Chapter 2 — Shadows of the Past

Gabriel d'Avern

The air was thick with the scent of blood and damp earth as Gabriel d’Avern guided his destrier through the charred remnants of the battlefield. The dying sun dripped red across the horizon, staining the sky like fresh wounds. Crow-black birds circled overhead, their harsh cries a grim hymn to the death that lingered here. Broken banners fluttered feebly in the breeze, their heraldry obscured by soot and gore.

Gabriel kept his gaze fixed ahead, forcing himself not to linger on the faces of the fallen. Still, they haunted him—etched into his memory with a clarity he could not escape. One, a boy no older than sixteen, flashed before his mind, his pale lips murmuring a prayer as Gabriel’s blade struck true. Another, a grizzled man with a scarred face, spat curses with his final breath. They were there, always there, accusing him in the quiet hours when sleep refused to come.

His polished armor, dulled by dirt and blood, bore the scars of the battle: a dent in the breastplate where an arrow had struck, scratches along the vambraces from close combat. His sword, sheathed at his side, felt heavier with each passing step—a weight not of steel but of the lives it had taken. The sacred vows he had once uttered now echoed hollowly in his mind. Somewhere deep in his chest, beneath the layers of duty and discipline, doubt festered like an unhealed wound.

The chapel appeared on the crest of the hill, half-shrouded by skeletal trees whose branches clawed at the sky like wailing supplicants. It was a modest structure of weathered stone, its roof caved in at one corner from decades of neglect. Yet it stood as it always had—a sanctuary, a place where Gabriel could kneel before the altar and search for absolution.

He dismounted, his boots sinking into the mud as he approached. The weight of his mail shifted with each step, the sound of it drowned by the mournful whisper of the wind. At the base of the stairs, he hesitated, glancing back at the battlefield below. The bodies lay in twisted silence, their stillness a rebuke more potent than any words. Somewhere deep within, a voice urged him to turn back, to ride far from this place and bury his guilt beneath the weight of more battles. But another voice—quieter yet inexorable—compelled him forward.

Pushing open the heavy wooden door, Gabriel stepped into the shadowed interior. The air inside was cool, tinged with the faint, familiar scent of incense long burned away. Dust motes swirled in the faint beams of light that pierced through the cracks in the weathered walls. The altar stood at the far end, its carvings worn smooth by time and weather. Gabriel removed his gauntlets, placing them on a nearby pew, and approached with slow, deliberate steps.

He knelt before the altar, his hands resting on the hilt of his sword, the tip of the blade pressed into the stone floor. His lips moved in silent prayer, though the words felt hollow, swallowed by the void that had grown within him.

“Lord,” he murmured, his voice low and cracked. “I have done my duty, fulfilled the vows of my knighthood. Yet each act of valor feels stained with sin. How many more must die by this hand before I am free of this burden? How many more lives will I destroy in Your name?”

The silence that followed was deafening. Memories surged unbidden: the boy’s blood on his gauntlets, the cries of a village burned in the name of some distant lord. Gabriel clenched his jaw, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the sword. The weight of his failures pressed against his shoulders, threatening to crush him. He had once believed himself a righteous man, a defender of the innocent and the faithful. But now? Now he wondered if he had become the very thing he had sworn to destroy.

The sound of footsteps broke his reverie. Gabriel’s head snapped up, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his sword. A figure stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the fading light. For a moment, he thought it was a trick of the shadows, but then the figure stepped forward.

She was slender and clad in a simple robe, the hem of it stained with dirt. Her hair, a dark auburn under the dying sun, framed a face both serene and sorrowful. Her green eyes—a piercing, unnatural shade of green—caught the waning light, reflecting it like polished emeralds. There was something otherworldly about her, an aura that seemed to belong not to this ruined land but to some place beyond comprehension.

“Peace, Sir Knight,” she said softly, her voice carrying an otherworldly calm. “I mean you no harm.”

Gabriel rose to his feet, his hand still hovering near the hilt of his sword. “Who are you? This chapel is abandoned.”

“I am Elowen,” she replied. “A healer, passing through this land in search of those who need aid.” Her gaze drifted to the blood on his armor, the weariness etched into his features. “And it seems I have found one such soul.”

Gabriel frowned, his pride bristling at her words. “I am no invalid, woman. My wounds are not of the flesh.”

“No,” she agreed, stepping closer. “They are not.” Her voice softened, her green eyes narrowing as though she could see straight through to the heart of him. “But they are wounds nonetheless.”

He stiffened, his back rigid. “I have no need of your pity.”

She tilted her head, studying him with a quiet intensity that unnerved him. “Pity is a gift I do not offer lightly, Sir Knight. Nor do I believe you would accept it. But perhaps… perhaps you might accept understanding.”

A flicker of something—curiosity, perhaps—flared in Gabriel’s chest. He shifted his weight but did not respond.

Elowen stepped past him, her bare feet moving soundlessly across the stone floor. She knelt before the altar, her hands folded in prayer. Silence settled between them like a fragile thread, stretching taut.

“What is it you seek, healer?” Gabriel asked finally, his voice low.

Elowen did not look at him as she replied. “I seek to ease the suffering of those I encounter. To light a candle in the darkest corners of the world.” She glanced over her shoulder at him, a faint smile touching her lips. “And you, Sir Knight? What is it you seek?”

Gabriel faltered, the question striking a chord within him. What did he seek? Redemption? Forgiveness? Or merely an escape from the endless weight of his guilt?

“I seek… peace,” he admitted, the words tasting foreign on his tongue. “But it eludes me.”

Elowen rose gracefully, turning to face him. She reached into the folds of her robe and withdrew a small talisman—a simple piece of polished stone, inscribed with intricate symbols that glowed faintly under the dim light. She extended it toward him.

“This was given to me by one who understood the paths of fate better than I,” she said. “It is said to guide those who are lost. Perhaps it will help you find what you seek.”

Gabriel hesitated, his gaze flicking between the talisman and her face. Reluctantly, he reached out and took it. The stone was cool against his palm, the symbols etched into it unfamiliar yet strangely comforting.

“Why would you offer me this?” he asked.

Elowen’s smile was faint, tinged with sadness. “Because every soul deserves a chance to find its way, even one as burdened as yours.” She stepped closer, her voice lowering. “But beware, Sir Knight. The path ahead is fraught with shadows. To find your peace, you must first confront the darkness within yourself.”

Her words unsettled him, though he could not say why. Gabriel closed his fingers around the talisman, its weight strangely reassuring. When he looked up, Elowen was already moving toward the door.

“Wait,” he called after her. “Where will you go?”

She paused in the doorway, her green eyes locking with his one final time. “Wherever the light is needed,” she said, her voice like a faint echo, as though it carried far beyond the chapel walls. And then she was gone, swallowed by the twilight.

Gabriel stood alone in the chapel, the talisman clenched in his hand. The shadows around him seemed to grow deeper, the silence more oppressive. Her words echoed in his mind.

*To find your peace, you must first confront the darkness within yourself.*

The talisman’s faint glow pulsed with an almost imperceptible rhythm, like the beating of a distant heart. Gabriel stared at it, a sense of foreboding creeping over him.

He had sought the chapel for solace, but it seemed he had found something far more unsettling.

And far more dangerous.