What is one, lowly peasant boy in a world of implacable Kings and scheming, murderous Nobles?

One with a destiny beyond imagining.

Young Braen is a simple shepherd, like his father, and his before him. Nothing ever changes in the village of Stonesthrow, save for the turning of the seasons.

But when death finds him, the young man quickly learns that 'the end' is not so clear-cut.

At least, not for those granted the gift of immortality.


Author's note

(Some of the names and terms I've outright invented (which is most of them) might be confusing as far as their proper pronunciation goes, so here will be a (likely) ever-expanding list to aid you, dear reader, with just that!)

Braen - Bray-en (Celtic inspired)

Rion - Rye-on (Celtic inspired)

Meira - Meer-a

Patras - Pah-trahs (Mediterranean inspired)

Kleonic Marathon - Klee-oh-nik Marath-on (Kleon is derived from the Greek word 'Kleos' which means 'glorious'. 'Marathon' was the site of a famous battle during the Greco-Persian wars.

Urik - Your-ik (Anglo-Saxon inspired)

Obfuscationist - Ob-few-scay-shun-ist (Obviously not a 'real' word, but it damn well should be!)

13. Chapter 13

'.........defend us amidst the storm and preserve our lives, that we may defend and preserve the lives of others'


Master and Student unfolded their hands and rose from their morning prayer.


Braen felt as if had recently been drained of all his energy, and had just now recovered it.


How the hell was he supposed to fight other Men when couldn't think bad thoughts about them?! 


The thought of what that could potentially entail as he grew older was not a promising one. If he died to some petty thug's taunts, he sincerely doubted that Heaven would grant him yet another chance at life. 


'You have progressed at a pace most admirable since our lessons first began, Braen: but the time has come to accelerate your training' 


From behind his back, the Angelic Knight suddenly produced a sheathed-blade which he promptly threw to his protege, who clumsily caught the heavy piece of shaped steel.


As the youth stared at it, he found himself overcome by a feeling of boyish excitement at the prospect of being entrusted with a real weapon.


'That is not a stick, Boy' said the divine being, sternly. 'Nor is it a child's plaything'


'You hold in your hands the power of life and death'


Grinning, the Shepard recklessly pulled the sword free of its sheath and held it in front of him, enjoying the feel of the blade as he carelessly swung it about.


Davin's eyes flared in anger.


'What did I just tell you?!' his mentor yelled, causing him to flinch, and nearly drop the sword.


'Your days as a carefree peasant boy are 'over'! Are ye so thick-headed that you cannot piece that together?! Or have you become so blinded, so single-mindedly focused on avenging your Father that ye've forgotten even to mourn him?!'


The blade dropped from his hand.


An overwhelming sense of guilt hit him like a wave.


He hadn't spared a second glance at his own Father's grave, nor had it occurred to him that the Man who had sired him should be attended to in death.


For the second time in his renewed life, a single thought entered into his mind, and planted itself:


'What am I becoming?'


Followed quickly by one even more disturbing:


'Have I always been so selfish without even realizing?' 

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