There is peace in the monotony of my days. An early wake. Wander the streets before others even dream of opening their eyes.
Down the road, boisterous laughter carries from a tavern. Rowdy knights, soldiers of the like, spending a late night with friends and comrades catching up. Comparing scars. Telling drunken stories. It calls to me, lures me like a siren in the water, hungry for blood.
So, I ignore the call. It’s easier these days to do so. To continue with my routine, as I have for many years now. Even though we are the same, the knights, the soldiers and I. Same build, same hands. Same callouses. Same blood lust.
But that life is not mine anymore. And entering that tavern will not bring back those I have lost. Only pull me deeper into a drink I didn’t want to begin with.
The doors of the bakery unlock clean, with a quiet click. I only need to light one candle these days. I know this place like the back of my hands. I know every floorboard that creaks, the bags of flour I need to use first. Where every pot, pan, and tray is located. I could work here blind if I so needed.
But I know soon the sun will rise. My doors will open so the smell of fresh goods waft into the roads. And I will greet the faces of people I used to protect. And in some ways I still do. Providing food, and goods is how I keep my oaths.
In some ways, the knights, the soldiers, and I, we never stopped being the same. My oaths never broken. They just changed with time.