A subtle breeze and the feeling of the sun on his skin slowly draws Michael out of a deep slumber. He wakes feeling well-rested, with no pain or soreness from the battle fought only hours ago.

Strangely he is outdoors, rather than in his bed at Aunt Marie’s or the local physician’s. Even more peculiar is that he is already standing and is wearing his guardsman’s uniform. The nicks, tears, and holes have been repaired so expertly that it is as though they were never there. That, or he has been given a new set.

Rays of midday sun shine directly in Michael’s eyes when he looks up from inspecting his person. Throwing a hand up to shield himself from the blinding light, he notices that before him is the Grassy Knoll. Smoke rises from the chimney and the flowers beneath the windows have been tended to perfection. A wafting smell of cooked meats lingers in the air, causing the young man to run his tongue over his lower lip.

Hot food and shade call to Michael, beckoning him toward the familiar inn. Nothing stands in the way to prevent his entry into the tavern, as during business hours the doors were kept propped open as a sign of welcome.

The atmosphere of the establishment is exactly how the youth remembers it, warm and inviting. All of the furniture, tables, chairs, shelves and cabinets, even the bar, are carved from red oak. The wood’s gentle brown hue gives the large room a rustic charm, and a gentle crackling of the hearth completes the peaceful setting.

Stairs are tucked away in the corner of the room, which double back halfway up. They lead to the second floor filled with a variety of different rooms.

Michael could still traverse them with his eyes closed. Seventeen in total. Then a sharp right turn and another six paces, maybe four given his size now, and he would be home.

That small room is where he and his mother had lived for the first ten years of Michael’s life. His mother had been a hostess at the Grassy Knoll. Her compensation was the room and whatever food had been made for each meal, plus a small sum of silver each month. It wasn’t an impressive life, but he hadn’t known anything else and was quite content with it.

Having been so caught up on his trip down memory lane, Michael has failed to notice the woman standing behind the bar until now.

She is of respectable height for a woman, taller than either Ashe or Aunt Marie. A braid of honey brown curls stretches halfway down her back, stopping just above where her apron is tied off. The woman hums a gentle tune quietly to herself while chopping vegetables for the stew cooking over the hearth.

The sight of this woman causes Michael’s heart to skip a beat. He gasps, faltering back a step and knocking over a chair.

“Ah, you’ve arrived.”

Hearing a voice that has been absent from his life for years, Michael remains frozen. The woman slides the mix of carrots and potatoes into a bowl and takes them to the hearth before dumping out its contents and giving the stew a good stir.

“Michael, is something wrong?”

“Mother…” he whispers, unable to believe the sight of his deceased mother standing across the tavern from him.

Soft footsteps break the silence as the woman Michael has desperately yearned to see steps closer. Her eyes remain hidden beneath her bangs but everything else about her matches perfectly with his memory.

“Are you well, my child?”

The face of Diene Whitaker gazes up at her only child. There is only one problem, her eyes are a solid sheen of gold.

Michael freezes for a moment and then takes a step back, placing a hand on his sword.

“You’re not my mother.”

“Michael,” Diene says, sounding deeply wounded by her son’s words as she takes a step toward him. She extends her arms and invites him into an embrace.

Drawing his sword the young man cries out, “You are not my mother!”

Slowly, the woman’s hands fall to her sides and her smile is replaced by a frown.

“I had hoped this form would make you feel more comfortable. I even recreated a treasured memory from your childhood where we could speak.”

Deep breaths and his training are all that keeps Michael from unleashing his fury on this imposter.

“Who are you?! What are you? Some kind of monster that can read minds?”

Diene’s voice remains calm as she paces the floor of the inn. She runs her hand over the rail separating the wooded dining area from the stones that make up the hearth.

“I am a friend, Michael.”

The young man grunts.

“No ‘friend’ would impersonate my dead mother. Now tell me, who are you?”

A glint from an object hanging around Diene’s neck catches Michael’s eye. The necklace she wears is a perfect copy of the one worn beneath his shirt, a rosary of the Dawn Flower. It glows with a golden radiance matching her eyes.

“I am the goddess Daichi, and you, Michael Whitaker, are my champion.”

The sword clatters to the ground as Michael backs away.

“No… no… you can’t be. You’re lying. A mage who’s in my head... a devil trying to corrupt me...”

The Goddess raises a hand, asking for silence.

“I understand that this is hard for you. We divine beings rarely reveal ourselves to mortals, as few can handle being in our presence for long.”

To prove her claim, Daichi summons a mirage above the hearth which plays out the events of his battle with the pack lord.

“This is my power,” she says as the Michael in the image summons a hammer of golden energy and hurls it at the gnoll. It crashes into the brute, and as Michael charges his sword is bathed in a similar golden light. The empowered blade severs the pack lord’s head from its body with ease and it rolls to the side.

Michael watches in disbelief as the scene plays out again.

“I don’t remember any of that.”

“You summoned my power in your time of need,” Daichi tells him, her tone warm and inviting. “You wielded it to save yourself and your younger sister.”

“I would never do that,” Michael spits. “I would never ask you to save me.”

Undeterred by her supposed champion’s aggression, the Goddess continues.

“You needn’t ask for something that is already in your possession, my champion.”

“I am not your champion!”

Glass shatters as the guardsman kicks a table and several pieces of dinnerware fall onto the hardwood floor.

“I don’t even believe in you.”

“You would deny that which is before your very eyes?”

The question posed by the Goddess is not without merit. Everything that has transpired in the tavern implies that Michael is in the presence of a being of immense power. He cannot accept what she is suggesting though.

“My mother believed in you,” Michael seethes. “She knew all the scriptures and hymns. Served you as a nun in a cloister. And how did you repay her for her faith?”

Daichi is silent, her lips are drawn into a frown and eyes downcast.

“She was raped by a drunk and bore a bastard child. The cloister excommunicated her for being impure and failing your teachings. She was even shunned from her village.”

Michael’s eyes narrow.

“After traveling from town to town she finally landed here, in this tavern. My mother hated this job. It disgusted her. She was accosted daily for her appearance while serving drinks to soldiers and adventurers as a barmaid.

“But she did it anyway, for me. She put up with everything to make sure I had a decent life.”

“The gods cannot interfere in the affairs of man,” she whispers, but Michael is far from done.

“She even taught me about you. The goddess Daichi was watching over us. We should be thankful for the many blessings of the Dawn Flower.

“She never lost faith in you despite everything she’d been through. And how was she rewarded?!”

Michael picks up a shard from one of the broken glasses. He places the jagged edge against his neck and presses deep enough to draw blood.

“She was murdered, right here, by the man you allowed back into her life. My father should have rotted in prison for the rest of his life after she identified him in that trial. But you let him escape. You allowed him to find us. You let her die!”

The glass soars through the air, passing directly through Daichi’s forehead. The Goddess doesn’t appear to notice, rather, her eyes seem to have begun to emit minuscule droplets of a golden liquid.

“I could not interfere in the affairs of mortals…”

A deep inhale followed by a shallow exhale from Michael fills the silence of the room.

“I don’t believe that. And I don’t believe you either. I will not serve you or your church. Find another champion, ruin their life.”

The tavern starts to slowly fade out of existence. It begins with the walls as they disassemble from the ceiling to the floor. Then the hearth is extinguished as the stones float away, only to disappear into nothingness. Next is the tables and chairs, and even the broken glass vanishes.

“My decision has been made,” Daichi says quietly, her golden eyes once again staring into Michael’s soul.

“Michael Whitaker, you are my champion. The one who will serve as my arbiter in the mortal realm. My power is yours to call upon whenever you are in need. In time, I hope you shall come to understand my choice.”

Daichi turns and walks away into the white expanse.

“Farewell, Michael. We shall meet again.”

* * *

For the second time, Michael opens his eyes and is immediately greeted by the sun’s glare. The young man is in his room this time, a small space on the second floor of Marie and Lamont’s cottage. Unlike Ashe’s room, which was filled with spellbooks and a number of arcane objects that Michael didn’t claim to understand, the guardsman’s is quite sparse. Just a bed and dresser for his clothes. The other half of the room is similarly tidy but Augden, with whom he was forced to share the space, does have a few toys his father carved for him scattered around on the floor.

His body groans in protest as he attempts to rise, but Michael forces himself to sit up nonetheless.

It is midday, based upon the location of the sun. Most of the last twelve or so hours are hazy to him. Only the scenes he had witnessed in his dream does he remember vividly. A meeting with an immortal, the goddess Daichi herself.

Michael huffs, inadvertently aggravating the soreness in his ribs.

Champion of the Dawn Flower, like he would ever agree to something like that. Surely an omnipotent being like Daichi knew how he felt about her. Surely she knew of the complete disdain he held toward her, her followers, and the hypocritical church which she led.

The young man’s faith in the Goddess had died alongside his mother in that tavern eight years ago. No gifts of divine power or saving his life would change the way he felt. As far as he was concerned, Daichi was as bad as any devil of the hells. And even then, at least one knew they were being manipulated when dealing with them.

Running his hand along the back of his neck, Michael finds a particularly tender spot in his right scapular region. It isn’t painful to the touch but the skin feels softer than that around it, like it’s freshly healed from a burn.

After a moment of consideration he realizes that this must be where the shaman had wounded him. The blast of nature energy had penetrated his leathers and knocked him to the ground, where roots began to grow over him like they had the captain until Ashe had saved him.

The captain… he had died fighting the pack lord. Michael remembers it now. The massive gnoll brutalizing the man’s corpse, spraying blood in all directions and covering itself in the crimson fluid.

Captain Adams was the one who had taught Michael to hold a sword. He’d been ten at the time, still grieving from his mother’s passing. The boy he’d been back then wanted, no, needed a way to feel strong. Captain Adams allowed him to enter training as a guard to occupy the boy’s time and keep his mind from wandering, but he never could have guessed how much of an impact he’d have in the long run.

Between Lamont and Captain Adams, Michael was never without a male role model in his life. Strength and pride, duty and honor, they were the tools the retired military man had passed on. His uncle then had taught the lessons of humility, decency, and compassion.

A gentle knock comes at the door to the room and Augden peeks through the crack.

“Michael?” he asks, taking a look around. He steps into the room, clearly believing that the older boy is still asleep despite him having sat up in the bed.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

“Aug, I’m right here.”

Augden gasps, his eyebrows shooting up and a massive grin spreading across his face.

“Mom, mom, Michael’s awake!” he shouts, rushing out of the room without so much as speaking to the one he’d come to check on in the first place.

Heavy footfalls and the creaking of stairs echo from the hall, and a moment later Aunt Marie appears in the doorway. Her blue eyes water as she takes in the sight of her adoptive child not only awake but also sitting upright and looking around as though nothing has happened.

“Michael!”

Marie bounds across the room and wraps the young man in an embrace.

“Thank the Goddess you’re alright.”

“Can’t… breathe…” Michael croaks as his aunt unintentionally smothers him with her show of affection.

The plump woman squeezes him even harder momentarily before letting him go, moving to sit alongside him on the bed.

“Do you have any idea how worried I was about you? That nice man and his elf friend carried you back all the way from the woods where they found you unconscious. They even healed your wounds.”

That man… the paladin. Michael remembers a male human in ceremonial-looking armor, like that worn by knights, and a woman whose eyes glowed the color of an amethyst gemstone. They had appeared after he killed the pack lord.

Using holy magic the paladin had numbed Michael’s pain before he passed out. His companion had tended to Ashe with some kind of red liquid and promised they would be okay.

“Aunt Marie, where is Ashe?” Michael asks, suddenly aware of her absence.

The last Michael had seen the arrow was still embedded in her chest, even after some kind of potion had been given to her.

Marie’s happiness at discovering Michael’s wakefulness wanes.

“She’s resting in her room, dear. Last night was… hard, for both of you.”

It is hard to put into words how much of an understatement that simple sentence was.

In the span of less than twelve hours Michael had killed for the first time in his life, volunteered for a suicide mission, and almost died himself. Let alone that he had somehow manifested the power of a paladin somewhere in between.

“Is she awake?” he asks, wanting to see for himself that his kid sister had made it through the night.

“Mhmm.”

Marie helps Michael swing his legs off the bed and onto his feet. It proves to be far greater an effort than he had anticipated. Every muscle and bone in his body cries out for him to fall back onto the bed and sleep for another forty-eight hours at the least, but the young man has burning questions that need answering.

He slowly heads for the door. After taking a few shuffling steps he leans on the frame for a moment before continuing down the hallway towards his sister’s room. Her own door is ajar and a few gentle noises from it confirm that she is indeed awake.

“Hey, Ashe,” Michael greets his younger sibling as he steps into the room.

Ashe is propped up against the headboard of her bed, reading a book of some kind. The characters on the spine are in a language Michael doesn’t recognize. As a wizard she had the ability to comprehend any text or spoken word through magical means, but that hadn’t stopped Sageit from teaching her Elvish, Dwarvish, and traces of Orcish.

The young woman closes the book and sets it beside her on the bed. She offers a tired smile.

“Look who’s finally awake.”

“Everything is telling me I shouldn’t be,” Michael jokes, hobbling over to the chair placed beside the bed.

He seats himself and takes a moment to get comfortable. Much of his body aches after the fact, the motion proving to be more taxing than expected.

Ashe chuckles to herself as her elder brother scoots the chair in one direction, only to decide it needed to be somewhere else a moment later. Eventually he gives up and extends one leg in front of him, placing both hands in his lap.

“How much of last night do you remember?” he asks.

Gathering her hair behind her ear, Ashe makes ready her reply.

“I remember most of it. Little details about the fighting are missing but the big picture is still there.”

Seeming to be uncomfortable with the question he is trying to ask, Michael hesitates for a moment before arriving at, “Did I…?”

Ashe bites her lower lip.

“I saw you do something. I can’t really say what. After the pack lord shot me and I fell… it’s kind of a blur.”

Michael lets out the breath he’d unconsciously been holding. He still isn’t completely certain he believes what Daichi claims he had done. Or that his speaking with the Goddess was any more than a fever-induced dream. The paladin may have healed his wounds but that didn’t change his body needing to recover afterward.

Ashe continues.

“It looked like you threw something. A mace, maybe? It hit the gnoll and your sword started to glow. I couldn’t see anything else after that.”

“I really did do it, then,” Michael whispers.

The thought that he had wielded the power of a paladin was in and of itself not something he was opposed to. Paladins were good people who helped others, paragons of society that others aspired to be. Having the source of his power being the goddess Daichi though was where it started to become an issue. Were it any other deity this could have been wonderful news, but not her.

Ashe wouldn’t lie to him. If she said he had manifested divine abilities, then he must have. It also meant that the introduction turned altercation with his patron had occurred as well.

“Try it again.”

Michael gives his head a quick shake to clear it and returns to the conversation.

“Huh?”

Ashe looks at him expectantly over knitted hands. “Try doing what you did last night again.”

Shaking his head, Michael dismisses the notion. He will not call upon Daichi to perform any miracles. Any power she might give him wasn’t strength the young man was interested in having.

“No.”

“‘No?’” Ashe repeats, raising an eyebrow. “You do something all little boys dream of and channel the power of a god and you aren’t the slightest bit curious if you can do it again?”

Michael pushes himself out of the chair and makes for the door.

“Where are you going?” the silver-haired young woman asks him.

“I’m going to find that paladin from last night,” he answers her. “He’s the only one who can explain this.”

Her brother isn’t the only one curious about the strangers who had appeared after the battle had nearly reached its conclusion. The elven woman was definitely either a wizard or a sorceress, and the magic she’d employed had been astounding. Sageit would never be able to teach Ashe even half of what this newcomer could.

“Hey, wait for me!” Ashe calls, scrambling to get out of bed and into a fresh dress before Michael can leave the cottage. This wasn’t an opportunity she could afford to miss either.

* * *

Finding the paladin and his wizard companion didn’t prove to be too difficult. Michael had a feeling they would be in or around the church, given the events of last night, as the building acted as town hall when the need arose. His suspicion was proven correct when the tie-ups outside the building came into view.

No one from Wesherby had barding for their mount, let alone anything that could compare to the plate worn by a warhorse. This makes picking out the paladin’s steed rather easy. Forged steel armor covers the beast from head to hoof, with accents of imperial red and gold inlaid to the armor. It also stands a full head taller than either of the horses at the nearby tie-up, likely having come from an exclusive stock. Maybe, even, from the Great Forest of Delor to the west, where all manner of creatures grew to sizes unseen anywhere else on the continent.

Beside the paladin’s charger is what can only be assumed to be the wizard’s mount. It is Michael and Ashe’s first time seeing a strider, and their stares are not the only ones focused on the large bird. Standing on a single clawed foot with the other tucked away beneath its body, the crimson-feathered fowl preens its left wing without taking any notice of the crowd of onlookers.

Such avian wonders are primarily ridden by high elves.

Hailing from the far eastern corner of Mont, just southeast of the Hivernal Mountains inhabited by the first dwarf lords and their betrayer dark-skinned umbral kin to the north, the High Elves of the Shaladran Empire stand proud. Its people are often referred to as the Firstborne, the civilization from which both the Umbral and Weald Elves broke from long ago. High Elven mages are the finest in all the world, and only their reputation of aristocratic elitism is more well known than their magical skill.

While longtime allies of the Kingdom of Arcturia, seeing the noble race anywhere aside from the capital in Rhar was outside of the norm, especially in a backwater like Wesherby.

Despite being impressed by the warhorse and strider, Michael doesn’t allow himself to be distracted for long. After several seconds he continues up the steps of the chapel and into the wooden building.

The mayor and city council have gathered inside, along with a man in heavy plate armor and his companion with gilded, flowing locks.

Those in attendance turn to face the newcomers as the old door creaks loudly to signal their arrival.

“We are in the middle of an important meeting,” the mayor announces, looking annoyed that someone has interrupted their talks. He is placated however when the paladin raises a hand and smiles at the intruders.

“You there, young man, am I correct that you are the guardsman who I witnessed defeat the gnoll’s pack lord?”

Michael halts midstep and stands up straight.

“Yes sir.”

“And I am told you were among the first to volunteer for the task of rescuing your fellow villagers, is that also the case?”

In a brazen show of pride, Ashe steps forward with her arms crossed over her chest and answers for Michael.

“He was the first, I was second.”

Michael aggressively flares his nostrils at his younger sister to make his annoyance known. Meanwhile, the woman beside the paladin leans over and whispers something in his ear.

“And you, miss,” he says after nodding to his companion. “You are the apprentice of this fine village’s mage? The one who weaved her spells across a crowded battlefield to strike down her enemies without inflicting so much as a scratch on any of her allies?”

Hearing such praise, Ashe blushes. She lifts the hem of her dress and gives something resembling a curtsey. Behind her Michael rolls his eyes at her sudden change in temperament.

“I am, sir.”

“Excellent.”

The paladin claps, producing almost no sound when the result should have been a less than pleasing screech as his gauntleted hands scrape against one other. He turns to the mayor and city council on the other side of the large table that had been brought into the sanctuary.

“If you would please excuse us, we have some important matters to discuss with this young pair.”

Before anyone can protest the paladin stands and begins to walk away from the table. As his female counterpart brushes her hair behind her ear before following suit, Michael and Ashe have their previous suspicions confirmed. Two pointed ears, one on either side of her head, become visible beneath the golden strands and confirm her lineage as an elf.

Michael and Ashe follow the dark-haired man outside and into the clearing across from the church. Glances of confusion are shot between the pair but neither speaks a word. They had been hoping to gain an audience with the paladin and his companion, but to be granted one so openly puts them both in a state of shock.

“First,” he says after placing his maul on the ground and leaning against it. “I would like to thank you both for the parts you played in saving your fellow villagers. It took courage and determination to volunteer for a mission like that. You should be proud of yourselves.”

“Thank you,” the siblings say in unison.

“Gurren, these children still haven’t the faintest notion of who you are.”

From her position at the back of the group, the elf speaks up.

Gurren laughs heartily and smacks his hand against the handle of his weapon.

“Of course, introductions are in order. We know of you from your deeds and it is only fair that we acquaint ourselves to you. I am Gurren of House Loggins, High General of the Arcturian Army and paladin in service to the Order of Dawn. My companion is–”

Rather than allowing herself to be introduced, the elven woman takes care of the matter personally.

“My name is Ireesa. I am a wizard and traveling partner of Gurren’s.”

“She is also thirteenth in line to the throne of the Shaladran Empire,” Gurren adds, drawing nothing more than a flat stare from Ireesa.

“My birth is of no consequence. I have not visited the empire in years. It is my preference to spend my time away from the game.”

Despite being raised in a small town on the fringes of the kingdom, Michael and Ashe immediately recognize the names of both individuals in their presence.

Stories of Sir Gurren leading the army to victory in countless battles as a general or vanquishing great evils as a paladin are inscribed in the history of Arcturia. Lady Ireesa of Shaladra may be only thirteenth in line for the seat of empress, but her magic is more powerful than anything a human mage had accomplished in the last two hundred years. They are nothing short of demigods to the common man.

“Don’t forget to breathe you two,” Gurren chuckles.

Ashe is the first to speak. Her tone is full of wonder as she faces the master of the arcane and begins to ask the first of many questions.

“Lady Ireesa…”

“Ireesa,” she says with a note of finality. It is hard to read the elf through her unchanged expression and cool voice as she continues. “I do not require the use of a title.”

“Um…”

Ashe nervously bites her lip.

“Ireesa, are you the woman who gave me that potion last night?”

The elven woman nods.

Without warning, Ashe bows deeply and her voice begins to shake.

“Thank you for saving my life, ma’am. I will do whatever it takes to repay you for the cost of your reagents.”

A gentle smile crosses the elder’s face and she slowly raises her hand upward from below her waist. Ashe finds herself gently guided by an unseen force back to an upright position.

“Your life is far more valuable than any potion. Do not fret its use. I can purchase another.”

Ashe doesn’t seem entirely comfortable with the notion of letting the topic go, but nonetheless she presses on to her next question.

“How did you find us?”

“A scrying spell. Gurren and I were met by a rider on his way to Fort Tallin. I asked for as detailed a description as possible regarding someone who would be leading the rescue party.”

“That’s incredible,” Michael whispers.

Gurren crosses his arms while turning up the right corner of his lip.

“That’s nothing for Ireesa. She saw your entire battle and led us right to you.”

Ireesa corrects her partner.

“The first image was of a group led by a human with a sword and shield matching the description I had received, as well as a young woman advancing from a tree line. From that moment onward I witnessed everything that occurred.”

Taking a step forward and reaching into her pocket, the elven wizard produces a piece of parchment. It has been rolled and sealed with wax bearing a seal of the Shandran Empire. She offers it to Ashe.

“You possess great aptitude in the matters of the arcane, that much is certain. I would like to see that aptitude foster. This letter will allow you entrance into the Nfarion Magus Consortium with myself as your advocate. From there you may study under one of the great mages of this kingdom, and all will accept you so long as you bear this letter.”

Ashe remains speechless and fails to move for several seconds after Ireesa finishes speaking. Michael is likewise shocked. The strongest wizard in the entire kingdom is sponsoring Ashe after meeting her just minutes before, with an offer to join a society reserved for only the most promising mages.

“I… I don’t deserve this,” Ashe finally manages to squeak.

There is a loud thump as Gurren lifts his maul several inches off the ground only to force it back down, creating a noticeable divot.

“I disagree.”

“As do I,” the amethyst-eyed woman echoes.

“I would not offer this recommendation if I were not certain of your abilities. Currently you are limited by your surroundings and teacher. This Sageit is a fine wizard, and after seeking his council he readily agreed.

“You possess the capacity to think quickly on your feet, make an accurate judgment of the correct spell for a situation, and execute it flawlessly in a chaotic environment. That is the foundation of any truly successful wizard.”

With a shaking hand, Ashe slowly reaches out to take the parchment from Ireesa. She continues to smile at the young girl and nods when she hesitates one final time before taking it.

“Thank you… thank you so much, Lady Ireesa. I will not disappoint you.”

A sudden gust ruffles the hair and cloak of the elven woman, causing them to flow in the breeze.

“I am certain you will not.”

“Wonderful,” Gurren proclaims.

“Now then,” he places a hand on Michael’s right shoulder, causing the youth to spin on his heel to face him.

“With Miss Malachite taken care of, it seems we are finally free to talk about you, Master Whitaker.”

Michael nods, flexing his hand.

“What I did last night… I don’t remember it. Could you tell me what you saw?”

The paladin adopts an expression so pleased that it would rival that of a child receiving gifts during the Days of Dancing Lights.

“Young man, you called out for help and your call was answered. Your actions proved you worthy of our lady’s favor. You manifested the power of a paladin and saved not only your own life but those of your friends.”

Pride booms from the man as he declares, “You have what it takes to become a member of the Order of Dawn.”

“Not interested,” Michael answers without so much as a moment of hesitation.

Having been so caught up in his zeal, Gurren doesn’t hear the young man and continues on.

“I’m afraid that I don’t have the time to take on a squire myself, but I know of several noble paladins who would be happy to guide you along the path.”

Barely containing his growing feeling of rage, Michael grits his teeth and says, “I don’t want to.”

Gurren wraps his arm around the young man, failing once again to notice the shake of his entire body or that he has yet to look up from his hands.

“Nonsense, you mustn't let fear of the unknown stop you from moving forward. The Goddess’ light embraces all.”

“I will never serve her!”

A cloud passes overhead, casting shade over the group. Sir Gurren blinks several times then shakes his head.

“I must be growing hard of hearing. It sounded like you said you would never serve the Goddess.”

Michael solemnly raises his head to meet the eyes of the man standing in front of him.

“I did. And I won’t.”

Now it is Gurren’s turn to take a deep breath. He rests his hand against the sigil on his breastplate and remains quiet for a moment.

“Young man, you must realize it is an honor to dedicate your life in service to the Goddess. Daichi is our guiding light. Her paladins are champions of justice and bringers of hope.”

“I don’t care what you say or what she said,” Michael hisses with steely venom in his voice.

Gurren seems floored by the youth’s words.

“You spoke to the Goddess?”

Michael takes a step back, unaware of the glow emanating from beneath his shirt.

“I told her what I told you. I’ll never serve her. Her church is nothing but lies.”

The paladin seems to grow more wounded with each passing moment. Every time Michael opens his mouth his most sacred covenant is assaulted.

“We shine light into the darkness of despair. Protect the innocent from the forces of evil.”

Michael has already begun to walk away but he pauses to look over his shoulder at the man. Waves of hatred swell and crash within the youth’s crystal blue irises and a snarl graces his lips.

“Tell that to my dead mother.”

“Michael!”

Ashe calls after her brother but he continues to storm away. Left standing with a shocked paladin and a wizard who she now fears will rescind her offer of sponsorship, the young woman bows deepy.

“Please, forgive him. Fate has been cruel to my elder brother.”

Having watched the young man go after his fiery declaration, the corners of Gurren’s lips have turned southward.

“His mother, might I ask what happened to her?”

A frown of her own crosses Ashe’s visage. She hesitates, unsure if it is really her place to reveal such details to strangers. Sir Gurren and Lady Ireesa had saved their lives however, and everything about them made Ashe believe they meant well.

“His mother, Diene, was a nun. Through unfortunate circumstances she became pregnant with him and was removed from the cloister. She came to live here after being shunned in all of the neighboring villages.

“Mother told me one day a knight came to the tavern. The knight said Diene needed to come to Nfarion in order to testify against Michael’s father, which she did. Several years later he broke free along with some other prisoners. He made his way back somehow, found Michael and his mother, and he killed her.”

Ashe’s voice has dropped to nearly a whisper by the time she finishes recounting the events of eight years ago. Michael had come to live with the Malachites shortly after and remained there since.

“He isn’t your brother by blood,” Gurren murmurs.

Shaking her head, Ashe replies, “No. We’re family, but not that kind of family.”

Shifting his weight from one leg to the other, the paladin thanks the young wizard over the folded hands that rest on the butt of his maul.

“I appreciate your sharing of that with us, Miss Malachite. Your brother has suffered great injustices being robbed of both his parents, one by the other. I will pray to the Goddess that she keeps him in her eye and guides him along the path.”

Ashe purses her lips.

“He wouldn’t like that, but I appreciate it, Sir Gurren.”

The young woman brushes a strand of silver hair behind her ear, then grabs the hem of her dress and curtseys.

“If you will excuse me, I should follow him. Michael doesn’t always think things through when he gets upset.”

A half smile crosses Gurren’s face.

“Neither do I sometimes. Please give him my apologies. I had not realized I was opening such a deep wound.”

Ashe nods and excuses herself, doing her best to hurry after Michael down the street leading toward their home.

* * *

“What do you make of it?” Gurren says, turning to face his companion who has remained silent for quite some time.

Ireesa conjures a small orb of arcane energy and bounces it from her index finger to her pinky and back again. She then gives it a little toss before catching it in her palm, where it dissipates.

“The power of Daichi is difficult to misconstrue after my years at your side. I can conclusively say it was hers that the young man wielded.”

Gurren seems perplexed by her words, as well as the things he has seen.

A rosary had been hung around the boy’s neck and shone brilliantly beneath his shirt only moments ago. How though? If Michael had such a distaste for the Goddess as he appeared to, then why had her holy symbol reacted to him? Why had he been able to summon the hammer of wrath or smite the evil pack lord?

“I find this troubling…” the paladin states.

Ireesa tilts her head slightly to one side before righting it.

“Perhaps you should speak to him again.”

The general shakes his head.

“No, he will not want to talk to me again so soon. Perhaps in the future should our paths cross again. In time, he may come to accept the Goddess’ light as I have.”

Nodding, Ireesa turns and begins to walk back toward the chapel where the mayor and village councilors are waiting for them.

After a moment of hesitation Gurren follows, his mind still grappling with the phenomenon that is Michael Whitaker.