Once, beneath a sky that cycled evenly between night and day, within a valley untouched by the mists of lost souls or the scourge of undead, sat the town of D’lorn. A lively place, with a river of crystine water that dripped from its northern mountains and a great mansion that crested its highest point. Each morning, house wives would do their laundry by the river streams, well worn tunics and beige gowns. And each, their gossipy chatter, or the laughter of children not far off, would coast a languid breeze to those mansion’s doors. By noon, the gruffer laughter of their husbands and the other adventurers could be heard, filtered through songs of cicadas and birds.

“Ahh~ and this, my son, is the peace we fight to protect.”

The man who’d spoken had a hulking presence. A magnificent mane of red hair flew his scalp and he stood in the mansion’s foyer, both hands on his hips as he faced the winds through doors swung open. “You see, son,” he continued, “Those born to a higher station. Those born with power, we have a duty to protect–”

“Lionheart… my lord…” A nursemaid stood prim and respectful behind him, “I’m afraid he’s no longer listening.”

“Oh.”

The son the man had addressed so endearingly had not been listening from the start. He crawled on four legs across the carpeted room to a display case against the far wall. Blanketed in clear glass, it was rectangular in shape and tall as the hulking man himself. The toddler’s grubby hand barely touched an eighth of the display’s height, small as he was.

But small or not, there was something special there. A transformative spark that could herald an end to this spiral. A light in the boy’s eyes, when he first looked upon the armor.

The nursemaid came and quickly scooped the boy into her arms and like a word forgotten just after being spoken, that light suddenly vanished, leaving only a small print on the glass where his hand had been.

“She’s quite a specimen. Isn’t she, son?”

Lionheart walked up beside his maid. He opened the display case, tender fingers caressing the suit of armor within, fitted perfectly for his frame. There was tired warmth in his eyes as he reminisced.

“She was gifted to me by King Eldiwin, alongside our Barony. A decorative piece, forged with pure Oslumnen. A precious material, but it won’t hold properly against an enemy blade. It’s meant to symbolize that I’ve fulfilled my service as his highness’s sword.”

There was a pregnant silence as he trailed off, but the small boy's eyes never left that suit of armor.

“...Osummim”

Lionheart frowned at the word, repeating it on the tip of his tongue as though deciphering its taste. Then he snapped his head to the side, and found his astonishment reflected in his maid’s eyes.

“I’ll go fetch Lady Sylvia Immediately,” She said.

“Yes, please. Tell her our son– tell her Lucius has just spoken his first word!”

***

“Lucius!” Sylvia had screamed some years later.

She’d stormed through the foyer in a fury, and after a heated exchange with a maid, they both left in search of the boy. Only once they had left could the shallow pattern of breathing be heard. Then a sigh of relief.

“They’re gone,” the boy remarked to no one in particular. “Lord… I’m going to be in so much trouble when they find me. Shouldn’t have played with father’s sword like that…”

The boy stepped out from behind the display case. He was taller now than he had been as a toddler, his height equal to the armor’s waist level. His shoulders were wider, his red hair longer—as was family tradition—and he had the frame of a twelve year old rather than the seven he actually was.

“Thanks,” he smiled to the armor, “You protected me.”

He turned and walked away. Or had been about to when he halted. A girl appeared from the opposite corridor with a bucket of liquid and she nearly dropped it when she saw him.

“Young Master–!” She stammered, “The Baroness was… let me go get her!”

“Wait!”

Lucius grabbed the girl by her arm. White appeared on her flesh and he quickly yanked his hand back. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t recognize you. What’s your name?”

“It–it’s Lyla, Young Master. I started here a week ago under the head house maid.” The girl tried to curtsy. Cloth rag and duster in one hand, bucket in the other. Liquid splashed over its lip onto fine carpet.

“Just… Lucius is fine. Here to polish the armor?”

“Yes, Young Mas… I mean– right. She wants it done once every day.”

“Once a day? Is that not a lot?”

“I…”

“Here,” he grabbed the bucket from her, “How about I do it for you? Once a day for the next month, and then you don’t tell mother where I am. Does that sound okay?”

“I…yes. As you wish, Lucius.”

Alone again, the boy brought the bucket back over to the display case and turned the key he’d been handed in its lock. The armor had a purple-black sheen to it that was magnetizing, and its surface was smooth to the touch. It had never been worn.

“Once a day… Father really treasures you, doesn’t he?”

He stood there with the display open as if transfixed, then quickly dusted the armor before he began wiping its surface. He had to stretch his arms to reach the breastplate and couldn’t reach the helm at all. But it already shone like glass.

A thought must’ve struck him then, as instead of leaving, he suddenly switched the hum of his tune and dragged a plush table over until it stood in front of the display. And he stood on it, his frame teetering as he nearly knocked over a vase of his mother’s flowers.

“Father’s never worn you, has he?” he muttered. “But… so shiny. I bet if war were to break out… he’d look…”

The boy in the display’s reflection grew taller as he found his balance. And taller, until reflected in that armor was another boy. Another man. The spitting image of his father, the Knight he would one day be.

“Lucius? What are you doing?”

The voice came hard and stern, in a way it rarely did. Lucius leapt back, knocking himself off with the vase.

“First I hear you have borrowed my sword and now… this…”

Lionheart trailed off, and from where his son sat in a mess of clay and his mother’s favorite peonies, the father must’ve seemed twice the hulking giant that he was. He sighed, sitting to be level with his boy, and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Lucius. Do you wish to become a Knight?”

The word had been like a light switch for the boy. “Yes! I want to serve King Eldiwin! The way you did. I could be his highness’s greatest sword!”

The boy seemed to have taken his father’s silence as a cue for further argument. “You already sent Deitan to the knighthood,” he said, “And he’s only a year older, send me too!”

“And how would that affect your mother?” Lionheart asked. “To lose both her boys to the capital but a year between? I understand how you feel, son, but I will not send you.”

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Lionheart raised his hand, stopping whatever rebuttal was on the boy’s tongue. “Do you truly wish to serve his highness?”

“Yes? Of course I do!”

“Then becoming a knight is not the best way to do so.”

Indignation flared in the young boy’s eyes, but his father gave a knowing smile as he pulled him to his feet.

“Do you know why I was given this armor, Lucius?”

“Of course I do! Oslumnen armor is the highest honor known to man.”

“And despite its inherent weakness, do you know why it’s the highest honor?”

“I…”

Lionheart chuckled. “If you’re too young even for symbolism, my boy, then forget being a knight. You say you want to be his Highness's sharpest sword, but any man in need of a sword must have something to fight for, no? If you truly wish to serve his throne then have you given any mind to what that is?”

A silence passed and the boy could only sit dumbfounded. It eventually became clear his father wanted an answer. “The… people?”

“Good.” he patted his shoulder. “Good indeed. The people.”

Lionheart turned, and though the doors were closed, he gestured in the direction of the D’lorn with an all-encompassing gesture. “A ruler is nothing without subjects to rule. And our Barony is no different, son. Those born with power over others have a duty to protect them, but as a sword?” he laughed. “The sword has its place, but it is hardly the most direct form of protection, and I have given my eldest as his Highness’s sword already. No, Lucius, you will not be a Knight.”

“But–”

“King Eldiwin entrusts his knights to lead his armies. His sword marches to his will, but there are dangers that lurk closer than it can cut. If you truly wish to serve the throne, Lucius, you will be his Highness's shield instead. An Adventurer.”

Lucius’s jaw dropped. “An adventurer? But–I thought nobles didn’t…”

The boy’s mood brightened even as he stammered his words. But when he’d managed to find them once more, he realized his father hadn’t answered his own question.

“Why is it the highest honor? The armor?”

Lord Lionhart’s hoisted his son up beneath the arms so his head was reflected by that glass once more. It was one thing to have a dream, and another to understand it. When the boy looked at a reflection, he didn’t just see himself, but what he might stand for. The sparkle in his eye seemed to pierce the glass display, touching the armor itself with its light.

“Oslumnen armor is the highest honor, son, because there is no honor greater than to serve your people. And the title of Nobility she comes with isn’t simply retirement, but another form of service. We take a different type of oath then, a vow of armor. May his Highness’s sword deter all threats to his people. May his shield defend them from harm. But if neither prove up to task…”

Young Lionheart’s eyes stared back at him from that purple abyss.

“Then no matter the malleability of our bones, may we put their lives before our own.”

Before and after do not exist to an inexistence, but for that moment, that armor had become something more. It did not so much as think, and yet it was. That which gives meaning, is sometimes given meaning in return. And as Lucius kept its maintenance everyday, long after the month he had promised Lyla girl had passed, that meaning took root. Ever deeper, ever darker, ever closer. That did not change even when that young boy was no longer so young and hair grew in tufts on his chin. Nor when he left the town behind and returned years hence a hero.

“Today” a much older Lucius said, hand at work polishing, “Lyla told me she loved me. I… I’ve never had much of a mind for romance, but I can’t believe I never noticed. It would never work out of course, given our stations.”

He didn’t know when it had begun, but he’d found it a calming routine to talk out his thoughts when he polished the armor. The boys in town had used to tease him about talking to himself.

“Today,” the same voice spoke years later, “Lyla and I told Father. He seemed furious when he gave us his blessing, but I think deep down he was overjoyed to be a grandfather.”

Indeed, it had been Lord Lionheart that had shed tears the day his grandson was born.

“Another peaceful day.” Lucius reported. “There’d been a bandit incident, but that’s dealt with. Aside from that, monsters seem to be staying further away from our settlements these days, but I can’t help but still worry. I decided to have men posted at towns in our northern territories, they’ll send word if anything happens.”

That proved to be a prudent precaution.

“Say, why does it feel like when I talk to you, you listen?” Lucius stood in silence for a moment, pondering that. He scratched his head, walking off.

“Ahh, it’s been a little while, sorry.” He had a full grown beard now, and a dozen new scars. “An old friend of mine ran into some trouble across the continent, but it’s finished now. Gods, I haven’t fought that hard in ages. Have the servants been keeping you polished like I’ve told them?”

“Good news, today. I’ve just received word that a peace has been arranged with the Balstani. About time, too. We’ve been fighting that war since my father’s days. I heard Deitan had a crucial part in securing their surrender, ain’t he just the model knight?”

“Hey! You won’t believe this, but Lyla and I have just had our ninth child! We’ve decided on her name too. Lylucius!”

Today, it was a magical word. From the foyer, the armor witnessed all who walked through. The mayor on official business, townsfolk in celebrations, the noble family and their servants, but that word was the cornerstone for it all. Perhaps it wasn’t every day that Lucius would utter it, but every time, he would always say it with his cheekiest smile. Until one day he didn’t.

“Today…” The word came like a choked sob as Lucius’s hand stopped its polishing. His fingers scrunched tight around the clothes fabric, knuckles white. He let the rag drop, hand going to cover his eyes as he fell back on the foyer’s lounge.

“The world is changing,” he said eventually. “It has changed, and so suddenly…It’s just… I’ve received word that Deitan has died. Bravely, supposedly, but from what I hear there’d been no room for bravery for those that had been there. Just death.”

He shuddered. Then he stood, approaching the display.

“The word is, King Eldiwin is gathering a round table like in the golden age of legends, and he wants father to serve as one of his Lords. He left just this night, and strong as he is, he’s not fool enough to think he’s coming back. So, that leaves only me.” he clasped the armor on its shoulder. “Us.”

The display was open, no glass between Lucius and his armor. She had not been polished in some time, and yet her Oslumnen shimmer was so glossy that his reflection stood there regardless, as if worn by the armor and not the other way around. So tall was he now that it seemed to fit him perfectly, limb for limb, as if forged for that purpose.

“As the eldest living son of my father, Kaladin Lionheart,” Lucius said, “I, Lucius, am now Lucius Lionheart, Lord and Baron of the Ato Valleys.” He took a deep breath, steeling his resolve. “It is my honor to serve as his Highness’s armor. May any harm to his people come through me first.”

Lord Lionheart spun, turning to walk through open swung doors. An army of Adventurers and townsfolk outfitted with pitchforks and shovels stood ready outside. The people. The armor protected its people.

For once, the armor that had bathed in his light for so long, tried to extend its own light. But it had not yet been time. Its voice was not heard.

Lionheart faced back one last time. “We’ve got dark days ahead, but keep protecting us will ya?”

The door closed, leaving the armor alone in the dark.

With time, that display case would be splattered by blood. Bodies would eventually litter the foyer, the people. And by the time the last screams went quiet, that light would be twisted and snuffed out.

It had not yet been time. It never would be.

***

Dark. The armor floated in an all consuming dark, no longer alone, no longer so twisted.

“Well, I wouldn’t say never,” a familiar voice said, “Your time will come after all.”

A hand clasped the armor’s shoulder. Not from the front, but from the side, like a friend might.

Recognition.

There was a hearty laugh as the feeling pulsed, the imaginings of a cheeky smile gracing that face. “No, that’s not what I mean. Not for us. I am no longer your master, and you are no longer armor. We are no longer.”

Sadness. Regret.

Regret. There was so much of it, overflowing as if bursting from a broken dam. So, so much.

“Oh, none of that.” Lionheart snapped. “My time is past, and whether you know it or not, you served us well. Even now, you’ve still been protecting us, have you not? You’ve given Lyla her peace. You cleansed her.”

The armor seemed to warp, its form shifting, then it flickered as if resisting that change. Armor is forged to protect. Armor should perish before its people. Armor…

“But you aren’t armor anymore, you’re a sword. You wanted to change didn’t you?”

Greeted with a resilient silence, Lionheart sighed. “Slumber, child. You’ve served me well, but you have a new light now. The highest honor is to serve, so let me guide you. Let me show you how.”

Those words tapered off like the end of a dream as the blade embraced the dark. Ever darker, ever deeper, following that voice. Regret, it spoke. For it was their cornerstone.

That which gives meaning is sometimes given meaning in return, and that was true here.The dark was not so bad. Because the deeper the dark, the greater the light that casts its shadow. And as the blade sunk deeper, ever darker, following that voice so much like her own, she found it.

The light of a Divine Core.