stifling suddenly cooled, and the oppressive tension gave way to a feeling of serene warmth.
From the fissures in the ground around Vesper’s feet, green shoots emerged, curling upward as if drawn to the very light that blessed her. They unfurled into delicate, emerald leaves, a sign of rebirth and divine favor.
The Red Queen shot to her feet, her eyes blazing with outrage and confusion. “Why?” she demanded, her voice a sharp blade cutting through the stillness. “Why is this power being granted to her? What right does she have to wield the divine?”
The light around Ulric’s eyes dimmed as the celestial energy began to ebb. He lifted his head and turned to the Red Queen, his expression both solemn and unyielding. “Ask your guardian,” he replied, his voice carrying a cryptic finality that seemed to echo through the hallowed walls.
Then, with the decree still hanging in the air, High Paladin Ulric turned to Ardric, the Commander Trainer who had watched everything in silent awe. “Commander Ardric,” Ulric commanded, his voice brooking no argument, “take these three and a tasking of paladins to the sea port at dawn. There will be many ships, but seek the one adorned with a mermaid who sings, carved into the prow. The divine decree has been made. This journey must be undertaken.”
Ardric saluted sharply, though the bewilderment in his eyes was clear. Yet, as a man of duty, he would obey, for the will of the divine was absolute.
Erik’s body wavered, the energy that had lifted him now gently lowering him back to the ground. His limbs slackened, and the demon hand made a show of stretching, its twisted mouth forming a wide, exaggerated yawn. “Well, this drama is getting real old,” it muttered, sounding almost bored. “I’m off to take a nap now. Try not to get killed, will you?” The demon’s voice faded as Erik’s body went completely limp, his breathing deep and steady as if he had drifted back into a peaceful sleep.
Berndhart, ever watchful, stepped over and knelt beside Erik. He pulled his thick, fur-lined cloak from the ground and carefully draped it over Erik, shielding him from the night air that had begun to creep into the temple ruins. With a heavy sigh, Berndhart rose, the weight of his silent duty evident in the lines of his face. Without a word, he turned and walked toward the temple’s broken archway, heading back to where they had camped before this whole ordeal had begun, many long weeks ago.
Vesper lingered, her heart pounding with a mixture of awe and confusion. She could still feel the lingering warmth of the divine light within her, as if it had left an imprint on her very soul. But her newfound sense of hope was short-lived as she heard the Red Queen’s armored footsteps approach. The older woman’s expression was a storm of emotions: suspicion, dismay, and something harder to place.
“This changes nothing,” the Red Queen declared, her voice cold and clipped. She glared down at Vesper, a hint of frustration in her eyes. “Being touched by divine light does not make you a paladin. That honor is earned only when you complete your training, and I don’t believe you have what it takes.”
Vesper swallowed, her throat tight. The divine power she had felt moments ago was still coursing through her body as she looked up at the Red Queen, trying to stand taller even as her knees felt weak.
The Red Queen’s eyes softened, just a fraction, but her words cut nonetheless. “To become a true paladin, you would have to give up everything—your family, your home, all for a higher purpose.” Her gaze flickered, almost thoughtful. “You have given nothing… and I wonder if you even understand the true cost of what his been bestowed onto.”
Vesper’s heart twisted as she absorbed the meaning behind the Red Queen’s words. The duty she had once abandoned for the sake of her family now pulled her in two directions: the call of her old vows and the undeniable fact that her purpose might already be set before her, bound to Erik and the journey that lay ahead. Conflicted and uncertain, she stood in the ruins of her past and the shadow of her possible future, unsure which path she would be strong enough to follow.