“Are you sure you want to stay in the refugee camp?” Kaedan asked.



The old man and his two grandchildren were ready to part ways with Kaedan. They stood near the makeshift refugee encampment in front of Zerul’s main gates: there were lines of dirty tents and a campfire at every twenty feet or so. The ground was muddy, and the sky had already darkened. The survivors of Nemhim who couldn’t afford anywhere else to stay were offered shelter in these tents, and it was clear that there weren’t enough for everyone. The few campfires had dozens of people huddled around them, desperately trying to suck in the heat before the cold night arrived.

“Yes, I’m sure.” The old man replied, albeit a bit warily. “And I won’t accept any more help from you, you’ve already been a tremendous boon to us in our time of need.”

There was silence in between them. Even the children made no sound, and a part of Kaedan felt as though he was making the wrong decision. He left the potato sacks at the old man’s feet, and a few of the other refugees offered to carry them the rest of the way.



“Are you sure?” Kaedan asked one last time. The old man forced a smile in return.



“Yes,” He said. “We’re in your debt for all you’ve done so far. Thank you.”



It appeared that there was no use in pushing things further. The old man had made up his mind.



“Then good luck to you.” Kaedan said, and the two parted ways. 



As he walked away from the old man and his family, uncomfortable questions began to rise up in Kaedan’s mind. Had this been a test of his pilgrimage? If so, was walking away success or failure? There were so many other families in need, just like this one. Kaedan had made but an insignificant change at the large scale of things. So why did he feel the need to stay and help this old man even further? There was nothing he could do now.

He recalled of the words of his masters:


“At the cause of all suffering is an enemy. Smite down that foe with beautiful fury, and leave the rest to those without the strength to walk this path.”



“Ours is not to heal and nurture. Ours is not to foster and tend. This sacred duty of ours goes far beyond.”

“The world calls to us. We answer in blood.”

The grim message had always been clear. If you wanted to change something, you had to act. Moreover, you had to destroy.

The Brotherhood of the Cardinal looked to Deliph for strength, and saw themselves as His weapons to burn away the vile of this world. Any other goal was irrelevant. Kaedan, as he had been reminded many times before, had a way of over-thinking the matter of things. He had a way of being weak, soft, and indecisive. The punishments he had received had always been caused by this weakness.

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A heavy pair of boots, lined with metal guarding plates, throbbed their way across the Platinum Goblet’s dirty floors. A few heads turned to look as each step from these boots made the planks on the ground squeal as if threatening to give in under the sheer weight. It was a large man, perhaps not even human. His heavy grey cloak, with its edges tattered and old, covered his enormous body, leaving only his head and the massive shield on his back in view. A golden head of messy hair stuck out in the orange glow of the candle-light. He stopped in front of the bartender, and looked down at him with dull, blue eyes. A metal gauntlet appeared from the folds of his cloak and dropped a single coin on the counter.



“I’m looking for a place for the night.” The cloaked man said.