The silver moonlight was a weak, watery grey, doing little to pierce the heavy, oppressive shadows of the forest. The abandoned monastery stood on the hill like a rotted, broken tooth, its bell tower a jagged silhouette against the moonlight. The air was cold, damp, and unnervingly quiet.
Derek, completely hidden beneath a heavy, plain, dark-wool cloak, his face obscured by a simple, black half-mask that left only his eyes visible, moved through the trees like a shadow.
He reached the crumbling stone wall of the monastery and paused, listening. There was no sound. No birds. No rustle of guards. No signal. Only the heavy, tomblike silence that settles in places long forgotten by men. He had waited three years for this meeting since he found out the man was still alive. Commander Leon, his father's most trusted soldier, a man who had vanished after the war, had finally sent word.
A single message: The truth of the massacre. Meet me at the old monastery. Come alone. Trust no one.
