With the Sisters retreating from the sky and His welcoming light rising to greet us, we left behind the first night of our new purpose.
Felix and I followed behind the squeaking cart, the sound of the sleeping creature's soft snore upon its bed setting the rhythm of our march.
Sister Adrian looked weary in the pale twilight, her posture bent from the chill. But when the Lifegiver's first rays touched her skin, they seemed to rouse her anew; she straightened her back, drew the reins tighter, and guided the horses forward with sudden purpose.
Both Felix and I claimed some of His radiance as well, reawakening ourselves from the night's travel—ready for the road that stretched before us.
Lapurum's burning reminders faded upon the horizon, and the fertile farmlands that was fed by its rivers filled our sight.
"So, Praefectus—what is our first task for the day?" Felix asked, his tone still carrying the discipline of the camp.
"We'll take advantage of the light as much as we can," I began, outlining our day's plan. "We'll keep moving upriver until we reach Arventis. It will be easier if we stay upon the Severian Steps—I can only hope the old Imperial road still stands after so many years of neglect. Even if it has fallen into disrepair, our course will still be marked upon the ground."
Felix nodded, his expression intent, as though waiting for a battle order to follow my words.
"Shall we continue the march after darkness falls as well, Praefectus?" he asked eagerly.
"No. It would not be sustainable to go two nights without rest—not often, at least. You know how exhausting the darkness can be when the body is denied its due. The flesh does not forget when the Lifegiver withholds His blessing. Remember that, Felix," I said, keeping my tone firm to temper his young spirit.
"You're right, Praefectus," he replied more quietly, his earlier eagerness fading into thought. "Exhausting ourselves this early would amount to little. We have a long road ahead."
To our left, between the river and the Severian Steps, stretched fields of barley—green stalks freshly broken through the soil, growing quickly with the lengthening days. To our right stood the olive groves, their trees long forgotten by time, left to twist and knot upon themselves through the passing centuries.
From the front of the cart, Sister Adrian began her morning prayer—her voice soft with humility yet strong with devotion. Paired with the sight before me, it made my breath feel lighter, if only for that fleeting moment.
The serene calm broke like a score gone awry—the creature's snoring bass fell away, replaced by the hollow percussion of its chains: a rhythm out of order, unwilling to be ignored, as it stirred upon the cart's bed and reacquainted itself with the waking world.
The creature let out a loud yawn as it stretched within its bounds. For a heartbeat, it startled Adrian—so enthralled in her prayer that she hadn't noticed it stirring—forcing a sharp, short scream that broke her psalm in half.
Felix and I reached instinctively for our weapons—but he was far quicker to act. In one motion he unbuckled the top leather strap that held his sword in place within its traveling scabbard, ready to draw.
The creature, however, seemed entirely unbothered by our alarm. It blinked once, then addressed Sister Adrian with an exaggerated politeness.
"I deeply apologize if I startled you, miss," it said, "but I assumed you'd be aware of me—being the one set to watch over me and all that."
Its tone carried the faintest barb, a subtle stab at her vigilance.
"Please, do go on. Don't let me interrupt your morning devotions," it added, perhaps trying to mend the remark. "You do have a rather pleasing voice, I must say."
Despite myself, I found there was truth in that.
"Keep your fool tongue inside your mouth, creature—or I'll carve it out for you if you cannot," Sister Adrian replied without even turning to face him. She merely glanced over her shoulder, letting her arm drift from her side just enough for the creature to glimpse the small crescent sickle hanging from her belt.
The moment caught all of us by surprise. Her merciless tone alone seemed to remind the creature of the last time it had faced the Church's hand; it sank heavily into silence upon the cart's wooden bed.
Felix and I eased our stances, exchanging a brief look of mutual respect for the young priestess. She might have appeared frail—but His light clearly burned somewhere deep within her.
Sister Adrian returned to her prayer, and we continued down the old stone-paved via in silence.
The day had begun to warm as we pressed on, the sound of the river Bellanis frothing beside us—its waters newly revived by spring—filling the quiet space between us.
Even in company, I could see that each of us carried our own loneliness. Sister Adrian had shown her bite earlier when she faced the creature, but that had also been the first time she'd spoken since our journey began.
The creature itself looked thoughtful, as expected, yet a quiet dread lingered upon its sharp features. Perhaps it had believed that leaving the confines of its cage in camp would grant it more freedom to tempt or manipulate us.
Felix's solitude was less apparent—but I knew it was there. As a warhorse set to plow fields will not keep its spirit long, I feared the same might one day happen to my friend.
Let's put some work into him, I thought, turning to break his quiet study of the fields.
"Legatus Varian," I called, adopting a mock formality. "Care for a little spar? We wouldn't want to wear down our saddles too much, would we?" I added, the challenge gentle but deliberate.
A spark lit Felix's eyes, sweeping away the fog of longing that had clouded them moments before.
"That's a fine idea, Praefectus! It's been far too long since we've had a proper drill between us," he said brightly, scanning the roadside for an open space.
"There!" he exclaimed, pointing toward a river birch just off the road, where a patch of even grass spread beneath its shade.
"Good call, Felix," I said approvingly, then turned toward the cart. "Sister, could you steer us off the path toward that tree? The Lifegiver may bless us, but our horses could use some shade and grazing in this heat."
"Right, sir," she answered, her voice softer now, almost faint, as she pulled on the reins. The cart jolted as it left the stone path and rolled into the grass; its wheels bounced over uneven ground, drawing a grunt from the creature atop it.
"Could we drive a little smoother?" it muttered timidly—then lowered its head when she cast a venomous glance his way.
Felix and I trotted toward the tree and dismounted, the cart following at a gentle pace.
I removed my cloak and folded it neatly, placing it atop the baggage I had taken from my mount to unburden it for the short rest ahead. Then I stripped off my shirt, letting the sunlight warm my skin and feeling its power stir within me.
Felix followed suit, unbuckling his belt and drawing his sword, the familiar spark of competition already alive in his eyes.
I was slower in my pace. Stretching my arms and shoulders, I began to wake the stiffness that hours on horseback had left in my joints.
Felix watched with a hint of amusement.
"Is something perplexing you, Felix?" I asked, glancing his way without pausing my routine.
"I didn't expect that horseback had grown so hard on you, Praefectus," he replied, his tone edged with mockery—perhaps to provoke me.
"In our field of work, Felix, being prepared often means everything," I said, still moving through my stretches, bending my weight onto one leg.
"I couldn't agree more, Praefectus," he returned smoothly. "But we can't always be prepared for the unexpected."
Before I could reply, he lunged—sword raised, both hands gripping the hilt, his body driving forward in a sudden charge.
"That's true," I said calmly, just as he came within reach. I pivoted on one foot, my lifted leg turning me aside to let him pass cleanly by.
He caught himself and turned, eyes narrowing in renewed focus.
I placed one hand on my scabbard and drew my blade halfway, intercepting his next advance and catching his sword in a bind.
"Never assume anything about your opponent, brother," I told him, holding firm against his press. "Evaluate."
With a push, I freed our blades and stepped back to create distance.
"My only assumption," Felix said with a grin, "was that I still wouldn't land a strike on you, Praefectus."
"Then evaluate," I answered, drawing my sword fully from its sheath. The grey steel caught the midday light as I readied my stance for the next exchange.
Felix launched again, his sword drawn close to his body. I waited, knowing he would try to extend his thrust toward my unguarded side. When he committed, I moved—curving my blade just enough to catch his momentum and guide it harmlessly away. In the same motion, I stepped forward and drove my elbow against the side of his skull.
Felix staggered back a few dizzy steps, shaking his head to clear the ringing in his ears.
"If something looks obvious, brother, then it's obvious to everyone," I told him, letting my sword trace a fluent circle through the air—a small flourish meant to aggravate him with its ease.
He had grown sharper at reading his opponent, that much was certain. But he still had work ahead of him—to temper his emotions and keep them from interfering with his skill.
For a brief moment, I glanced toward the cart. The young priestess was there, tending to the horses absentmindedly—yet her gaze lingered on our sparring.
The creature watched as well, though its attention was different. Its eyes were sharp, calculating; it looked less a spectator and more a scholar, as if gathering notes to later advise us on how we might improve our technique.
I turned my attention back to Felix. He had reclaimed his stance, his gaze fixed on me with renewed intensity.
"I'll have to do better if I plan to touch you, won't I, Praefectus?" he said, his voice low and edged with resolve.
"I'll be happy if you try, Legatus," I replied, bracing for his next move.
"How about a little more heat, then?" he asked—and laid his palm against his blade.
"Sanguis Ignis."
He drew the sword through his hand, letting a thin stream of blood trace the edge and pool at a groove near the fuller. The carved Word along the steel flared to life, and to my surprise, flames devoured the length of his blade. The blood ceased its flow, sealed by the same fire, and a faint ember glowed near the hilt. A drawn-out exclamation rose from the cart.
"Oh, well now —that's bright," the creature murmured in quiet wonder.
"Fancy swords won't make you any quicker, Felix," I called, stepping forward to steal back the surprise he'd given me.
Felix was ready for my advance, positioning himself accordingly—the flames licking his face as he drew the blade close.
I struck low, aiming to sweep his legs, but he was quick to retreat and launch his counter.
I turned my upper body, bracing the flat of my sword with one hand while the other held the hilt, catching his flaming blade before it could split my head in two.
The heat was unbearable—putting my face into a pottery oven might have felt much the same. My skin burned as I pushed him back, hooking my foot behind his in an attempt to trip him. He stumbled but held his ground.
I brushed my fingers against the scorched patch already reforming along my cheek, then met Felix's eyes. A grin had carved its way across his sweat-slick face.
"That doesn't count," I said, cutting off his unspoken gloating, though I knew it was hopeless.
"Yeah, I know," he replied, his tone dripping with confidence. "Still—it stung a bit, didn't it, Praefectus?"
He shifted his stance again, blade at the ready, eager to continue.
He came at me, his sword a flaming lance in his hands, striking before I could even raise my own to meet it.
I saw at once that all his strength was behind the charge—and I knew the moment had come to end it.
With my right arm extended and my blade drawn wide, I stepped forward into the path of his thrust. The move startled him just long enough for me to crouch beneath the arc of his strike, pivot to his right side, and, as he passed, sweep my sword across his back in a single arching cut.
Felix let out a sharp wheeze, his sword falling from his grasp—the flames upon it dying the instant it touched the ground.
"Why would you do that?!" the creature cried from the cart, its chained hands gripping the wooden frame in alarm.
"Silence," hissed Sister Adrian without looking up.
"But he just murdered him! Weren't they supposed to be comrades—or brothers—or whatever they are?" it went on, but the priestess ignored him. She merely pulled a fistful of grass through her sickle with a single sharp motion and fed it to the horses.
"You always fall for it," I called out to him, lying face-down in the grass.
"I should have learned by now," he replied between coughs, the gash across his back already beginning to close under the Lifegiver's tender grace.
I rose and extended a hand to him. "You've grown stronger, brother," I said as he rolled onto his back and met my gaze, his eyes bright once more.
"And you haven't grown a bit weaker, Praefectus," he answered, grasping my arm as I helped him to his feet.
"This should suffice for now, don't you think?" I asked, guiding him with me to tend to our weapons and cool down from our brief exercise.
"How did he—? What just happened?" the creature wondered aloud.
"You are either truly oblivious to His grace, aren't you?" Sister Adrian asked, for once addressing it with genuine curiosity.
The creature blinked at her, puzzled. "My visit to your people's land was not sufficient for me to witness as much as I'd like—to truly understand what you actually are—"
It fell silent as Felix and I returned to where they stood.
"Masterful exposition, gentlemen," it said after a pause. "Your use of close-combat intellect was truly magnificent to watch."
"Thank you," I replied, while Felix and Adrian exchanged a brief, awkward glance over my shoulder.
"Let's get back to the road," I said, brushing aside their stillness, "once the horses are done watering."
The Lifegiver was already descending as we returned to the stone-laid via, its light stretching long shadows before us.