Task reached up to brush his fingers against the flesh where his eye once was. Mangled flesh. Only flesh. It was still so strange, even a week later. Of course, he had lived his entire life with two eyes up until now. Perhaps it would take his entire life to adapt.

A knock on his door. His chambers were very small, as this building, the Eighth Royal Fortress was not exactly built for comfort. It was one of the many outposts for Kingdom establishment in the Scarred Lands. It was where Task was positioned to track down En-Maer and capture her. To track down and kill any other Cursed that are detected. A prison disguised as an important task.

This was where he had failed in killing that Gnoshian girl and lost his eye to that Cursed woman.

“Come in,” Task commanded. He reached into his cabinet and removed a bottle of wine, inspecting it, not paying any mind to who had entered his room. He knew who it was. And he didn’t want to make full eye contact. He took two glasses as well and turned around to see a bald, robed man standing tall before him. The Speaker who was to arrive and bring an update back to the High-Deacon.

“Please,” Task said, gesturing to the chair by the desk with the hand carrying glasses. “Have a seat. I’ll pour us some.”

“You honor me, sir,” The Speaker said. “This wine is supposed to be for you and your fellow Knights.”

Task didn’t answer him. His boots thumped upon the wooden floor as he moved to the table the Speaker sat at, and poured them each a glass. He sat down across from his visitor and raised his cup.

“To the Gods,” he said.

The Speaker smiled. Though, it was a sad smile. “May they forever bless our paths.”

They drank in silence for a moment until the Speaker broke it.

“So, I’m told by Cure, that not only the young Cursed get away, but there is another Cursed warrior in our midst who has evaded us.” Sticking purely to business.

Task glared up at him. Those familiar eyes stared back, not intimidatingly, but steadily. Very grounded and focused. Task checked himself. Didn’t refer to him by name. He couldn’t. And he had to comply. This… Speaker, was a powerful man, capable of being much harsher, which hurt him to think about. Task sighed.

The Speaker removed a notebook and laid it out on the table. Then, he took out an inkwell and removed a quill from his inner robe pocket. He dipped the end of it into ink and paused. Waiting for Task to speak.

Task recalled the entire incident at the Fortress a week ago…

He had certainly killed the child. And delivered a finishing blow to the Cursed woman who was attempting to save her. But Task was dying. Blood gushed out of his eye socket. He could feel the weight of his eyeball slipping loose in mangled greasy bits. He had already puked once on his way out of the interrogation room. He did all he could not to faint from the excruciating, burning pain -- most of it done through desperate prayer. The way he begged for his life though... he wasn’t exactly proud of it.

“I don’t want to die,” he had wheezed, running through the long hallways. “Oh, Gods, I don’t want to die. I’ve been a good servant, a devoted worshipper. Please, oh mighty Divine, don’t let me die… Not yet. Not yet… There’s still so much for me to...”

He became exhausted soon enough and wandered the halls, looking for the first Knight he could find to bring him to an Alchemist. He was losing so much blood. So much --

And then, when he turned the corner he saw those people… no, they weren’t people. Something was off about them. Disturbing. Two figures, cloaked in black, surrounded by the massacred bodies of his men. He watched one of their blades remove itself from a Knight, who fell among dozens of corpses. These new enemies were tall. He couldn’t see their faces beneath their hoods.

Task stammered, sputtered, and reached out a hand in meager defense as they walked down the hall toward him. They both wielded the brightest swords he had ever seen, and, strangely enough, they were completely clean of blood after killing so many people. He had a bizarre strike of awe in addition to his fear.

The Cursed woman he had just fought could take on multiple enemies at once with ease as well. Were they also Cursed? He could sense an Aura... Knights are trained to do this eventually, to know if they were within a Cursed’s range. Within their Aura. Task knew his aptitude for sensing an Aura. As a General, he was skilled but even when he could make out the presence of such a thing it was a dull feeling. Something to focus on intensely and consistently to be aware of it. Alchemists could do this better, with their skill and Focus, but he was no Alchemist.

What he was feeling right now, however, was an overwhelming sense of Aura. He didn’t even have to try to feel it. He knew. Aura were only supposed to be a vibration, a penetrating presence, like how one felt sunlight. But this… this held the sound of music creating chords with each other. Complimenting scents of something sweet. Unlike anything he had ever experienced.

They approached him.

“P-Please…” Task stammered. Terrified for his life. “Don’t… Don’t!”

“Did you hear something?” said one of the figures, the voice masculine and cold.

“I did not,” said the other, feminine and just as filled with indifference.

They passed him by, as if they didn’t even know he was there.

They were headed for the interrogation room. Task was frozen in shock. So many dead. From Cursed, evil individuals. But he could not get revenge now. He was given a chance to survive. Or, at least, to make an attempt. He allowed these intruders to continue on their way -- they were walking toward more corpses, after all. But he would need to find more Knights, to be on guard.

Task ran, stumbled, couldn’t shake the dizziness. Until he made his way to the upper floors, struggling his way up the flights of stairs. As he opened the door to the upper halls, he saw Cure rushing down the hallway, full of intensity, but paused as he saw Task stumble.

“Task!” he cried, lunging, unable to catch Task’s fall, but lifted him into his arms. Task felt so weak, so ashamed of his abilities. Cure looked down with his stern face, his voice full of worry but his face showing nothing but severe determination. “Gods. Come on, you need to walk further. You need Alchemy.” Cure was Task’s second-in-command. A tall man with silver hair and eyes that matched the color. His voice was steady and strong.

The Alchemists’ quarters were down the hall. The commotion from the lower floors had not reached all of the Fortress, but there were some Knights arming themselves, ready to fight. Task, with his final bits of strength reached out to them.

“Don’t,” he said, “There are two Cursed down there. But you are no match for them.” He couldn’t explain it. He just knew that anyone who attacked those strangers would surely die. Even he was a fool to directly face off against a Cursed. After all, look what had happened to him. “Defend the upper levels. Defend…” He yelped, groveled. Cure continued where he left off.

“Listen to your General! Defend the stairwells! We have Cursed infiltrating the building. Be on your guard!”

Cure was given his title at a young age, compared to most with given-titles -- Cure. Given for his knowledge in Alchemy, medicine and surgery -- all of which were nearly unmatched. Task was practically dragged down the hallway by him and thrown onto a table in the Alchemy room, knocking books, papers and various other tools onto the floor. Alchemists looked up and began to protest but they soon saw what was happening.

Cure went to work immediately. Task heard the processes of his Fusion but blacked out before he could witness or feel the rest of the procedure. He only prayed that he would live. That he hadn’t failed the Gods.

When he awoke, only one eye opened. The sensation was strange. Reflexively, he reached up and touched his right eye, because something felt wrong. A hollowness in his face. But also a new heaviness. His fingers only touched flesh, a mangled trail of raised skin traveling down where his eye socket once was to his cheekbone. Where the Cursed woman had cut him.

He sat in silence, noticing, slowly, that he was in his chambers of the Royal Fortress. He was alone. His fingers pushed into the flesh. No pain. There should be an eyeball there, an eye socket for it to live, but instead there was only flesh. He blinked, a ghostly sensation in the right side of his face that craved muscles to move eyelids but, of course, nothing happened.

He moved to the edge of his bed and rested his face in his hands. How had it come to this? Was this punishment for something? Further punishment for what he had done?

No. He had been forgiven, hadn’t he? And he was alive. Still in service to the Divine. He moved to the window and opened the wooden clasps. The sun was ready to rise. He had to finish what he started.

Task and his Company charged through the Scarred Lands throughout the day. His vigor was surging through the building beforehand, riling everyone up, all of the Knights under his command ready to fight and kill. They scoured the fields. He sent a platoon to Gnosh to question the people there, while he and a squad of a dozen men carried on into the forests. Hawks were often used for hunting the Cursed but they were being reserved for En-Maer. Capturing her, learning more of her powerful abilities. Deathlessness was a useful trait to research. They needed as many resources as possible to attain her and using up the resources required to keep the Hawks flying would take too much time.

Task, after what must have been hours of hunting, rested against a tree and called off his men. Cure breathed heavily, approaching him.

“No sign of them, Task,” he said. “I don’t understand it. They couldn’t have gone far. Not with the injuries you claimed they suffered.”

Task shook his head. “These abilities we’re dealing with are otherworldly. From dark sources. They both should have died. But the child’s powers are stronger than we anticipated. Or perhaps the woman’s… either way… It’s my mistake.” Task grimaced and hated the recognition. But it was true. He should have grinded them both up into mush with his sword. But he got scared and was consumed by his pain.

Cure saluted Task. “We have faith in you, sir,” he said. “And we are all guided by the Divine. We are Devoted.”

“We are Devoted,” Task nodded.

Task called to his men and gathered them around. The Gnoshian and her rescuer would be forgotten for now.

“I have failed in my duties to kill these Cursed,” Task announced, humbled and ashamed. His men stood tall and looked him in the eye, some with determination, others with pity. “As you can see… I have paid the price. However, we are not finished! I have learned a valuable lesson in confronting these Cursed! That is…” Task grinned at them. “To be a little more careful next time.” Laughs resounded. Cure smiled at him. “But. I have faltered. But. My Devotion makes me strong. My folly makes me wiser. And I am blessed to have such Devoted Knights by my side in purging the lands of these creatures.”

His Knights saluted, their sudden movement and strength sending a resounding snap throughout the trees.

“We shall regroup. I will converse with our Shieldhome contacts on how to proceed. And then we will continue forth with our mission to capture this En-Maer. Because we did attain one valuable piece of information from the Gnoshian Cursed -- that is, En-Maer is heading North. My guess is toward Shieldhome. For what purposes, I shudder at. But she will not get there before we can catch up to her. We have Hawks, Alchemy and strength on our side. But more importantly -- we have the Gods on our side.”

As they regrouped at the Fortress, they met with the platoon that had been sent to Gnosh.

Task wouldn’t learn until much later of what his men did to those innocent people.

The days passed. Preparations were made. Cure led the Alchemists through rigorous hours of Fusion and Malleation to construct new Hawks, prepare medicine. Task helped his comrades fortify their weaponry. It would be a long journey. And fighting against a Cursed, especially one with such terrifying and, certainly, some unknown abilities, they would need to be ready for anything.

Within those days, Task received the letter announcing the arrival of the Fifth-Level Speaker to bring back news of the development of his hunt for En-Maer. The Speaker arrived. And the following day, Task would continue his journey toward capturing his target. He would continue his path of seeking forgiveness and mercy with the Gods… but first, he would have to face an old friend.

Task sighed after recounting all he could. His chambers were deathly silent, save for the Speaker’s pen strokes. It was all such an irritating process. He had spoken with many different Speakers over the months. Sending word via Hawk would be much easier, but the Church preferred a more detailed, personal approach.

“That’s all that happened,” Task said, wanting to break the silence. “I continue my task tomrorow.”

“Very well. T-Task.” The Speaker cleared his throat. “I appreciate the report. I wish you success in the hunt for En-Maer as well.” No eye contact. The Speaker grunted and got to his feet. Stumbled. Task got up quickly, moving to help the man but the Speaker waved away his assistance. “I’m okay, I’m okay.”

Task sighed and stepped away.

“I’m happy to --” Task hesitated. But wanted to offer some sort of nicety. “I’m happy to call some of my men to assist you to your horse,” he said, leaning forward, looking the man in his eyes. “It’s no trouble.”

“I appreciate you… General. But it’s quite alright.” The Speaker sat down again, slowly, taking in steady breaths.

“Very well,” Task did his best to smile and sound professional. They sat, both of them very still.

Then, Task opened a drawer to his right and pulled out a wooden pipe and a pouch of tobacco. He sat and packed the pipe full. He looked up and noticed the Speaker watching him prepare his pipe for a smoke.

Task looked down at the pipe. Then up to the Speaker.

Ah… he looked up at Cade. That was his name… he didn’t know why he insisted on refusing to use his name. Just… made things easier.

“How about a smoke? For old time’s sake?” Task smiled. But he was nervous. Full of shame. He attempted civility. But he knew it was pathetic.

Cade stared at him. Then, with tears in the old man’s eyes he got out of his seat, crouched down and gripped Task’s shoulders.

“What’s happened to you?” Cade asked. “Why? Why did you do what you did?”

Task trembled. Dropped his pipe.

“I… I don’t know,” Task said. “I messed up. I know.” He smiled, though. “But -- the Gods, Cade. The Gods have forgiven me! And I’ll redeem myself. You’ll see!”

Cade stood and backed away from him. Shook his head. “What is your name?” he asked. “Tell me what your name is.”

Task swallowed. “My name is Task.”

Cade stepped closer. Held Task firmly by the shoulders. “You have either truly forgotten your name… or you have chosen to bury it deep within. You still have my Hawk, don’t you? The one I made specially for you?”

Task looked away. “Yeah, I have it,” he laughed, nervously. Attempted nonchalance. “I don’t need that thing, Cade. I know my path. The High-Priest has given me my meaning.”

Cade hugged him. Tightly. Task resisted crying. Cade was resisting as well.

“It will never need recharging. That Hawk is eternal. If you still have it… if you’ve hidden it well… the day you want to be free, use it. It will take you far away. And I will know. And I will help you, Tobias.”

The name sent a surging storm through Task’s body. Nearly melted his mind.

“My NAME is TASK!!” he squirmed out of Cade’s grip. Backed away so far, so fast, his head smacked against the wall. He breathed heavily, staring at Cade. It was wrong to be friendly with this man. The High-Priest was right… anything from his past would screw it all up. He had to move on. Become someone else. He would find forgiveness if he just focused on the Gods. On his path. On his task before him. “Get OUT!!”

Cade looked away. Then, slowly packed his things and headed for the door.

“I haven’t given up on you,” he said. Then left Task. Alone in his chambers.

Alone in the prison cell that resembled a home.