Sergeant Vane stopped abruptly.
Nero nearly walked into him, catching himself at the last moment.
The Sergeant stood before another slab, this one no different from any of the others. The body was wrapped. The candle burned. The stone bore no inscription, no marking to distinguish it from the thousands of identical graves surrounding it.
But Vane stared at it as though it were the only thing in the world.
"This is my father's grave," he said.
Nero blinked. He glanced at the slab, then back at Vane.
The Sergeant's face had changed. The harsh lines had softened, just slightly. The cruel glare in his eyes had dimmed to something quieter. Sadder.
"My family has served the Church for generations," Vane continued. His voice was low, almost distant.
"I come from a long lineage of nobles. We dedicated our lives, our blood, to the fight against the darkness. My father. His father before him. And his father before that."
He paused, his gaze fixed on the flame above the grave.
