"Curious," Aldric muttered, his expression carefully disinterested, though his eyes betrayed the faintest flicker of disdain.
Gottfried, undeterred, continued. "Towards the end of us, when our brethren were hanged or burned alive by the mad king, I heard whispers of a novice knight traveling the land with a conjurer woman wielding thunder. Most of us—those who had lived long enough to know better—set aside such hope. We understood there was no salvation left for us."
Aldric's gaze shifted toward him, sharp and unyielding, as Gottfried drained his mug of ale and set it down with a loud thud. "The Anvil's knights entered the battle then, nearly turning the tide," Gottfried added, his voice tinged with an almost nostalgic reverence.
"But your incompetence cost me my entire family," Aldric spat, his lips curling in disgust. "My brother, my friends... Ad nearly died because of you all. Nearly turning the tide wasn't enough... We needed you."
"Our honor—"
"Your honor," Aldric interrupted coldly, his voice a blade cutting through the air. "Got more than half the knights killed. That's why Granbard didn't trust you capital-government jackboot-fucks."
The words came with such venom that Aldric's hands twitched toward his weapon, the memory of that day—the day the world fell—flooding his mind. If it weren't for the centuries of patience he had forced himself to cultivate, he might have ended Gottfried right then and there.
Gottfried's brows furrowed deeply, his gaze dropping to the table. Shame painted his face, but Aldric didn't care. He didn't need the man's shame, nor his dignity, integrity, or loyalty. He needed nothing from those who had betrayed their own brethren for some bullshit oath to serve a mad king who had butchered their kind.
"The Anvil's Captain Commander, Granbard, was a pious man," Gottfried said, his voice quieter now, as though seeking to defend some sliver of honor. "He did all he could to protect his homeland and—"
"You, of all people!" Aldric slammed his hand against the table with controlled force, his voice a low growl that silenced the room around them. He sighed, calming himself, "I am not threatening you. I am giving you a promise: say another word about the Captain Commander, and I will rip your tongue out of your mouth."
Gottfried's head bowed lower, his face now unmistakably marked by shame.
"If you and your kind had lived up to your purpose—" Aldric began, his voice cold and firm, but Gottfried interrupted, his own tone darkening.
"We, the knights of the capital, placed our faith in the king rather than in God," he said grimly. "That is what the Crown of Keidar—the Academy of Knights in the capital—taught us."
Aldric let out a bitter laugh, his tone laced with scorn. "No wonder your Captain Commander died early, rotting from venom he couldn't overcome."
Gottfried's face hardened, his gaze lifting to meet Aldric's with a grim intensity. "We were corrupted, yes. But not our Captain Commander." His voice grew deeper, rough with conviction, and his nose scrunched as though the very words pained him. "We were fools, Aldric. But we were not ingrates."
"I don't give two shits," Aldric said curtly, rising to his feet. He tossed a few coins onto the table, enough to cover the bill, and walked out without a second glance.
Frustration gnawed at him, its teeth sinking deep as old memories clawed their way to the surface. The war that had erased knights from existence loomed large in his mind, a shadow that refused to fade. The question of the forbidden words dissolved beneath the tide of his emotions, pushed aside as his thoughts consumed him.
He found himself before the statue once more, its familiar presence drawing him like a moth to flame. Aldric sat down, his gaze fixed on the figure of the woman carved in stone. The darkness had deepened, yet the statue was unusually clear to his eyes tonight.
He stared harder, and for the first time, he noticed tiny cracks running across the woman's face. The fissures, subtle yet deliberate, cast shadows that gave the eerie impression of weeping. The realization struck him—small details he had never bothered to see. His flickering gaze softened, and his mind drifted far away, to a time when the old Capital—the Heels of Aurora—still stood.
He remembered the prisoners. Those poor souls he had freed, only for them to resist him, clinging to their chains as though they were lifelines. They had been broken, their minds twisted into believing that the prison was safer than the world outside.
And then there was her.
Lady Catherine Hope.
The name surfaced like a long-buried treasure, her face rising from the depths of his memory. She had left a mark on him that no time could erase. A knight of the Anvil, a veteran of unparalleled skill and honor. Catherine had been admired by all—her comrades, her enemies, even those who whispered tales of her victories and the mercy she had shown in the face of cruelty.
Yet there she had been, in that wretched prison, sitting quietly as if she had been saved by its cold embrace. She no longer longed for freedom; she had surrendered that dream. Aldric could still see her as she was then—serene, resigned. He had left her behind when he escaped.
He didn't know what became of her.
But he hoped, with all the fragments of his fractured heart, that Catherine had found her freedom.
And in that moment, Aldric wondered if he had grown to resemble her. A bird that had glimpsed the freedom of the wild, only to settle for the comfort of a cage. His nose scrunched as the thought twisted uncomfortably in his mind.
What was I ever thinking?
Freedom had never been his goal. It was a fantasy for those with no chains binding them. No, Aldric had never yearned for it. His goal had always been singular, unwavering.
Revenge.
If the man he believed now led the Conjurers truly was the one he thought—if he was still alive—then Aldric would have his revenge. Even if he was a bird with clipped wings, his talons would find their mark.
Aldric rose to his feet, brushing the dust from his coat. His gaze lingered on the statue for a moment longer, then shifted to the horizon.
The past could keep its memories. Aldric had his purpose, and he would see it through.
Familiar footsteps echoed softly from behind, halting just a few paces away. Aldric, his frustration still smoldering, didn't bother turning immediately. He decided, begrudgingly, to let the man go with a warning. He wanted nothing more to do with him.
"I have nothing to give you, and you have nothing to provide me," Aldric said flatly, his voice carrying the weight of finality. He turned to face Gottfried, his gaze sharp. "Best be on your way."
It was a warning, clear and deliberate.
Gottfried inclined his head slightly. "I understand," he said, his tone calm, measured. "But, if you ever wish, I would be of help."
That much was true. A knight's aid, even one from the capital, was no small thing. But Aldric's personal distaste for the man outweighed any potential benefit. He simply didn't wish to keep Gottfried near him.
"Go north," Aldric said, his tone clipped as he gestured vaguely in that direction. "If you want to be useful, help my son. El Ritch is his name. He's with the horned-man's tribe—" Aldric paused, his jaw tightening. He considered carefully before continuing, his heart beating a touch faster. "He's with the people we called... demons in the old world."
The word left his lips, his pulse spiking in anticipation. But nothing happened. No curse, no consequence.
Gottfried's eyes widened, his surprise evident. "You sent your child to demons—"
"In a way," Aldric interrupted, his tone as neutral as he could manage. "Julian, their chief, is the only real one among them. The others are... well—" He let the sentence hang unfinished, and Gottfried wisely chose not to press further.
"Julian owes me a debt," Aldric added after a moment, his voice firm. "He swore an oath." The word carried a weight of its own. An oath sworn to—or from—a knight was no mere promise. It bound one's will, like chains forged from iron and conviction. "So, if you wish to be of use, aid my child."
With that, Aldric turned sharply to the left, his mind already shifting back to his purpose. He was here for an anchor, and nothing else mattered.
The fog had grown heavier now, curling thickly around him like a shroud. The air blurred, smudging the world into indistinct shapes. Soon, Gottfried and the statue vanished from sight, swallowed whole by the haze as Aldric continued his path, alone.