“So you leave the battlefield and she reckons it alright to break the chain of command to follow you. But when she starts running for the battlefield, you—No…We… follow her, simply ’cos you find some horse shite sense of loyalty to follow her to her death for the sake of love.”

“Shut up, brother.” Salem sighed, growing tired of Takan’s ranting. “Darvi made the call, not Ezril.”

“’Course he did.” Takan spat. “Reckon he saw no reason to refuse our brother his happy ever after at our expense.”

Salem picked a stick of meat from over the fire and popped a piece into his mouth. “You’re the only one complaining, brother.”

“That’s cause I’m the only one with a brain right about now.”

Olufemi spared their brother a brief glance and said nothing. Tonight, they sat around a fire no less than two miles from the encampment out in the Arlyn forest. The scouts had long declared the area free of Merdendi presence before their return to the encampment. Still, Darvi had had Ezril scout the area before they settled.

What had begun as a discussion of a method by which they were to proceed in what was soon to be the last of their time with the soldiers of the fort had quickly turned into Takan’s disapproving rants. Regardless, Ezril kept his opinions to himself, knowing his brother had every reason to rant.

“Darvi’s never been able to say no to him,” Takan continued. “Ever since Alric, it’s like his tryin’ his best to make Ezril a replacement. And now I’m out in the cold, freezin’ my ass off when I should still be in the fort.”

“You’re a Hallowed, brother,” Salem pointed out. “You aren’t capable of freezing anything off.”

“It was an expression.”

Ezril spared Olufemi a glance. As was expected, his brother had no complaints. He’d follow me to the afterlife if I asked him.

He’d spoken to Darvi the day after the news of Abbess Lyniah’s death and had succeeded in convincing him they leave for the encampment as soon as possible. Darvi had complied without much of an argument, giving out orders. Orders Takan had simply grumbled about but accepted. However, when he’d heard of Lenaria’s predetermined departure for the encampment he proved unable to ignore the coincidence.

“Y’know, I’ve always hated Shade,” Takan began, adding only when Salem cocked an eyebrow at him: “Not always. But I’ve grown to dislike the giant wolf very much. And even I think it’s a stupid idea to have left the beast at the fort.”

“The Lord Commander didn’t want it in the encampment,” Salem told him. “What would you have had us do?”

“Not us.” Takan turned his attention to Ezril. “Him.” Now he leaned forward, his entire attention fixated on Ezril. “I reckon you could've waited. Argued it through. You and Darvi, together, could've made him allow you carry the stupid mutt. But you just couldn’t wait, could you?” The accusation stung Ezril slightly. “All this for a woman.” Takan waited a moment. When Ezril said nothing, he sighed. “Doesn’t even have the decency to deny it. It’s not like he’s even gettin’ any,” he added beneath his breath, slumping back on the log he’d been sitting on.

Of everything that had happened, Ezril found leaving Shade behind the only thing that nudged his conscience.

You wish to stop her from accepting Rin, the voice in his head reminded him. But how are you going to do it?

Ezril frowned. He had more than enough problem as it was. If the goddess is real, then there’ll be a way to stop it.

If? his thoughts mocked him. This has gone beyond ‘if’. You believe her. You believe in gods and goddesses. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t risk the lives of your brothers to protect her.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

I’m risking no one’s lives.

Of course not, it’s not your fault they are here. He could hear the sarcasm in his own thoughts.

“Are you alright, brother?”

Ezril turned his attention to Salem. Salem’s gaze bore a level of worry in it, but save that, he saw naught much. Closing his eyes against the cool night breeze, Ezril nodded in response.

He often wondered if his brothers felt the cool breeze. If they were capable of appreciating it like he still could? He could ask, but he knew very well it was one of the things he would never ask them.

I am Hallowed.

It was something he refused to deny, something he continued to tell himself; he could perform the step, he could enact his will. He wouldn’t have his brothers adding to his doubt.

But not Hallowed enough, his thoughts mocked.

His frown deepened. His thoughts had grown worse in the week since their return to the encampment. He could often feel his hold on the recesses of his mind drifting, as they had done at the test of the climb. True enough, he still felt the chill of the cold wind and the weight of the Sunders whenever he carried them, and three days without sleep was the most he could go, unlike his brothers who averaged five days easily.

“Hallowed enough.”

“What was that, brother?” Darvi asked.

Ezril shook his head. He hadn’t intended on saying the words. “It’s nothing,” he answered. “It’s nothing.”

The crescent moon stood unwavering in its place in the sky. Ezril found himself searching subconsciously for Canopus as he often did on nights when the sky wasn’t hidden from his gaze. A star to guide, he thought.

The blades of grass were high and uncut, so much unlike those of the seminary, and though they had gone a week without bloodshed, Ezril was fairly certain he could smell the tinge of blood that must have stained the blades of grass once upon a time.

“Sister Alanna needs someone to aid in celebrating the mass tomorrow.”

Darvi tossed the piece of information randomly, without preamble, drawing a collective sigh from them.

“Why not have Ezril assist her.” Takan grinned. “Considering how close they both are.”

“I’d rather not,” Ezril said, blandly.

The introduction of mass in the encampment with Alanna’s arrival was something of mutual dislike among the soldiers and the priests.

“Besides,” he continued, addressing Darvi. “You and Salem are the only ones cut out for celebrating masses, among us. Why not have one of you do it?”

“Because,” Darvi lectured, “the both of us cannot be the only ones willing to aid in the celebration of mass whenever the time comes. For the love of Truth, there are five of us. We will all have to be celebrating masses.”

“Is that why she always insists on being the chief celebrant for every mass?” Olufemi asked in vrail, drawing all their attention to him.

“I reckon someone doesn’t like the sister very much.” Takan laughed. “I reckon no one likes the sister,” he continued. “Except our brother over here. Visiting her when he thinks we don’t know.”

“He doesn’t like her,” Salem pointed out with little interest. “He simply tolerates her more than most. As far as I know, that’s a gift.”

“It’s getting late,” Darvi broke in with a sigh. Clearly aware of the futility of the conversation, he rose. “I’ll aid the celebration of mass come morning. For now, we should return to our tents.” He approached the flames to put them out and paused. His attention swiveled to Ezril. “Pick your Sunders up, brother,” he said, a mild irritation in his voice. “I wonder when you’ll understand how disturbing that habit of yours is. There’s a reason the seminary gave us scabbards.” Putting out the fire, he took the lead returning to the encampment.

Ezril sheathed his Sunders and returned with his brothers. He wondered if Lenaria would have any questions for him.

He knew she wouldn’t.

Nothing had changed since their arrival. Lenaria continued to sleep in his tent. But where they had slept at a certain distance once upon a time, they now slept in each other’s arms.

Ezril understood the comfort of it. He also understood it would be harder to explain if anyone walked in on them, considering it was easier to hear a door open than a tent’s flap.

Ezril sat at one end of the makeshift table, sipping away at a mug of chilled water as he watched his surroundings. How they managed to keep the water chilled so deep into the summer was beyond him. Although, he had heard the stories of new technologies that harbored the cold of the winter chill for as long as the user deemed necessary.

Rumors had it that it included the use of Titan abdomen. However, he had no true knowledge of the accuracy of the rumors. One thing he knew was it was something only the rich could afford, and he didn’t put it past either the Lord Commander or Noem.

He sat, cooling his temperature with each sip as the sun blazed away above him, making it impossible for any to forget it was high noon.

He took one last gulp of the chilled water at the sight of Leviln walking the camp grounds and discarded the mug on the table. He spared it one last glance before leaving. It was a nice mug. Regardless of its striking similarity with those found in taverns and bars fashioned to be broken, whoever had molded it had either too much pride to leave it without at least a hint of creative display or simply had too much time on their hand and not enough self-control.