A Battle Won, A Life Lost.
The voice rang in his ears like nails on a chalkboard.Â
The Paladinâs head smashed into the tile of the shower. Frustration and anger had its hold on him like wolf clung to prey. Scalding water turned pale flesh red with each pinprick of the droplet. Knuckles shone white with the clench of a fist.
Hours since Brennadam and Lumeal was unable to cleanse his mind of the raucous sound of the human child crying out for its father. The headless corpse.
A circumstance that was given to him by none other than Champion Blackstrider.
It was not without a fight.
Blow after blow sustained to the Paladin before he finally ended the Knightâs life with a swift and precise swing of his new glorious weapon.
So, why was the Champion sitting in his shower damning no one but himself?
After all, heâd assumed to have been the cause of many orphans over the years.
Though, itâd been five centuries since heâd murdered a man in cold blood in front of his family. The memory haunted him every day.
âAnnâda!â A small boy broke against the vice grip of his mother. Small little hands smashed at plate greaves.
The blows did nothing but annoy the renegade man. A man without light. A man without a family. A man without hope. The only things he carried with him now was a sword and a score to settle.
Rathfen had stolen what was most sacred to Lumeal, and it was time Lumeal stole that which was sacred to his brother: his own life. Heâd stop at nothing to claim it.
Lumealâs cold gaze was peeled from the elf he had pinned against a wall towards the source of annoyance. His plated hand reeled back, connecting with the cheek of the boy with a thunderous clap that sent the boy stumbling back into the arms of his wailing mother.
âI suggest you keep him still lest you want to see him witness the same fate!â He barked.
The comment only created another wail from the woman.
A roll of the eye, Blackstrider turned back to his interrogatee. âYou were just about to tell me the location of Rathfen.â
The man stared Lumeal down. He remained silent.
Moments passed. The two refused to speak. The only sound the cries of the wife and child behind them.
The blade stashed within the disgraced Priestâs belt found a new home in the patriarchâs heart.
Lumeal let the body fall to the floor. He turned his head, Â looking at the child who broke free once more to lay across the dying man. Lumeal pulled a white kerchief from his breastplate. He wiped his gauntlets clean and tossed the cloth onto the body.
Carefully he stepped over the corpse and the boy, only to disappear through the front door. Â
Once the light had graced his body again, Lumeal had vowed never to kill a foe in front of their family. He knew the toll it took.
Though this time, he did not know the circumstance. This time, it was an accident.
It was just another memory added to the disheartening vault.
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