Every swipe of his sword lay waste to all before him. When he took flight he seemed to move through existence itself, leaving a rippling echo wherever he reappeared. He alone is far greater than any army - more devastating than any war.

--A report on Camael from Highlord Oswald, 19th of Seedsow, 453

ARC 4 - RADIANT

CHAPTER 5 - EPHRAIM'S TALE

Auryn finished re-doing her hair for the third time and let the wheat-colored braid fall down over her shoulder. She’d laid Kira down to sleep some two hours ago and scrubbed all the pots and pans dirtied from dinner shortly after. With nothing else to do in order to pass the time, she sat in one of the wooden chairs in the small entry of their house and stared at the front door.

It was a nice place, far better than the dreadful offerings of the Slants, but also far below anything a noble would ever consider living in. Still, Ephraim’s earnings from the Order had afforded them this pleasant place of shelter she was proud to call home.

Sitting alone, however, as she had done for the past two seasons, hurt. Each night pulled at her heart, but with each setting of the sun without Ephraim’s return, she knew he was finding success. Now, on the sixtieth night, she rocked steadily back and forth in the chair and tried not to chew her nails while she waited for his arrival.

All the willpower in the world wouldn’t have stopped her heart from skipping a beat when the knock came. She scrambled across the room and flung open the door without bothering to ask who was there. Ephraim stood before her, his leather bag slung across one shoulder with one hand tucked beneath its strap and the other stuffed into his pocket. He was a good bit thinner than when he’d left, but his round face was just as handsome as the day they’d married. He studied her for a moment, then flashed the warmest smile she’d seen in a long time.

“Whoa,” he said in surprise as Auryn threw herself into him.

He dropped the bag at the foot of the door and wrapped his arms around her. Heavens how she wanted to snuggle closer, to somehow be even more enveloped by him.

“I missed you, too,” he whispered and gave the side of her head a kiss.

When she was finally content that he was back and it wasn’t a horrible daydream, Auryn pulled herself away and wiped the tears from her eyes.

“I saved you some dinner, but it's long gone cold,” she said through a broken smile. “The bread will still be good, though.”

“Ah, that’s alright. They let us eat when we were done,” Ephraim replied. He picked up his bag and walked back into their home as though he’d not been gone more than a day. “I think I’d just like to see Kira and then get some sleep.”

Auryn nodded. This was how things were supposed to be. He belonged here. At home.

“I’ve already put her down for the night,” she told him.

Ephraim gave a bit of a pout. “That’s too bad,” he grumbled, then tossed his bag onto a nearby chair and rushed her. Auryn let out a faint yelp as she was swept off her feet and spun around the room. “I’ll just have to settle for you, then!”

After lots of giggling and several deep kisses, Ephraim released her and the two headed up the short staircase to their daughter’s room. Kira hadn’t stirred despite the commotion downstairs and Ephraim was quiet as he crept over to her bed and pulled up a stool at its side. Auryn grabbed the other and took a seat next to her husband, intently watching him as he lightly brushed his fingers along Kira’s cheeks.

“So what was it like?” she asked softly.

“It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done,” Ephraim answered.

Auryn studied her husband. He’d lost weight, but that was to be expected, she supposed. “You seem in good spirits if it was that bad.”

Ephraim smiled faintly. “Just…at ease,” he said.

“Because it’s over?”

“Mostly.” Ephraim gave another gentle stroke of Kira’s hair. “With all the talk of a coming war with the Void I’d begun to think we might actually see the end. Heaven knows, our ancestors almost did.” He paused, eyes glazed over in memory. “You should have seen him, Auryn,” he muttered. “The one who wanted to be a Justicar.”

“Oh?”

“First time I’d ever seen one outside the Citadel’s halls and he was only a candidate. If all the Justicar are like him I feel like we have a fighting chance.”

Auryn smiled and laid her head atop her husband’s shoulder while she watched him dote on their child. “And how is that?”

“I didn’t know before, but the trials are joint,” Ephraim explained absently. “At the start they ask if anyone wishes to declare intent to join the Justicar ranks. He was the only one who raised his hand. From that moment he sentenced himself to two seasons of agony. If my trial was hard, his was impossible.”

Her husband shook his head in dismay. “By the time we woke every morning he was already gone and when I would stir in the middle of the night he was still awake, studying their Code. Sometimes they let him join us when we were doing group exercises, but most of the time they just ran him. They ran him like a horse, Auryn. I don’t know how his legs weren’t ground down to stumps.”

“Well I feel better knowing there are strong people on our side, too,” she mused. “And I feel much safer now that there’s a Crusader in our home.”

“That’s not even the half of it!” Ephraim said, ignoring the compliment.

Auryn longed to take her husband to bed, to finally have someone to hold, but she could sense the wonder in his voice and let him continue. It was rather cute when he got worked up like this and the sound of his voice was comforting, like find a soft spot in the grass to rest between a days’ work.

“About halfway through the trial they had us fight him,” he said.

“They make you fight each other? Why?”

Ephraim nodded. “All the time. They’re normally just sparring matches, but sometimes they made us fight the Crusaders overseeing the trial. It was designed so that we would always lose. A test of our resolve, I think. Anyway, we were led out of the city to a shallow branch of the river. There was a large crate at the center of it. ‘Don’t let the one inside reach the shore’, they told us. We stood around for hours. Didn’t think anyone would wait in the cold water that long. Then, all of a sudden, there was fog everywhere so thick we couldn’t see each other even at a few paces away. It got unbearably hot and then the crate just…exploded. The bastard didn’t even have a weapon and he still moved through a dozen of us like a scythe through grass.”

“Very impressive,” Auryn said with a yawn.

It had been a long day - a long two seasons. Ephraim, despite saying he wanted to rest, seemed more interested in recounting his experience. She would allow him just a few moments more, then lead him off to their room. For now having their family together again was worth all the exhaustion in the world.

“Come to find out,” Ephraim continued, “he’d been in there the whole day, cramped up in that box. And it wasn’t fog, we reasoned, but steam. Somehow he heated all that water to mask his escape. I don’t even know how he would have done it.”

Auryn rose slowly and Ephraim followed. She watched him give their daughter a light kiss on the forehead from the doorway before he turned to follow her quietly down the hall to their room. She untied the piece of leather from her hair and let the blonde locks fall down her back. The slip she wore as nightclothes was soft as silk, a gift from Ephraim what must have been over a year ago. She’d worn it every night he’d been gone.

“So he became a Justicar?” she asked while pulling back her half of the blankets.

“No idea,” Ephraim answered and did the same on his side of the bed. The frame gave a soft creak as they both slid into the embrace of the cool linens. “We weren’t around to see. I don’t even know his name, other than ‘Candidate Two’.”

Auryn slid over next to her husband and placed her head into the crook of his shoulder and her hand on his chest. “Number two? Who was above him?”

“It’s not like it was a ranking,” Ephraim said, his voice carrying the heaviness of slumber. “Best we could figure it was the order we signed up. Some islander was number one.” He gave a light sigh as he shimmied further down the mattress so his head was no longer propped up. “I was fifteen.”

“I thought you signed up fairly early.”

“I did. Those two must have signed up almost a season in advance. Probably the same day the trial was announced.”

Five stood in the center of the open courtyard. Their clothes were tattered and caked with dirt, yet their posture would have led anyone to believe them the proudest soldiers in the Realm. They stood shoulder to shoulder, an unbreakable wall.

A figure approached from the archway in front of them. The five did not move. Not even their eyes wandered from their fixed position, for they had been told to be still.

The figure stopped some distance before the group and carried every bit of the shadow he had come from. Dark clothes and a dark cloak that skimmed the ground revealed little other than that the figure was a man. One of the five recognized the grim face of the figure, but in the last two seasons knowing someone had been but a construct. There was nothing but the Trial. Those overseeing it were not the same people they were outside of it - those leaving not the same as when they had entered.

“Candidate Twelve, come with me,” Merced said in a gruff voice, and then promptly turned back to walk the way he had come. The fourth in line stepped forward crisply and followed the same path.

The remaining four were left to wait. The evening drew on and the sky grew darker, but they remained still. Eventually another figure approached, this one clad in polished armor that gleamed like pure silver in the rising moonlight. This man was large and had long brown hair kept in a neat bun tied behind his head by a small band of leather. Though his armor covered much, one of the four recognized the muscled arms and hardened hands that peaked out from beneath the plate. Swann.

“Three of you have been chosen to join the Crusader ranks. If you are called, step forward. Once all three are called, follow me.” The Crusader spoke softly, yet his voice was firm as he began his list:

“Candidate One.”

The candidate on Raegn’s left stepped forward. He dared not show true emotion, but joy welled up within him so strong that he couldn’t stop the corner of his mouth from twitching. They’d all but known standing in the courtyard on the sixtieth night meant they’d passed, but there had been no guarantee. They’d just been told only three of four had been chosen, after all. Kai had been one of them, though, and in that Raegn could find joy.

“Candidate Ten.”

The girl to Raegn’s right stepped forward.

“Candidate Fifteen.”

Raegn heard the steps of the last, but the girl blocked his peripheral vision. It mattered little; he knew what they looked like. He also knew that he was the sole member of the original five that had not been called.

The Crusader paused to confirm three had separated themselves and then turned to leave. The three fell in behind him, not so much as a glance over their shoulder as they exited the courtyard. Raegn was left behind. Alone. He stood as a statue would and lost himself in steady breathing as time went by. He did not pray, for he had given the Trial his all. It would have to be enough.

After a time he realized that a shadow loomed in the archway across the courtyard. He had no recollection of the figure appearing and therefore had no idea how long had they had been standing there. The figure leaned its massive form against the opening with arms folded across its chest and one leg crossed in front of the other at the ankles. Were the archway not directly in front of him, Raegn doubted he would’ve noticed whoever it was. Now that he had, though, he could see nothing else. Raegn stared straight ahead, directly at the figure, but he had not been given any other instructions. He continued to stand, motionless. Waiting.

When the sun had fully set and the moon and stars were all that offered light, the figure heaved itself off the stone archway and approached. If their towering height hadn’t been enough to reveal their identity, the partially shaved head, thick facial hair, and broad shoulders would have been plenty. None other than High Justicar Aldway strode towards him.

The exiled northerner approached without any sense of urgency and stopped at the same mark the Inquisitor and Crusader had. He eyed Raegn with brown irises that somehow showed their color despite the darkness.

“Canditate Two, you have been selected as a Justicar, though you have one more trial to complete,” Cenric declared. “A sponsor is required for this trial. Do you request a specific member?”

Raegn almost frowned, but forbade the movement from crossing his lips. Cenric was the only Justicar he’d ever truly spoken with. The man had personally trained him for the Trial, even. The others had all been temporary instructors. Was this the reason the High Justicar was before him?

“You,” Raegn said. Who else was he to choose?

“I refuse,” Cenric replied firmly and, without pause, continued, “No one has chosen you and your request has not been fulfilled. In this instance, as Commander of the Justicar, I will appoint a sponsor for you. Follow me.”

Rather than turn back the way he had come, Cenric continued forward, brushing past the dumbfounded candidate. Raegn hesitated, trying to process what had just happened. Cenric denied him? Why?

The continued footfalls of the large Justicar prompted him to turn crisply on his heel and fall in behind, his mind still working for an answer that would not come.

“Don’t march. Just walk,” Cenric said, barely turning his head enough to see Raegn out of the corner of his eye.

Raegn complied, dropping the rigid posture and rolling his shoulders to stretch his tight muscles. Asking Cenric why he had refused was the only thing on his mind, but he still hadn’t been given permission to speak. With one trial remaining more scrutiny was near certain, so he followed, silently, as they left the courtyard and walked through the back corridors of the Citadel.

He recognized the wing they entered the moment they crossed the threshold. The walls changed from simple polished stone and brick to intricate mosaics and paint. The Wing of the Crusader. Part way down the hallway Cenric turned and descended a flight of stairs that doubled back halfway down. Raegn could feel the heat and humidity as they reached the bottom and his nostrils were filled with the fresh scent of lavender. They stopped outside a door, one of nearly a dozen along the dead-end hall, each with a gentle bit of steam wafting from its edges.

“You will enter and bathe,” Cenric instructed. “It is essential that you make yourself as clean as you can possibly be. Take your time. When you are done, knock twice on the door. I will take the clothes you are currently wearing.”

Cenric reached out a hand to indicate he meant take them at this very moment. Raegn complied, pulling at the laces on his boots and slipping them off before removing the pants and shirt as well. With clothes bundled in one arm, Cenric pushed open the door with the other. Steam and heat poured from the small room and the single pool of water inside. Raegn entered and the door was closed behind him. The bath was simple, nothing more than the tub itself and several brushes on a small shelf amidst other soaps and leaves, but smelled it heavenly. The scents cleared his sinuses and afforded him the easiest breath he’d taken in days.

Raegn grabbed a few soaps as well as several brushes and tested the water. It stung as it warmed the blood in his foot, but after a few seconds faded to a dull heat. He sat on the edge, letting his legs enter up to his knees and placing the brushes and soaps beside him. Once his lower legs had gotten accustomed to the water he gently slid himself off the edge. The bath nearly reached his shoulders as he sat on the smooth bottom, his head filled with steam now that it was so close to the surface. He rested for a moment, letting the heat pull away at the tension throughout his body and allowing the buoyancy to hold a portion of his weight. His muscles unwound one by one and each breath he took was deeper than the last. Light, he had nearly forgotten what is was like to relax. No fear of interruption. No sudden rush to appear before the cadre. No judging of his every action. Just a simple bath.

Yet the thought of one final trial broke him of that peace. What would it be? Combat? Another written test? He’d done both countless times, most of the time sweating and bleeding, over the past two seasons. They wouldn’t have him clean himself if it were those things. Clean, he reminded himself. Raegn began urgently scrubbing himself down with the brush, working the soap into a thick lather across his body. Was he going to appear before someone important? The Low Council again? After his Templar Trial they’d said they didn’t interfere in the Order’s assessments, though, so it couldn’t be them.

Raegn dunked himself to rinse the soap from his hair. Wiping the water free of his eyes, he inspected himself. Dirt was still caked under his nails and he could see dark flecks in the creases of his skin. ‘...as clean as you possibly be,’ Cenric had said. Raegn grabbed the brush and scrubbed down those areas again and used the edge of the wood to scrape under his nails. Another rinse, another inspection. He repeated the process twice more before he was satisfied that all the filth had been removed before pulling himself from the bath. He placed the brush and soaps back on the shelf, examining himself one last time after drying off with one of the large white towels folded in the corner. His skin was a soft pink all over from the rough bristles of the brush, but hopefully that would fade quickly.

He wrapped the towel around his waist and knocked twice. The door was pulled open the moment his knuckles left the wood. Cenric towered before him with a simple brown robe hung across his arm. The large Justicar stepped behind Raegn and helped slide the coarse fabric over his arms.

“Come,” Cenric said with a guiding hand on Raegn’s back. “Your final trial awaits.”