Raen walked, but his mind was elsewhere – trapped between the stink of the interrogation cell and the cold throne room in memory.

  He shook his head, trying to dislodge the thoughts. Trying to think of what exactly to tell Kaelen.

  Should he only tell him what the spy had said out loud? Perhaps he could give him some more information? Something that could help fight the enemy?

  He then stopped.

  Mere meters ahead of him was Thatch. He wore a bored expression on his face, seemingly waiting for him.

  Thatch glanced at him before tilting his head sideways, motioning for Raen to follow him.

  ‘What does he want now?’ Raen wondered, watching Thatch with confusion.

  ‘Did he get a breakthrough observing Vares’ skull?’

  Raen’s eyes narrowed slightly, his interest piquing.

  He had doubted that Thatch would find anything useful, but he didn’t know the full extent of his capabilities.

  His curiosity led him to follow after Thatch, who walked at a regular pace, uninterested in conversing at that moment.

  He turned left at a tent.

  Raen followed,

  Nobody was in front of him after taking the turn.

  It was then that he felt the cold steel of the dagger pressing on his throat.

  “How did you know to communicate with that man?” Thatch’s voice, cold as a winter’s night, entered his ear as a whisper.

  Raen froze in that moment.

  ‘He saw us converse!’

  His mind froze with his body, his thoughts stopping for an instant.

  Thatch saw him talking to the spy, saw him using the signs.

  That was bad. Very bad.

  It was something he couldn’t explain. Not to Thatch.

  He was a lost child of the Veil, someone who had been taught to hate the cult since he could think. It was so deeply engraved in his mind that the mere sight of a cultist would cause his personality to shift.

  That’s what usually happened to all the other lost children Raen had met in the past.

  “Lieutenant,” Thatch said. “Why are you silent?”

  His voice was unnervingly calm.

  “How did you know to use those signs. Who are you truly?” The dagger was pulled slightly, drawing some blood.

  His body was still frozen in shock, but his mind was back at work.

  ‘Think Raen, think!’

  Raen knew that if he didn’t have an answer – the right answer – he was dead.

  Not because Thatch wanted to kill him. But because he had to. Because he was trained, conditioned to do just that.

  The Veil. The Sanctum. The Cult.

  They’ve been fighting for years. Studying each other, infiltrating ranks.

  Who infiltrates? Who studies the signs that would be in an army?

  ‘THINK!’

  And then, the answer came to him.

  “I was taught,” Raen said, his voice coming out softer than he felt. “Just like you were.”

  “What?”

  “What do you mean what, Thatch?”

  Raen grabbed the hand that held the dagger and pulled it away from his throat.

  “Not everyone passes through the Hall of Light, Thatch,” Raen said as he continued holding Thatch’s hand. “Some break before the holy light takes hold. Breaking down, their minds gone.”

  He let go of Thatch’s hand.

  “Some, like me, barely feel a thing in that place. Failures whose faith was not strong enough to even summon the light.”

  “Those kinds – my kind, Thatch – are given two paths.”

  “Forget everything and go back to obscurity. Or swear an oath of loyalty and become seekers, spending our lives looking for traces of the abominations.”

  “You should know that much at least, right?”

  This time, it was Thatch’s turn to freeze. He stared at Raen with a look of shock.

  “A Seeker? You?”

  “The Sanctum prays, the Veil responds.”

  Raen placed his left hand on his chest, drawing a semicircle.

  Thatch responded in kind, his eyes still fixed on Raen.

  “Unlike you, who are capable of wielding the holy light, I was not strong in faith. And was forced to do this kind of work.”

  “But you … should not be here,” Raen said, straightening up and staring at Thatch. “Did you … leave the Veil?”

  Thatch’s eyes constricted, his fist landing between Raen’s ribs. His body bent forward as the air was pushed out of his lungs. Saliva flew out of his mouth, dropping next to Thatch, who was staring at him with a gaze Raen had never seen before.

  “I will admit that your words are clever.” Thatch’s voice hitched. “You sound just like them.”

  He paused.

  “But a real Seeker would have turned me in the second he saw me!”

  A kick followed, sending Raen sprawling on the ground. He was bleeding from his nose.

  “But here’s your biggest mistake, Cap’n.” Thatch continued as he walked toward Raen with silent steps. “A Seeker wouldn’t be able to recognize me. Or the others.”

  “You see, Seekers are not given such information.”

  Raen stared into Thatch’s eyes. Two bottomless pools of black.

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “So, what else do you have to say, Lieutenant?”

  A dagger was pressed to Raen’s throat. The tip was a simple push away from piercing through the skin.

  “A Seeker wouldn’t have that information,” Raen said with a clenched jaw. “But a candidate for a ‘lost child’ would. Dumbass.”

  He stared at the dumbfounded Thatch, then suddenly kicked him in the chest, pushing him back.

  “Did you even listen when I said I was a failed specimen, huh?” Raen asked, anger evident in his eyes.

  “When I told you those unlucky bastards like us – who had gone through hell like the rest of you – only to fail because our faith was deemed lacking – were discarded, huh?!” He continued asking, now clenching Thatch’s shirt.

  “Good food. An education. The brainwashing that makes you believe you were born only to listen to the Veil’s orders. All of it gone in an instant.”

  “Scattered, like dust in the wind.”

  “How would I not know what you were when I saw those I believed to be my friends turning into the same person? Their hair white as snow. Their eyes dull like yours.”

  Raen then let go of Thatch, sneering at him.

  “How would someone like you know how I feel, oh blessed one?”

  “You know Seekers are given full autonomy,” Raen said. “We go where we want. Do what we want. And report what we want in the name of ‘hunting heretics’.”

  He then glanced at Thatch, his eyes holding a shade of mockery in them.

  “Report you to the Veil?”

  Raen snorted. “Fuck them.”

  The arm holding the dagger twitched as Thatch’s eyes widened.

  “Those self-serving bastards don’t give a damn about any of us. To them, we are merely tools. I wouldn’t even bother working as a Seeker if they weren’t paying for information.”

  “That is why I never bothered doing so. And why I would have continued pretending to know nothing about you had those damned cultists not appeared.”

  He paused, taking a deep breath.

  “The Sanctum and its corrupt priests can go die in a ditch for all I care. And I doubt you feel any different.”

  “You wouldn’t be here if you did.” Raen wiped away the blood leaking from his nose, spat next to Thatch, and then turned around. He walked away, leaving the dumbfounded kid to stare at his back.

  “Cap’n.” Thatch suddenly called out, prompting Raen to stop and turn.

  “I believe you,” Thatch said, a cold expression on his face. “Partly.”

  “I will continue believing your words for now. But make no mistake – if you show traces of heresy, or of wanting to report me –“

  Thatch suddenly moved, his figure disappearing from sight.

  “I will end you,” Thatch said from behind Raen, their backs touching.

  “I do wonder about one thing. Why do you even care so much about the heretics?” Raen asked Thatch, not moving.

  “You left the Veil. Deserted. A crime worthy of death in their eyes. Which means you hate them as much as I do, correct?”

  “My disappointment in the Veil and hatred toward the cultists are separate things, Cap’n.”

  Thatch’s voice hardened.

  “The Veil has strayed from its path. The Sanctum, too. Both care more for power than faith, influence over fighting the heretics.”

  “But cultists … they must die. All of them.” Thatch said, and Raen felt it, his fury.

  It was cold, like ice.

  Silent like his daggers.

  ‘A person who deserted the Sanctum and yet still feels such intense hatred towards the cult.’ Raen nodded his head, agreeing with Thatch.

  ‘He most likely has another reason for his hatred. One more personal. Not surprising.’

  “I will not meddle in your affairs, and you don’t meddle in mine,” Raen said. “We’re in the same boat. Neither one wishes to draw attention from the Sanctum here.”

  “Agreed.”

  Thatch moved, walking past Raen.

  “If you agree,” Raen suddenly added. “I’d like to help with your analysis of the skull. There are certain measures they sometimes take to cover their tracks. I know many.”

  “Perhaps later,” Thatch stated as Raen nodded and moved, making his way to Kaelen’s tent.

  “Fuck the Veil, huh?” Thatch softly muttered as he stared at Raen’s back. Both vigilance and confusion echoed in his eyes.

  ***

  ‘That was … too close for comfort.’ Raen thought as he walked, mind abuzz.

  ‘I let my guard down. I should have noticed he was close when I was interrogating the spy.’

  ‘Dammit!’

  ‘If I make one mistake, it’s done. He will turn on me.’

  ‘If I play things right, however, I can benefit greatly from Thatch.’ Raen continued. ‘A double-edged sword’

  He soon arrived at Kaelen’s tent, still thinking about what happened with Thatch.

  “Ah, Lieutenant, you – why are you bleeding?”

  Kaelen’s smile disappeared on the spot as he stared at Raen, who stared back at him, blinking innocently.

  “I’m bleeding?”

  “Your nose. It’s roughed up.”

  “Ah, the spy,” Raen said, sighing. “I got too close. He headbutted me.”

  “He … headbutted you?”

  “Yes. I thought I was getting close to him, so I relaxed.” Raen said, taking the handkerchief Kaelen offered, wiping the blood with it.

  He then attempted to give it back to Kaelen.

  “Just keep it.”

  “You sure? It’s quite a nice fabric.”

  “I am. Now … did you get anything from him?”

  “Actually, I did,” Raen said, smiling at Kaelen before sitting down.

  Kaelen stared at him, unmoving. Fully focused on Raen.

  “I lied and told him our old pal Vares was alive. That he was spilling everything, being treated well. Shared it like a secret – just between us – to show him how bad his situation was.” Raen paused, smirking. “He opened up after that.”

  “So?” Kaelen slowly sat near Raen, eyes still fixed on him.

  “They have more spies. He wasn’t sure which battalions, but definitely more of them. Hell, the entire regiment – army even – could be filled with them.”

  “Shit.”

  “Shit indeed. That’s very bad news for us, but there’s one good piece of information as well.” Raen said, smirking at Kaelen.

  “They have spies amongst the Azurand ranks as well.”

  “What, why would they –“

  Kaelen stopped as his eyes constricted. His hand rested on his chin.

  “Lucien’s words … they were true?”

  “I think so,” Raen said as he stood up. “There’s a third party involved in this. But they were definitely working with them, at least until we uncovered them.”

  “Good work, Lieutenant. I will let the other battalion commanders know.”

  “The regiment commander?”

  “His Highness is still here; he might hear it. Too risky.” Kaelen answered him, prompting Raen to nod in agreement.

  “I will keep silent as well then.”

  “Good job, Lieutenant. Truly, good job.”

  Raen slightly bowed before turning around. Only to stop.

  “Almost forgot.”

  Kaelen quickly brought his hand up, catching the badge that Raen threw at him.

  “Thanks for trusting me with this, Commander.”

  “Anytime, Lieutenant.”

  Raen and Kaelen exchanged smiles before the former left the tent, going back to his tent.

  Most of the squad was present, either training or watching someone train.

  Marcus was curiously giving pointers to Adam, which was a surprise.

  “All that strength, no finesse,” Marcus said as he dodged an attack by Adam before lightly kicking him from the side. Adam’s balance was disrupted, and he fell on his behind.

  “A skilled enemy will use that and eliminate you without any effort,” Marcus grumbled, shaking his head at Adam.

  “Again.” He bellowed, his voice prompting Adam to rise quickly before attacking him again.

  “Wrong, again.” Marcus, this time, took a step forward before Adam was able to swing his hammer down. They were too close for Adam to use his weapon effectively.

  Marcus placed his left foot behind Adam’s and gently pushed him back, tripping him. The hammer above his head pulled him back with it, causing him to fall again.

  “Do you think there’s any hope left for him, Marcus?!” Raen shouted, smiling at his old friend who was covered in mud.

  “There’s potential,” Marcus bellowed. “Deep inside.”

  His words caught everyone around off guard. Marcus rarely spoke. He praised even more rarely.

  “He should start training a stance as well, his is too messy,” Dral added from the side, to which Marcus nodded his head.

  “Maybe let him train with a lighter weapon first, then switch back to the hammer?” Mark joined in, but his words were quickly dismissed by Adam, who didn’t wish to do such a thing at all.

  Raen smiled, observing his squad. The trio of Marcus, Dral, and Mark was great instructors. Able to recognize a weakness in a person at a glance.

  ‘If they were army instructors, the whole regiment would improve immensely in a short period of time.’

  ‘If we had more people under me, we could train them up quickly. Create a shock squad. A powerful and mobile weapon against any enemy.’

  Raen sighed inwardly.

  ‘But this army is too rigid to make it happen. The politics in place would never allow it.’

  Raen shook his head and returned to the tent, where he found some solace as it was empty.

  He lay down in his cot, staring at the canvas ceiling.

  The cultist. The Horns of Ashanmon are operating in the army. Thatch’s cold dagger against his throat. And his identity as the Pope of the cult in the future.

  All the struggle. Schemes. And blood he spilled to get to that point.

  Thoughts clashed and tangled, ideas warring against each other.

  Through it all, one realization crystallized:

  When Thatch pressed the dagger against his skin, he felt something he didn’t recognize at first.

  Fear.

  Not simply fear of dying, but fear of what Thatch would think of him. Fear of losing his respect.

  Why would he care?

  It seemed that the Altar had changed him even more than he knew. First, he felt joy upon seeing Adam. He then felt nervous. Now he felt fear.

  ‘Was that actually my deepest, darkest desire?’

  ‘To not be … myself?”

  The more he considered it, the more certain he became.

  He cared whether his battalion won or lost. Felt proud that he saved Kaelen. Why?

  ‘I don’t care.’ He told himself firmly. ‘Whatever happens here is none of my concern.’

  A lie.

  And Raen knew it.

  Whatever the Altar did, it changed him. Threw him into danger before he could adjust. And now he was feeling things the old Raen never would have.

  ‘The Empire is doomed to fall. I cannot change that. Nobody can change that.’

  He clenched his fists.

  ‘I won’t be on the losing side this time. That much I’m certain of.’

  Footsteps were heard approaching the tent. Raen tensed, arm moving towards his sword.

  Mark pushed through the flap, expression grim.

  “Cap, you awake?”

  “Yeah. What is it?”

  “The guy you interrogated,” Mark said, his voice low. “The cultist.”

  Raen felt his stomach tighten. “What about him?”

  “He’s dead.”

  Mark’s face darkened.

  “Someone cut his throat in the cell about 20 minutes ago.”